The BLTS Archive - Time's Orphans #2: A Time to Gather Stones Together by Kiff (Kiff47@yahoo.com) --- Disclaimer: The boys belong to Paramount. I'm just letting them out for some fresh air. Feedback: Constructive comments happily accepted. Archiving: Permission granted to Sileya to archive at TSU. Anyone else, please ask first. Sequel to "A Time to Mourn" and second in the "Time's Orphans" series. Written for the second anniversary of the CPSG. Completed in July 1999. Warning: This story contains implied, but not explicit, sex. --- Tom's up early today. I can hear him walk past my bedroom in that slow, shuffling gait that is Paris in the morning. I stare up at my ceiling, trying to clear my mind. I had a bad dream last night -- something to do with Cardassians chasing me through some deserted city streets. They were firing weapons at me, and the shots all missed, but when I turned to fire back at them, my phaser would not work. The lead Cardassian stepped forward and threw a knife at me. I tried to move, but I was riveted to the spot. I could see the knife tumbling toward me, and then I woke up with a yelp, my heart pounding and sweat breaking out on my forehead. It took several seconds for me to realize that I was in my own bedroom, on a planet many thousands of light-years from the nearest Cardassian. I really hate these dreams. I don't like feeling that my mind can go out of control that way. I saw too much of that craziness with my grandfather. My akoonah is long gone. I can't go on a vision quest to cleanse my spirit, at least not as completely as I would like. I can still do the breathing exercises, of course, but it's not the same. The outside door closes behind Tom. He's making his morning trip to the latrine, or "poop shed," as he likes to call it. It's the latest addition to our little building complex. We both got tired of just shitting in the woods. I roll out of bed and stretch. It looks like the day will be sunny and beautiful. I will try to harvest some vegetables from the garden today. And, if my guess is right, Tom will go out and catch some fish for us. Us. That's right. I eat fish now. It's a necessity. I haven't been able to grow enough vegetables to sustain us through the winter months. But the fish bite year round. So I've adjusted. Tom never said a word about it, just went out and caught more fish for me as well as for himself. He's so focused that it's almost frightening. The man has single-mindedness that I never saw him exhibit in all the years we served together on Voyager. He's bound and determined to find some way to get us off this planet. Four months ago, against my advice, he tore apart the Krenim replicator to find parts that might help him construct a communication device. He failed. And, even worse, the replicator never worked properly again after that. I reminded Tom that we were deep inside Krenim territory, stranded on a planet of their choosing, one that was probably considered off limits to all citizens of that empire, and that in all likelihood we would never see another ship. He told me in no uncertain terms to perform an impossible act on myself, then stomped off into the woods for several hours. I knew better than to try to follow him. He has his territory and I have mine. We're like two lone wolves who wander our turf during the day and come together only to eat and to sleep. Tom ranges to the east, I to the west. Somehow, I think his territory is wider than mine. Not that it's a big deal to me. He always returns before the suns go down. Always. And he came back that day, sweaty and bruised, but in one piece. I was so relieved to see him that I actually hugged the man, messy as he was. And I never again disparaged his attempts to get rescued. In his own way, he's as stubborn as Kathryn Janeway was, may the spirits rest her soul. Tom comes back into the cabin now. I step out of my room and peek down the short hallway. "Good morning." "Hey," he says, stepping toward me. "Everything okay? I thought I heard you yell during the night." "Bad dream," I say, hoping he'll just leave it there. He nods. "There's a loose board on the deck. I almost tripped on it coming back in just now." "I'll fix it," I say. "If you'll get breakfast together." "Deal." He sets about his task while I go out to the latrine and relieve myself. I fetch my hammer from the toolbox and nail down the loose board on the porch. When that's done, I go back inside. Tom has juice, fruit, and dry, thin bread waiting for me at the table. I sit down with him and we make quick work of it. He leans back in his chair and pulls at his beard. "Damn, what I wouldn't do for a..." "...hot cup of coffee." I finish, and we smile at each other. It's our little morning ritual. "How are the tomato plants doing?" he asks after a pause. "Another week, and they should be ready," I reply. "A *week*!" He's disappointed. "Can't rush them, Tom. They're not ripe yet." He's quiet for a moment. "I was hoping...well, I guess it's just not..." and his voice trails off again. "What?" I say, trying to follow his train of thought. "Nothing." He gets up from the table suddenly. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm going out for awhile. I'll bring back some fish. Maybe even shoot one of those little cat critters. Want to try some red meat?" "I'll pass," I say. "Suit yourself." He takes his bow and arrows from the corner of the room. I look at his silhouette in the morning sun. He's lost a lot of weight since we landed here. I know I have, too. Living on this planet has made us lean and strong. We're not starving by any means, but finding, preserving, and preparing food does take a lot of time and energy. "Good luck," I call to him as he leaves. He raises his bow in salute, and then his footsteps fade away. I rinse off our wooden dishes, then take a long walk around the cabin, checking for more loose boards. I do this every day. I want to catch little flaws before they turn into big holes. Everything looks fine today. I tie my hair back with a piece of twine, grab some baskets, and head for the garden. The air is heating up, and I guess that the temperature will peak in the lower 30's, Celsius. But before I can pick anything, I notice some weeds beginning to spring up among my tomato plants. Stubborn little bastards, they are. I tug at literally hundreds of them, and I work up quite a sweat before they're gone. The corn is maturing nicely. I pull down a dozen ears. I also pick some beans. Tom doesn't care for them, but he'll eat them in a pinch. I add a head of lettuce to the basket, then turn to the fruit trees. They are native to this planet and grow a juicy kind of apple that has a wonderful sweetness. I fill a basket with about twenty of these. Satisfied with my work, I take the food back to the cabin, sit down in a chair, and start shucking the corn. I'm debating whether to boil or roast it for lunch when Tom reappears. He's usually not back this quickly. He has a string of fish in one hand and his bow in another. "Hey," I say. "I thought you were going for the red meat today." He tosses his catch onto the counter. "The cats weren't out this morning. Too hot, I guess." He pulls out his knife and begins to clean the fish. "See our lizard friend at all?" Tom chuckles. "As a matter of fact, yes. He's hanging out on that big rock near the fallen tree, just enjoying the sun." "Maybe he'll pay us a visit." "As soon as he smells the fish cooking, you bet he will." Tom tosses fish guts into a nearby bucket. "Got an offering for him right here." I smile, and we continue our work in silence. Finally the last ear of corn is shucked, and I toss it into a pot. I sit back and take a deep breath, feeling fatigued, sweat trickling down my neck. Tom looks at me. "Damn, Chakotay, you okay? You look like you're about to have a heart attack or something." "Just a little overheated," I say. "No wonder." He pours me a cup of water, and I accept it gratefully. "You know," he adds, and I can guess what's coming. "I know you don't like this idea, but maybe you should consider..." I'm already shaking my head. "...cutting all that thick hair off. Chakotay, I know you like being native and all that, but it's only going to make you hotter." "I'll tie it back." "You do a shitty job of it. It's falling in your face and everything." "It's *my* damn hair." "Well, braid it or something." "I...I don't know how." Tom shakes his head. "Sheesh. An Indian who can't braid his own hair. Well, then, I'll just have to do it for you." I stare at him. There's an awkward pause between us, and I can feel the pulse pound in my temple. Finally I find my voice. "Wash your hands first, at least." "Aye, commander." He goes outside to clean up, and I sit in my chair, anticipating -- what? "Got a brush somewhere?" Tom asks as he comes in, drying his hands. "In my room," I say, and start to get up. "Stay there," he orders, and I obey, fighting down the urge to be in control. He's back very soon, and stands behind me, pulling at my ponytail, but gently, not hurting me. "You sure you know what you're doing?" I say, making conversation. "I used to braid my sister Kathleen's hair all the time," he answers, beginning to pull the brush through my hair. His fingers run over my scalp and I close my eyes. His touch is soft and my head tingles. "One or two?" he asks quietly. I think this over for a moment. "Two," I mumble. //It will take him longer, and oh spirits do his hands feel good.// He divides my hair into two sections, picks up the one on the right, and begins to twist it together. Cross, pull, cross, tighten, cross, pull. He ties off the end with a tiny leather lace. Now the other braid. Tom repeats the motions, rhythmically, almost lovingly. I wonder if he is thinking about his sister. He ties this one off as well. "Feel better now?" "It's off my neck," I say. "Yes, that is better." He stays behind me. "You look tight. Need a neck rub?" //Oh, spirits.// "If you don't mind giving one." He doesn't answer, just puts his cool hands on either side of my neck and begins a slow massage. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to shiver at how good this feels. He seeks and destroys the knots in my muscles. My head goes limp, and I fight off sudden tears. Damn he's good at this. All too soon, he stops with a final squeeze to my shoulders. "You need to take better care of yourself, old man," he whispers. Then he steps around me and goes out the door, before I can even thank him. I feel an overwhelming weariness and a strong desire to sleep. My disturbed night is finally catching up to me. Yawning, I rise from my chair and walk the few paces to my bed, where I collapse onto the rumpled sheets. I do not dream. --- Some time later, I open my eyes. The light has moved across the room. It is the hottest part of the day. Both suns are directly overhead. I climb to my feet, my brain more alert than the first time I tried this maneuver today. As I go back to the kitchen, I can see Tom outside. He's built a fire, of all the crazy things, in this heat. Fish fillets are frying over it, and my companion has also taken it upon himself to boil the sweet corn. He's staring up at the sky as I come outside. "Hey." My voice sounds raspy, and I clear my throat subconsciously. He jumps just a little, but recovers quickly. "Hey yourself. Feel better now?" "Much." My stomach rumbles as I look at the food again. "How long was I asleep?" "About two hours or so." He frowns slightly. "I checked you a couple of times. At one point I could have sworn you stopped breathing. Are you *sure* you're okay?" I take inventory. "Aside from a bit of a headache, and the fact that I need to pee, I'm fine." Finally he smiles. "Manageable problems. Go on to the head, and I'll get the food ready. A good meal will help." I do as he says, and then take a seat on the ground. Tom hands me a heaping plate. He's even made the salad. We dig in. It tastes great. We don't speak for several minutes as we enjoy one of the only real pleasures left to us -- good food. Finally satiated, I put my plate down. "Thanks for doing all the hard work, Tom. I owe you." He waves this aside. "*You* do all the hard work, Chakotay. You grow this stuff. You don't owe me anything. We're in this together." I can't think of any good way to reply to this, so I just nod. He puts his plate down and looks up again at the sky for a good long minute. "Penny for your thoughts," I say. "Nothing..." He's lost somewhere. "Just...remembering...." "What?" He looks at me. "It's...you *really* don't know, do you? What day this is?" Damn, what did I forget this time? "It's not your birthday, is it? We just..." "No, no..." "*My* birthday, then?" "Not for another week." He smiles ironically. "Today is November 12." It dawns on me finally. "The day Voyager..." Neither of us needs to finish the sentence. It's been two years since the Krenim left us here and declared this planet off-limits to anyone else. Our very own Garden of Eden, sans serpents and forbidden fruit. I'm beginning to understand why Adam chose to eat the apple. "You know," I say. "We've done well in two years. We have a good shelter, a reasonable supply of food, and we haven't driven each other crazy. That's progress." "That's plain old survival," says Tom. "Getting out of here would be progress." I sigh, but I don't feel like re-opening the argument about our chances of being rescued. Tom is looking at me thoughtfully. "You up for a hike, old man? I'd like to show you something." "What?" "A...little project I've been doing." I shrug. "Okay. Let me fill up a couple of canteens first." --- We start off, and soon I realize that we're entering Tom's "territory." My companion leads me slowly uphill through a thin forest of trees. As I look at the ground I can clearly see a path worn in the grass from two years of Tom's wanderings. We walk for close to an hour, stopping three or four times to drink. Tom picks his way through the woods sure-footedly and silently. Any of my ancient ancestors would be proud. It's hot, but I'm handling the exertion better now that I've had a nap, a good meal, and a massage. I keep up with my young companion with little difficulty. Finally he halts at the end of the trees, turning to look at me. "I'm not crazy, you know." I'm taken aback by the non sequitur. "Huh? What are you talking about?" "What you're about to see. I'm not crazy," he repeats. "Why don't you just show me?" I've come all this way, and I'm not about to be put off now. "Okay." He takes a few more steps. Ahead of us, the hill crests, and I see another rise in the distance. It's a huge grassy hill with no trees. A river flows between the two hills. I continue to follow Tom, and then I see it. My eyes widen in amazement. Tom has found another way to call for help. There's an enormous circle of stones laid into the side of the hill. It must be sixty or seventy meters in diameter. And inside the circle is written a single word: H E L P, spelled out partially in rock, partially in dirt. Tom obviously dug the letters into the ground before filling them in with stones. He's completed the "H" and is close to finishing the "E" as well. "I've been working on this ever since I fucked up the replicator," he says beside me. "I've hauled rocks up from the river for weeks. A ship with any kind of decent sensory equipment should be able to see it." "It's amazing, Tom. I can't imagine how much work you've put into it." "It will all be worth it if we get rescued." His voice is as determined as I've ever heard it. I look at him. His jaw is set with pride and hope. I feel a rush of warmth for this man. He's completely undaunted. It's inspiring. I put my arm around his shoulder. "Thanks for showing this to me." He leans into me, relieved. "It should be done in another month or so." I know this is a futile question, but I ask anyway. "Need some help?" He shakes his head. "This is my baby, Chakotay. Let me finish it myself." "All right." I give him what I hope is an encouraging slap on the back. He smiles back at me and it's like a third sun in my sky. With one more look at the sign, we head back to the cabin. --- We say little on the way back. We take our time, renewing the understanding between us. We will try to escape. We will continue to survive as best we can. We will take care of each other. We are all we have. Our cabin appears ahead of us in the late evening. I pull together some food for dinner while Tom changes clothes. He joins me with a bottle in his hands. "Guess what I managed to get out of the replicator?" I just smile at him. Any victory over that machine is sweet. He opens the bottle. "White wine. Want some?" "Of course." He pours and hands me my mug. "Cheers." "Happy anniversary." His eyebrows go up, but then he nods and raises his drink in a toast. "Happy anniversary." The taste is sweet, and the warmth of the alcohol sinks into my knees. I allow myself to relax and enjoy a good meal and the company of a good man. --- Tom retires early to his room. I take a bath under the stars and reflect on the day. I may not have my akoonah, but I have peace of mind. At least for the moment. I dry off, rinse my clothes, hang them to dry, and walk naked into the house. As I pass Tom's room, I hear a muffled sound, almost like weeping. I stop and listen. After a few seconds, I realize he is not crying. His moans and grunts mean something completely different. He's taking comfort in his body. In this, too, I could help him. I could help him find release and maybe some joy for myself as well. My hand reaches for his door. He cries out louder. "Gods!" It fades into a hiss, followed by a gasp. I'm too late. I pull away. As with the stone message, this is something that Tom wants to do on his own. I will respect it. I could give him my body, take pleasure in return. But I guess neither of us is ready for that. Not yet. I walk to my room as quietly as I can and climb into bed. Soon I find my hands wandering over myself. My body and soul join with the universe for one fleeting moment. Afterwards, I listen to my heart race, hear my breath flow in and out, and feel the sweat cooling on my upper chest. I'm alive. There is always hope. Always hope, with Tom Paris by my side. --- The End