The BLTS Archive - Time's Orphans #5: A Time to Seek by Kiff (Kiff47@yahoo.com) --- Disclaimer: Paramount is God. I am a lowly acolyte. Have mercy. Archiving: Okay for my web page, ASCEM, BLTS, CPSG, TBDorm. All others, please ask first. Feedback: Gladly accepted. Completed in July 2001. This is the fifth installment in my "Time's Orphans" series and follows "A Time to Mourn," "A Time to Gather Stones Together," "A Time to Heal," and "A Time to Kill." Thanks to Britta for beta-reading. --- Something is wrong. I'm sitting at the table in the cabin. Dinnertime has come and gone, and Tom never showed up for it. I stare at his empty plate, and then at mine, filled with nutshells and fish bones. I had waited for him as long as I could before finally digging in to the food. Even in my anxiety, I could not deny my hunger. When you have lived off the land as long as Tom and I have, you take your meals when you can get them. And this is exactly why I know something's wrong. Tom has never failed to come home for dinner in all of the five years that we have been stranded on this planet. Never. Not during the coldest blizzard or the wildest thunderstorm. Something has happened to him. I rise from the table and walk over to the door. The second sun is just setting, and a cool spring breeze touches my face. Clouds are threatening in the southwest, and I imagine I can hear a rumble of distant thunder. "Tom?" There's no answer. "Tom!" I step just outside the door and yell as loud as I can. This time I definitely hear thunder. We are in for a storm. I go back into the house and light a makeshift torch from the fireplace. Picking up my cane, I return outside, walk carefully down the steps, and move to the edge of the clearing that surrounds our cabin. "TOM!" Nothing. I walk around the house and call in all four directions, but the result is the same. Silence, except for the rising wind. "Oh, gods," I hear myself mutter. And then the rain hits, and I have no choice but to get back inside as quickly as I can. --- My left foot aches. It always does when the cold spring rains come. I throw another log on the fire and mix up some of the healing powder for myself. When it's ready, I take the cup over to the sofa and lie down, wrapping a warm fur blanket around my legs. I sip the medicine, and the pain slowly subsides. I stare into the fire. Tom's anniversary present sits on the hearth. I made him a new pair of leather moccasins from the hide of one of the buffalo creatures he shot. He's killed four or five of them in the past year, going out early in the canoe to their herding place, creeping up on the pack, and shooting them with deadly accuracy. This is all his account, by the way. I have not returned to that meadow once since last year. I still can't abide the slaughtering. But I have to admit he was right about all of the useful things we could take from those bodies: furs to keep us warm, bones to make needles, fat to make into candles, meat to keep Tom strong. And moccasins for his feet. Fur-lined moccasins. I was all set to present them to him tonight, and then he doesn't show. My mind races through the possibilities, none of them good. Perhaps one of the buffalo creatures stabbed him with their horns. Or he's overturned the canoe. Or he's gotten sick on some bad meat. The flickering of the fire and the rush of rain on the roof are hypnotic, and I feel my eyes close. I sleep, in spite of my fears. --- Something is scratching at the door. Scratching, and clicking. But that can't be right. There's no lock on the door. Tom would just open it and come in. Tom. "Tom?" I sit up, throwing off the furs. No answer. "Oh, spirits," I whisper. "Oh, sweet spirits." The sick feeling in my stomach is definitely not hunger. There's that scratching again. It's clearly coming from the door. And, very faintly, a sound like "Tch-tch-tch." What the hell? I get off the couch. Dawn is breaking in the east. At least the rain seems to have stopped for the time being. "Tom?" I reach the door and open it. In the dim light, I can make out a small scaly body. Bright orange eyes look into mine. It's Fred, our adopted lizard. "Hey, boy," I say. "Was that you making all that racket?" He arches his back. "Tch-tch-tch!" This startles me. I have never heard Fred make a sound before. I didn't even know he was capable of any kind of vocalization. I crouch down to get closer, expecting Fred to draw away, but he holds his ground. "Tch! Tch-tch!" Maybe he's hungry. I go back inside, grab some leftover fish, and toss it to him. He sniffs at it, but then steps away. Now this is really unusual. He has never refused food from either Tom or me. "What is it?" I ask. "Tch!" He turns, starts walking into the woods, then comes back to me. "Tch-tch!" "Tom?" "Tch!" "You know where Tom is?" Again Fred starts for the woods, then stops and turns around, as if he's waiting for me. "Okay. Okay, boy. Hold on." I scramble back into the cabin. My knapsack is hanging on the back of the door. I snatch it up and start packing it with anything that I think will be useful. I might have to make a rescue. I might have to treat a wound. Or several wounds. Rope. Clean cloth for bandages. Fresh water. A small shovel (spirits willing, I won't need a big one). A jar of healing powder. Some nuts and dried fruit. My knife. Fire-making materials. A blanket roll. And, finally, I throw Tom's new moccasins in. They'll be drier than anything he'd be wearing now, unless he managed to find shelter last night. I pray that he did, because the temperature must have dropped to at least ten degrees Celsius, if not lower. I go outside to use the latrine. Fred is still waiting, making his anxious clicking sounds. "I'm almost ready," I tell him. I put some nuts in my pocket for me to eat during the search and sling the knapsack around my shoulders. I put my boots on and wrap myself in my warmest fur jacket. Adrenaline has taken over at this point, but I'm all too aware that what I'm about to do is dangerous. My bad foot could betray me at any time. Damn me for a fool anyway, dropping that huge rock on myself all those months ago. If that hadn't happened, Tom would not have had to take so much upon himself. And maybe he wouldn't be in trouble right now. Damn, damn. I hope Tom is all right. Please, let him be all right. I take my cane, go outside, and shut the door. The first sun is up, and Fred is waiting. "Tch!" "Okay, boy. Show me where he is." Fred sets off, and I follow him as best I can. There's no doubt he's leading me, much as a trained dog would do. For all these years I have thought of Fred as little more than an amusing native pet, but it's obvious that I have seriously underestimated his intelligence. He leads me down a path that is unfamiliar to me. I pick my way carefully. The ground is muddy after last night's rain and I don't want to slip and fall. I won't be of any help to Tom if I get into trouble myself. Fred stays several paces ahead of me, checking constantly to make sure I'm still with him. He's stopped making the clicking sounds, but I can sense that he's anxious. After an hour, the pain in my foot demands that I stop and rest. Sitting down on a fallen log, I nibble some of the nuts and take a drink from my waterskin. "I hope this isn't much further," I say to Fred. "Tch!" "Just a couple of minutes." It's a cool day, but I'm sweating, and I can feel the adrenaline buzz wearing off. I'm sitting in a small clearing, and about two hundred meters in front of me is a sizable hill. Fred is obviously heading that way. I am very worried about making this climb. But Tom's life may depend upon it. I can't let him down. I will do it. I must. I stand up. "Okay, Fred." We go on and reach the bottom of the hill. Fred starts to climb. I follow as best I can. My foot throbs with pain. Each step feels worse. I stop about halfway up, gasping for breath, my head swimming. Ignoring Fred's ominous clicks, I mix up some of the healing powder and drink it down. The second sun comes up, and the temperature goes up accordingly. But I can see storm clouds far off in the west, and I know I don't have much time to find Tom. If he's still alive. Gods, please.... I get back on my feet and struggle, step for agonizing step, until I reach the summit. Fred starts off for a nearby ridge, and I follow him as quickly as I can. When he reaches the ridge, he turns west and goes about a hundred meters. Then he stops, right at the edge. I hobble towards him, hoping that this is the end of the trail. "Tch!" I step to the edge. And now I see it. There's a gap in the rock formation here, as if a part of it has tumbled away. I look over, following the path of the avalanche with my eyes. And there he is, probably fifty meters below me, sprawled among the rocks. His knapsack lies ten meters above him, and his bow and arrows are scattered all over the place. "TOM!" I yell as loudly as I can, and I strain to see any movement at all from him. There's none. Oh, sweet spirits. I'm all alone. He's gone. My friend, my lover, the only company I will ever have on this godforsaken rock. Damn Annorax, damn Obrist, damn all of the Krenim and their stinking rotten souls. "TOMMM!" I scream again. My only answer is a rumble of thunder from the west. I feel myself reeling, from pain as much as from fear. There is a tree near the edge of the precipice, and I stagger over to it. I lean heavily against the trunk, taking deep breaths, trying to focus on what I need to do. Fred isn't waiting for me. He's already scrambling down the hill, jumping nimbly from rock to rock. As I watch, he reaches Tom and gently nuzzles him. Is that a groan I hear? Did Tom move his head just a little? I don't have time to stand up here and play guessing games. I open my pack and pull out the rope. I don't think it will get me all the way down, but it will help me get over the rougher parts of the hill. There is less debris at the bottom, and the slope seems to flatten out about where Tom is lying. I can probably do this if I'm very careful. I tie one end of the rope around the tree and the other end around my waist. I take one more drink of water, put the canteen back into my knapsack, and sling everything back on. I have to leave my cane leaning against the tree. I pray that I will be able to retrieve it at some point. I start the descent. It isn't nearly as bad as I had feared it would be. About halfway down, I hear another loud crack of thunder. I look up. There's no doubt that another storm is coming. I wonder how I will ever find shelter out here. Worry about that later, Chakotay. Focus on the present. I keep moving. I can hear Fred's encouraging clicks behind me. I turn around. I can see blood on Tom's face. And his eyes are open! "Tom?" Only a grunt answers me, but it's enough. He's alive. The thought sends fresh energy into my tired muscles, and I continue to the end of the rope. I untie it from around my waist, then get down on my hands and knees, scooting backwards meter by meter, until I finally reach Tom. I kneel next to him and take his hand. His skin is pale and cold, and his clothing is wet from last night's rain. He's shivering. "Ch...Chak...." "I'm here, Tom. I'm going to take care of you." Fred nuzzles my hand and Tom's head before stepping back. I smile at him. "Thanks, boy. I owe you." Tom coughs. "F-f-fell off the h-h-hill...." "I know. Where does it hurt?" "H-head. Think I...have a conc-cussion." Tom brings his right hand up to his temple. "And... I think I th-threw out my left sh-sh-shoulder." He touches it gingerly. "And...left ankle hurts." There's a flash of lightning nearby, and Tom flinches. "N-n-need to get undercover, Chakotay." "Where?" I ask. He reaches across his body with his right arm and points a shaky finger downwards and slightly to the west. "C-cave. Maybe three hundred m-meters. I can't make it. You...have to help me. Don't th-think I can walk." "I can't carry you. My foot...." "I know. D-drag me if you have to. I have to g-get inside. Get a fire going. I'm so c-cold." "I don't want to hurt you." "Can't s-stay here, old man." He's right, of course. I take the blanket out of my knapsack and roll Tom inside as gently as I can. Then I grab one end and pull. It's hard going, but at least it is downhill for the most part. After a hundred and fifty meters, I can see the cave opening clearly. Then the heavens open up again. Tom groans. I gather myself together for one final push, ignoring the agony in my foot. In the end, I have to crawl through the raindrops and the mud. But at last I reach the cave. I pull Tom inside. I see the remains of a fire, and also some dry wood piled up in one corner of the cave. There's even a small hole in the roof for ventilation. Tom has obviously used this as a shelter before. We are lucky that his accident occurred where it did. If we had had to deal with another night out in the cold rain, I am not sure either of us would have survived. Tom has either fainted or fallen asleep. I check his pulse. It's not as strong as I would like it to be, but it is steady, and his breathing is regular, so I cover him up with my fur jacket and start making a fire. Within ten minutes I have a blaze going, and I pull Tom closer so that he can begin to warm up. I remove his wet boots and socks, and also his wet pants. I notice that his left ankle is swollen and discolored. Probably a sprain. I wrap it with a bandage and elevate it as best I can. I put the new moccasin on his uninjured right foot. "Chak..." "I'm here, Tom." "You made it." "I did. You're going to be all right, Tom. I've got a fire going, and I've taken care of your ankle for the moment." "I'm thirsty." I give him a drink. When he's finished, he seems stronger. "Did you bring any powder?" "I've got some right here." "I'm going to need it." Tom reaches for his left arm. "Okay." I start mixing a dose up for him. "You'll have to pop my shoulder back in." "What?" "Pop my shoulder back into the socket." "I can't...." "I'll tell you how to do it." "I've got to clean up your head first." "Okay." Tom relaxes and allows me to bathe a nasty cut on his right temple. After a few moments, he asks, "Was that Fred with you?" "He found you. He led me to you." "Where is he now?" "I don't know." In my anxiety to get Tom to shelter, I had forgotten Fred. He must have gone back to his own den to escape the rain. "Good old Fred," Tom whispers, echoing my own sentiments. I finish cleaning his cut and wrap a cloth bandage around his head. When I pull away, Tom reaches up and adjusts it slightly. "That's better. Thanks, old man." "You're welcome." He props himself up on his good elbow. "Now help me pop the shoulder back in." "I don't want to hurt you any more than you do already." "It's got to go back in place. The sooner the better. Don't worry about hurting me. It's got to be done." Well, I have no choice. I grit my teeth, put my hands where he tells me to put them, and do what he tells me to do. I feel his shoulder pop back into place. He cries out once, and his breathing becomes rough and ragged. "I'm okay now. H-hold on. Just give me a minute." I hold him while he recovers, then lay him back down. He flexes the shoulder tentatively, winces, but then smiles. "I think we got it, Chakotay. I won't be doing any heavy lifting for awhile, but it should be all right in a couple of weeks." I smile at him. "I brought some food. You up for some?" "You bet." I pull out some dried fruit from the knapsack. Tom wolfs it down and takes a long drink from the canteen. "Ah. That's better." He's recovering quickly. As always, I marvel at his resiliency. "What's this, old man?" He flexes his right foot, staring at the new moccasin I made him. "An anniversary present. I've got the other one right here," I say, removing it from the knapsack and handing it to Tom. He examines it with interest before handing it back. "I'm sorry I messed my other foot up. I'd like to wear it." "You will." "Thanks, Chakotay. I mean it." "I know." I look into our little campfire and consider our situation. There's no way either of us is going back to the cabin any time soon. I'll have to fetch water and find food somehow. Tom's reading my thoughts. "There's a stream not far away from here, maybe half a kilometer or so. There are a few fruit trees. And I think I can whip up a fishing pole if you bring me the makings." "You shouldn't be thinking about doing any kind of work for awhile," I say. "Look who's talking. You're about ready to drop. That foot must be killing you." It is. The last dose of medicine I took is wearing off, and the excitement of pursuing and rescuing Tom has taken its toll. Tom props himself up again. "Come here, old man. Let me rub your foot." "I'm okay," I say, drawing away from him. "You need your rest." "We both do," he replies. "I need you to be strong in the next few days. Let me help you now." "Promise you'll sleep afterwards?" "Promise." "All right." I move over to him and slide my boots and socks off. Tom gets into a sitting position, cradles my foot with his left hand, and starts massaging it with his right. I throw my head back, feeling the warm pressure start in my foot, then my ankle. This is better than any drug, and I thank the spirits that Tom is still here, still able to give me this pleasure, to give me the daily inspiration to get up and face the challenges of living on this wild, beautiful world. After about five minutes, he releases me and lowers himself to the cave floor. I rearrange the fur jacket around his body, lean over and stroke his hair. "Thanks." "Any time, big man," he whispers. Then his eyes close, and within a minute he's asleep. I watch him for awhile. Then I get up and go to the cave entrance to have a look outside. The rain has stopped, and the suns are starting to emerge from behind the clouds. I'll get a little sleep now, then look into the food and water situation a bit later on. I come back to Tom. He's sleeping peacefully. I ease myself down beside him and wrap one arm around his chest. The cave's dirt floor is hard, but it is dry. I am so tired that it will probably not matter what I sleep on. I feel Tom's chest rise and fall under my hand. With my last conscious thought, I thank the spirits once again for Tom's life, and for Fred, our reptilian savior. --- The End