by Melanie
B'Elanna clearly was not listening to reason. "No. It won't change anything. He lied to me."
"You know what I think?" He did not wait for her to answer. "I think that damned Torres pride is getting in the way again."
She glared at him. "What?!"
"Yeah. Pride and guilt."
"Guilt?!"
"I think you want to tell him you understand why he did what he did and forgive him, but now you're feeling guilty because you got carried away and gave Harry some little peck on the cheek. You're latching back onto Tom's lie as an excuse to reject Tom instead of running the risk of him rejecting you when he finds out you kissed Harry."
"It wasn't some 'little peck.' It was the real thing. Right on the lips. And as for this bizarre idea of yours about me feeling guilty and all the rest of that garbage, you can forget it."
Her storming out of the Holodeck ended the discussion.
-------
Harry prowled about his quarters, picking up one item after another then putting each down again. He was so confused. How had he gone from matchmaker to match-breaker in the space of a few seconds? And all the while his best friend was lying near death in Sickbay.
The door chimed. He practically flew to the door, eagerly grabbing at the interruption like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Anything to distract him from his guilt for even a moment.
"Commander, come in."
Chakotay blinked in surprise at the warm welcome. What a vast difference it was from the initially somber tone of his encounter with B'Elanna. "Umm, thank you," he said, stepping inside.
"So, what can I do for you?"
"I wanted to talk to you about B'Elanna," Chakotay saw a brief blip in the Ensign's happy demeanor then it was gone.
"Oh?" he asked, nonchalantly going over to the replicator for a glass of water. "What about her?"
He did not fool Chakotay for an instant. "About what she just told me about the two of you on the planet."
A longer blip.
"About...?
"About you having convinced her to look at the record of the parole test."
Harry's reaction was visible relief.
It was short lived.
"And about the two of you kissing."
The young man's face fell, as nearly did the glass in his hand. Recovering, he returned the glass to the replicator for recycling.
"Want to talk about it, Harry?"
"What's to talk about? One minute we were talking, the next minute we were kissing."
Resolutely, Chakotay ventured onwards, a little worried about the answer he might receive. "And how did that make you feel?"
Harry's eye jerked to his. "How did- What?"
"Did you welcome it or not?"
"Did I...? Are you asking me if I liked kissing her?" His eyes fell from the Commander's as he began to prowl again. "I- No, of course not."
"Harry?"
"Okay! Yes, I think enjoyed it."
"You think?"
He turned pleading eyes to the older man. "What am I going to do? How could I have done this? Tom's my best friend. How can I tell him while he was nearly dying I was necking with B'Elanna?"
"I don't know, Harry. Let me ask you this- If Tom weren't in the picture, what would you do now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Would you and B'Elanna be thinking about trying a romantic relationship together?"
"Look, Commander, with all due respect, I know you don't like Tom all that much and like the idea of Tom and B'Elanna together even less, but I really don't think encouraging me to try to take her away from him is something you should be doing!"
"Really?"
"Really! She loves him and he loves her. They belong together whether you like it or not!"
"What about you? Do you like it?"
"Do I...? I've done everything I can to get the two of them back together again. And I am not going to stand for you coming in here and-"
"So if she decided she didn't want Tom anymore, you wouldn't be first in line, trying to win her affections?"
"She hasn't," Harry gasped.
"Just answer the question."
"She's my friend. I don't think of her like that."
"But you enjoyed kissing her."
"I guess," he conceded. "She's pretty. I'm a heterosexual male."
"And not adverse to kissing a pretty woman."
"Yeah. I mean, I like her, I love her even, but as my friend. Anything more than that between us never would work out."
"You sound like you have given this some thought."
"Somebody once said something about her and I being a good couple. I knew even then it wouldn't work. She's too temperamental, too stubborn. Tom is the only one who can handle her." He openly glared at the Commander. "So if you've come here trying to cause trouble-"
Chakotay held up his hands in surrender. "All right, Harry, I get the point."
"Fine."
"I'm not trying to cause trouble. I was trying to gauge your reaction to all this."
"My reaction?"
"Yes. I had to know if there was any hope on your part of a future between you and B'Elanna."
"Nothing other than friendship, but-"
"B'Elanna has got herself worked into such a state that she's decided it's over between her and Tom."
Harry paled. "Because of me?"
He sighed. "Partly because of you, or more correctly because of the guilt she feels over having kissed you while Tom was in Sickbay. She's subconsciously decided to sabotage their relationship before she has to confront that guilt. And then there's her feelings about the parole test."
"We're worse off than before I talked to her today," Harry sighed. "I have to talk to her and-"
"No. That is the last thing you're going to do."
"Commander?"
"She's confused right now and grabbing onto what happened as an excuse to avoid confronting her feelings. You can't talk to her about this, not right now anyway. Unfortunately, I don't think I am the one to talk sense to her either, not after the way she reacted when I told her a few home truths." He sighed. "I wish there was a female on board that she felt close enough to that could talk to her about this."
"Maybe the Captain could try?"
"Maybe. I'll ask her."
"Whoever it is, something has to be done soon. If there isn't a change in her attitude, her staff will mutiny or worse sick the Delaneys on her."
"May the spirits help us if that happens."
-------
As the sounds around him decreased, he silently watched and waited.
For hours he had crawled the airshafts, visiting various areas of the prison and leaving little "surprises" behind. Once everything was where it was intended to be, he had settled into this airshaft to wait for his chance. That had been four hours and seventeen minutes ago.
Every few minutes, to keep boredom from settling in, he went through the litany of mentally repeating the steps of his plan. At the same time, he automatically tensed then relaxed each of his muscles in turn to prevent cramping. His senses of sight, smell, and hearing remained on alert. No one was going to be surprising him if he could prevent it.
His briefing had been very explicit about how anyone caught attempting to break out of Uucuu Prison was treated. There was no data on those caught attempting to break *in* to Uucuu Prison. No one ever had been stupid enough or suicidal enough to try it. AlphaOmegan 41783 was neither. What he "was" was on a Mission. One which had to be completed within two hours or he had to abort.
All he needed now was the opportunity to act.
It came ten minutes later. The last of the prisoners had fallen asleep or passed out from their injuries from their last "interview" with the warden. All was quiet.
Two by two, the four members of the patrol passed by his position on their rounds. Their somehow sensing his presence in the darkness was his only worry at this point. Certain circuits had been bypassed hours ago so the internal sensors overlooked him. Unlike t
hose intruder alarms, the guards could not be coaxed into ignoring what they saw.
Luckily for him, the guards never slowed their progress down the corridor.
He waited another minute for them to be well into the next cellblock before easing back the bolts that secured the airshaft access panel. Hours ago he had sprayed the entire panel with penetrating oil so it did not make a sound as it was slid up then back into place.
Stealthily, he slipped across the corridor and down three doors to a certain cell. He withdrew a miniature tricorder and scanned for occupants, found the genetic patterns to match the ones he sought, then returned the device to his midnight blue jumpsuit's waist pocket. He applied the oil to the door hinge then set to work on picking the centuries old lock of the cell door. For someone with his talents it took only a few seconds before he was inside.
The figure on the pallet on the floor did not stir. With his night-vision contact lenses, AlphaOmegan 41783 easily could see the broken figure of the old Romulan uncomfortably lying there. He hurried over, slid a stiletto out from its sheath strapped to the inside of his right leg and bent over the prisoner.
Whether he had erred in some fashion or it was some sort of instinct on the prisoner's part, he never knew. When it was all over, in depth analysis of the recordings made by his Implant could not reveal the error either. All it did reveal was that the old Romulan awoke at the same second AlphaOmegan 41783 was preparing to dispatch him.
A fierce struggle ensued. While the Romulan was old and weak from maltreatment and malnourishment, the desire to survive was a strong one. For a brief moment, he fought valiantly. Then he weakened once more and the end was the same. The Romulan died from a quick jab with the stiletto. The entire interlude took less than a minute yet that was thirty-seven seconds longer than had been budgeted. And a lot noisier.
The patrol was coming back around. He could hear the steady thump of their heavy boots as they stormed in formation down the corridor. Obviously they had heard the commotion from the cell and were coming to investigate.
To the outside observer it would have seemed like he was trapped. The outside observer would have been wrong.
AlphaOmegan 41783 pulled a fist-sized bomb from his waist pocket, pressed a button and tossed it into a dark corner. He hurried to the still open cell door. Nudging a couple of small metal balls from his left breast pocket, he squeezed them in his hand as he stepped out into the corridor.
The four who approached let out shouts and reflexively fired their projectile weapons at the intruder swathed hood to boot in the darkest of blues. He dove and rolled across the corridor, sending the little balls rolling down the flagstone flooring towards the guards. At a shrill whistle from him, the silver balls activated and exploded, sending great clouds of pale chartreuse smoke.
He scrambled for the airshaft and was inside, but not before more of the projectiles found their mark. It was a miracle they did with the vision of the holders of the weapons so obscured by the smoke. The pain from the injuries was forced to the back of his mind to be experienced later, after he had escaped this place.
As fast as he could, he scurried up the shaft to the spot where he had left his pack. The moment he reached it, he could hear shouts and yells coming from every room and corridor into which the airshaft system opened. Clearly, his secret infiltration of the prison no longer was a secret.
Slipping on the pack, he paused, hearing the sounds of people entering the airshafts. They would have no trouble following the trail of blood that he knew he was leaving behind him. It could not be helped. Though they did not know it, their pursuit of him would be brief. Taking out the only explosive he had yet to place, he activated the fifteen-minute countdown and slammed the last of the charge into the stone wall where it fused to the rock. It was the last of the "presents" and the activation of its countdown triggered the others to do the same.
Naturally, he had factored the possibility of his sustaining injuries into the choice of fifteen minutes as the time limit for him to retreat. Still, he barely managed to make it to the exterior wall and the air intake grate he had removed to gain entry to the prison. As he began to scale down the wall of the prison, the first in a series of explosions rocked the massive structure.
Suddenly, he fell. The prison was only three storys, but three storys built on the edge of a seven storey cliff. He plummeted down and into the crashing sea beneath. He was dashed against the rocks repeatedly before the transporter beam caught him... at the exact moment a huge section of wall came plunging down towards him. He was beamed out of the surf and raining debris of Uucuu Prison and onto the waiting transport ship in orbit.
-------
The EMH rushed out of his office at the sound of Tom's first screams. By the time he had made it to the pilot's biobed, the young man was scrunched back against the diagnostic display, trembling, eyes screwed shut, arms crossed over his head as if to shield himself from a blow. Alarmed by this, the hologram tried his "gentle approach" algorithm.
"Tom? Wake up, Tom. It's all right. You're safe now. You're in Sickbay."
When Tom Paris' eyes snapped open, they seemed to be everywhere at once. The Doctor had the impression that there was not a single millimeter of the room that had been overlooked.
"Tom. I know things seem to be a little strange right now, but I want to assure you that you are okay. However you need to lie down right now so you can rest. Okay?"
Slowly, Tom permitted him to assist him in returning to a reclining position. As the Doc was tucking the blanket back around him, Tom's lips parted ever so slightly. The Doctor bent close to the lips to hear the single word.
"I know about the katra," the EMH answered. "I've done all I can for Tuvok's body. We have no choice but wait to see how things turn out. Both of you need to recuperate for awhile."
The blue eyes fluttered shut once more.
'Mr. Paris,' Tuvok said as they heard the Doctor return to his office, 'I believe we should discuss what happened.'
'Tuvok, you know what happened,' Tom responded wearily. 'There was a cave in. We-'
'No, I mean the memory we just experienced.'
Tom tried to dismiss the subject. 'It was a meaningless nightmare, Tuvok, not a memory. Forget it.'
'I do not think that is the case, Lieutenant. You forget that you are talking to a Vulcan. I can tell the difference between a simple nightmare and a memory. We may be "roommates" for sometime, Mr. Paris. I believe that gives me the right to ask -'
'You said you wouldn't pry!'
'And I am not. What just happened cannot be permitted to continue. Your emotions are particularly strong, even for a human. I am Vulcan. Such violent emotions are difficult enough to control when they are your own. By adding yours to the mix it will become difficult to retain the serenity which is necessary for a Vulcan.'
'It was a nightmare, Tuvok. Leave it alone.'
'You cannot lie to me now, Mr. Paris. It was a memory and if we do not discuss it and deal with it immediately it will resurface and potentially cause problems. If it does so at an inopportune moment, the ship might be endangered.'
'I won't endanger the ship.'
Over the next few minutes, Tom began to remember what he had learned over the past months -- there is nowhere one can go when one's interrogator is in one's own head. Tuvok continued to lecture him, laying out one solid argument after another for their discussing the memory. Finally Tom could not take it anymore. Tom had endured months of Camet and the others picking away at him, taunting him about his past as an AlphaOmegan and his misdeeds. He had survived mind-numbing torture the only time he had been captured while on a Mission yet still had held his tongue. But when it came to the unending arguments of this Vulcan, he surrendered.
'Fine, it was a memory.'
'And...?'
'And what?'
'And we will have to talk about it, Lieutenant.'
'There's nothing to tell. You saw it all apparently.'
'I saw you planting bombs in a pris
on. I saw you wait for hours on end to enter a prisoner's cell and assassinate him. I saw you be seriously injured, evade capture, detonate your explosives, and nearly fall to your death. What I did not see was an explanation as to why.'
'That is not relevant. The cave must have brought back the memory of the fall and all that was associated with it. I now know we're safe so there'll be no more nightmares.'
'That does sound like a plausible argument, however -'
'There's no "however" about it, Tuvok. It's over. That will be the last one you see. End of story.'
'Hardly, Lieutenant. There remains the not so small matter of the death of that prisoner. *And* of everyone else inside of that prison I would assume.'
'End of story, Tuvok,' Tom stressed as they felt the Doctor press a hypospray to "Tom's" neck.
As they grew sleepy, the Vulcan appeared to surrender the point. 'For now, Lieutenant.'
'Forever, Lieutenant Commander.'
-------
"Kathryn, may I speak with you?"
The Captain smiled at her First Officer and ushered him into her quarters. "Always. Come in." She took a close look at his serious face. "I take it things did not go well with B'Elanna and Harry."
"No," he sighed, sitting down on the couch, "they didn't. That's what I need to talk to you about."
She settled down next to him. "Okay, shoot."
And so, metaphorically speaking, he did. At the end of his recitation of the events on the planet and the mindsets of the two involved, Kathryn closed her eyes. "Poor Harry."
"He does always seem to get caught in the middle of their battles one way or another, doesn't he."
"What are we going to do with Tom and B'Elanna?" she groaned. "They are so stubborn!"
"That is putting it mildly, yes," he agreed. "Some of the engineers have suggested locking them up together until they work everything out. It might not be such a bad idea, but not until after B'Elanna's recovered from this incident with Harry. Her blurting out what happened certainly won't help."
"No, it wouldn't."
"I wondered if maybe you could talk to her?"
"I don't know if my talking to her will do any good, but I'll try," she promised, blue-grey eyes sincere yet not hopeful.