NEW VOY: Far Away Now (1/1) PG [Kelis, Jero/m]
Title: Far Away Now
Author: Dave Rogers
Email Address: daverogers@geocities.com
Series: VOY
Rating: PG
Codes: Kelis, Jero/m
Part: 1/1
Date Posted: 1st June 2000
Summary: Sequel to "Muse". Kelis is not Voyager's only chronicler.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Jenn for beta reading, and to Jim Wright's
"Delta Blues" website for reference material.
Disclaimer: Shining Paramount, far from Dave, far from the fanfic
stories I write.
Far Away Now
"Shining Voyager, far from home,
far from the gleaming cities of Earth."
The chorus spoke the first line clearly, with the confidence born of
familiarity. As they progressed, though, their chant became a little
more ragged, the new words uncertain on their tongues.
"Headstrong B'Elanna Torres returns,
rescued from the rocks of an alien shore."
They paused, watching as the actors - so much less satisfying, less
artistic, that they should speak their own words, but innovations were
ever hard to resist - portrayed the reunion of headstrong B'Elanna and
steady-armed Paris at the helm.
"These fourteen days, deep burdened with concern,
We sought you long, unsleeping in our quest.
I thank the spirits, watching ever o'er
That yet preserve you, safely to return."
"Together now, good helmsman, we reside,
Our bond renewed, in friendship's cunning guise.
Withdraw with me, and celebrate our love,
Our passion hidden from our comrades' eyes."
As they left the stage by separate exits, Jero frowned behind the mask
of logical Tuvok. He had never subscribed to Kelis's belief that
Torres and Paris's attachment was a secret from the rest of the
Eternals. That sort of concealment, second nature to him, seemed
alien to the character of the B'Elanna Torres he had met, however
briefly. But Kelis had written the plays, and Kelis had established
the conventions. It would be hard enough to make his point as it was;
no sense in alienating the audience further.
Taking their cue well enough - it would need rehearsal, of course -
the chorus resumed their narrative.
"Eternals all, elated at the sight
Of headstrong Torres, youthful Kim returned,
Turn night to day in celebrating song,
Carouse and feast - excepting one alone."
Jero felt his heart beat a little faster as his first line approached.
Now was the moment; this scene had to work. He drew breath, centred
himself, and concentrated on Tuvok's inner pain and outer calm.
"This celebration is illogical.
For many days and nights we have not slept,
And now should rest in Morpheus's arms.
I will not join in merriment this night,
But man the wheel, and guide the ship alone."
It had to be done subtly, with just the right touch of irritability.
Jero had always been able to listen impartially to his own speeches,
and now his critical sense told him that this one had just the right
note of falsehood. It was good.
"But logical Tuvok steers not long alone,
For Neelix, ever cheerful, now approaches."
Jero held the mask close to his face to obscure the faint smile that,
he knew, would come over his face as Claram approached. The younger,
and smaller, man had just the optimistic awkwardness that B'Elanna
Torres had described in Neelix; there was barely any need for him to
act the part.
"Why, Mister Vulcan, all alone tonight?
No hidden current, rock or reef or shoal
Besets our path, your vigilance to try,
So join with friends, and celebrate a while!"
"In Vulcan logic, here alone I stay.
This merriment is irksome to the soul."
Claram moved a little closer, and placed a hand on Jero's shoulder.
Jero's assumed Vulcan composure almost failed him as he felt a familiar
fire run through him at his lover's touch, but a slight slip of his
face was hidden by the mask, and he was able to calm his breathing as
Claram spoke Neelix's next line.
"Not irksome, this, but healing to the soul,
Our fear and worry washed away in song.
Soon shining Voyager's bold Eternal crew
All pain will banish..."
Jero gasped as Claram's other arm circled his waist, the younger man
standing close behind, almost touching him.
"... all save one.
Alone I see emotion hid within
The Vulcan heart of logical Tuvok.
Alone I seek that sorrow to assuage,
In silent joy and pleasure of the flesh."
Turning slowly in the circle of Claram's arm, Jero kept his mask
raised and faced towards the empty auditorium, so that it now covered
the side of his face, obscuring his expression as he spoke the scene's
final line.
"Spirit of shining Voyager, awake,
And guide our craft in safety by your grace.
In private may I drop my logic's mask" - he threw the mask
dramatically to the floor -
"And show my love another, hidden face."
The clapping of a single pair of hands, slow, exaggerated and ironic,
echoed around the silent auditorium.
"Very touching," announced Kelis, emerging from the shadows. "So I'm
not the only one to have received a revelation from the Eternals, is
that it?"
Jero felt his face flush, and tried not to sound as defensive as he
felt. "You're not the only poet who can write plays. Is anything wrong
with someone else joining in with your games?"
"Wrong? Now let me see." Kelis made a show of counting on his fingers.
"You tell a story the Eternals never told us. You show logical Tuvok,
not only displaying his emotions, but engaging in an unnatural
relationship with Neelix. How could anything be wrong with that?"
Claram stepped forward and spoke. "Unnatural relationship?"
"He's an Agrarian," sneered Jero with contempt. "Didn't he tell you?"
"I can't change my upbringing," said Kelis, hastily backing down. "I
was taught that what's unnatural for the beasts of the field is
unnatural to us."
"So did you ever see a play written by a herdbeast?" asked Jero with a
triumphant smile.
"I feel like I just have," replied Kelis.
"So you just think it's a bad play?"
"Bad plays I can live with. They just make me look better." Kelis
strode up on to the stage, confident in his advantage now. "What I
can't tolerate is a lie. This isn't truth. These aren't the Eternals
we know about, that we met. This is sheer fiction!"
"So you're the one insisting on truth now, are you?" asked Jero. "Is
it fiction you object to, or is it what that fiction has to say?"
"And if the fiction tells a deeper truth?" Claram's voice shook a
little, but he spoke with conviction. "The Voyager Eternals don't
fight wars that don't need to be fought. Maybe they don't fight wars
against," the tone of his voice changed to an ironic imitation of
Kelis, "unnatural relationships."
"Fight wars?" Kelis sounded exasperated. "Who's fighting a war here?
The law doesn't discriminate against you. The Autarch even encourages
pair-bonding in his troops."
"Since our enlightened leader realised that a soldier fights twice as
hard to save his wounded lover." Jero had stepped away from Claram, and
now spoke from Kelis's other side, making the playwright turn his head
back and forth as they spoke in turn. "But we still don't dare walk
the streets together."
"So you want to change the world by writing a play, is that it?"
"You did," said Claram simply.
"All we want is a voice," concluded Jero.
"All right, all right," said Kelis, throwing his hands up in
resignation. "Put on your play, if you must. The Voyager Eternals are
far away now - they can hardly object. You can use the auditorium,
you can publicise the production. Just leave me out of it."
He stormed out of the theatre, aware of Jero's look of triumph, but
too quickly to hear Claram's brief, soft-spoken word of thanks.
It was still a bad play, Kelis reflected; whatever else he might not
like, that was the biggest problem. He didn't sense any hostility from
the audience; word had got around about the controversial subject
matter, and most of those present for this first performance were
already prepared to listen to Jero's message. But around the message,
to frame it and present it, there was so very little; no unresolved
conflict, no hidden enemy, no sudden reversal. He saw some of the
audience, around and in front of him, leaning towards one another and
exchanging whispers. Someone laughed, quietly and quickly stifled,
either at the ineptitude of the playwright, or - perhaps even worse -
at something completely different, something entirely unrelated to the
undistinguished drama being played out before them.
He felt relieved when it was all over, when a ripple of desultory
applause had demonstrated the politeness of the audience, when the
seats had quietly but quickly emptied, when most of the audience had
quite simply chosen to be somewhere else. He felt an uncomfortable
sympathy for Jero, whatever he might have said three days earlier.
Outrage from the audience would have been a victory, mere disapproval
at least tolerable; what was most crushing was this apathy, the sense
that the play had been unworthy of notice.
Wandering behind the stage, with no clear idea of his intentions,
Kelis saw Jero, head hung low, an expression of angry bafflement on
his face. Kelis was about to go to him, maybe ready to offer some kind
words, some kind - any kind, really - of reassurance. But two women
he'd never even noticed reached Jero first, so he hung back and waited.
There was an awkward pause. The two women seemed too reticent to
speak, and Jero, sunk in gloom and perplexity, didn't seem to have
noticed them. Eventually, one of the women, by appearance the younger
of the two, put out a hand and touched his elbow, gently saying,
"Excuse me?"
Ker looked up, surprised. "Yes?"
"I just wanted to say... I know the play didn't really work out right,
I mean I know it didn't go down all that well, not that there was
anything wrong with it, but I thought that... I know I'm saying this
all wrong, but..."
The older woman stepped in. "We just wanted to say, thank you."
"Thank you for what?" asked Jero bitterly. "For failing? For having
one chance to make a difference, and just... boring everyone? Believe
me, there's nothing to thank..."
"I think there is," interrupted the older woman. "We're going back to
our village now, and when we get there we'll arrive separately. We'll
be careful not to be seen together, because... well, I think you know
why. But tonight, while we were watching your play, we sat together.
We did something ordinary people do, and we did it together, and no-
one cared, no-one gave us that look, we were jut two people doing what
ordinary people do."
"So thank you for one evening," finished the younger woman, more
confidently now. "It's more than anyone else ever gave us."
As they left, Kelis saw the traces of bruising, nearly healed, on the
older woman's face. Of course, he reflected, there were plenty of
explanations. Maybe she'd bumped into a tree, or something. And in
these more enlightened days, he hadn't heard of anyone actually being
burned at the stake; not for several years anyway.
Jero was still looking puzzled, and as Kelis joined him he shook his
head and said, "There's what I've achieved. Two women have a night out
together."
"Maybe that's worth fighting for," mused Kelis. He continued quickly,
ignoring Jero's surprised look. "You're right, the play didn't work.
If you want to get the message across, you need to be more subtle, to
bury it within the story. Suppose you were to put Neelix and Tuvok in
danger together - washed overboard, marooned on an island, having to -
to climb a mountain together to signal Voyager, to light a beacon -
put some local people around them, make one of them a traitor,
perhaps -"
"And have them realise their feelings for each other because they have
to work together to survive?" Jero started to look a little more
lively, caught up in Kelis's enthusiasm now.
"Yes, yes, but keep it subtle." Kelis took Jero's arm and led him away
from the auditorium. He had some writing materials at home, and the
ideas were starting to flow. "Lead the audience, don't drive them.
Involve them in your story, and you can take them wherever you want."
Maybe he could persuade Jero to let him rewrite the play; there was no
reason a work should have only one author.
Maybe the Eternals would approve, maybe not. A little fiction couldn't
hurt. After all, they were far away now.
THE END (
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