Trials 01 Tom's Trail

by Terri Zavaleta

  A single tear trickled down her cheek. She continued to smile at him. "No. Thank you for the offer. You need to rest as much as I do.

  Has anyone told you, Tom, that you look terrible?"

  He smiled ruefully. "Now that's the pot calling the kettle black. Have you looked in a mirror?"

  "Tom!" B'Elanna protested. They both looked at her. "I can't believe you said that."

  "His rudeness is part of his charm," Malista explained with a half smile.

  "She started it," Tom accused sulkily.

  Torres took hold of his arm and dragged him out the door. "Excuse us, Malista. I think Tommy boy needs a nap. He's getting cranky."

  Malista smiled and nodded. "By the way, B'Elanna, thanks for the loan of your friend. Keep him in line."

  "Sure. He has his uses. Call me if you need anything---any time," Torres ordered. She pulled Tom down the corridor as Malista stepped back inside and closed the door.

  A few yards down the corridor, Tom abruptly stopped walking.

  "What?" Torres asked, staring up at him. "What's the matter?"

  Paris looked at her consideringly. After a moment, with a perfectly serious expression he said, "B'Elanna, I really need a hug right now." He didn't have to wait long for her response.

  She carefully wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tightly to her body. Her head rested on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head atop hers feeling her warmth steal over him like a security blanket. She felt encouraged that he hadn't made a joke of the simple request for comfort. He was learning he didn't

  have to use humor all the time. Maybe he was learning to trust her. Maybe she was learning to trust him. "Better?" she asked.

  "Much." He pulled back from the hug, keeping one arm around her, and started walking again.

  "Are you worried about her?"

  "Yeah. But I don't know why. There was something in her eyes. She's a little too calm. Did you notice?" he asked.

  "Not really. But then I'm not good at noticing things unless it has to do with Engineering," she stated. "Listen, if she needs someone to talk to, she'll probably call you. If not, you can call her later and check on her."

  "You don't mind?" Paris asked tentatively.

  Torres stopped walking and gazed up at him solemnly so he wouldn't misunderstand what she was saying. "She saved your life. I owe her---big time! She's your friend---maybe someday we can all be friends. I wouldn't push myself on her right now. If she needs to see you alone, I don't have a problem with that. No matter what the betting pool says."

  Paris snapped to attention. "Betting pool? What does the betting pool say?"

  "Never mind, Hotshot!"

  "Hey! I should get in on the action!"

  "Over my dead body---or yours!"

  ***********************

  It was almost 2400 hours. Midnight. The witching hour. Time for all good boys and girls to be asleep. Except Tom Paris couldn't sleep. The nap he'd taken that afternoon at B'Elanna's insistence had robbed him of the desire to sleep now. He turned on his computer, thinking he would look for something to read. He had an incoming message. He punched it up. It was from Malista. A poem.

  "I found this in the database and thought it was appropriate for you, my friend. :

  TO A FRIEND by Grace Stricker Dawson

  You entered my life in a casual way,

  And saw at a glance what I needed;

  There were others who passed me or met me each day, But never a one of them heeded.

  Perhaps you were thinking of other folks more,

  Or chance simply seemed to decree it;

  I know there were many such chances before,

  But the others---well, they didn't see it.

  You said just the thing that I wished you would say, And you made me believe that you meant it;

  I held up my head in the old gallant way,

  And resolved you should never repent it,

  There are times when encouragement means such a lot, And a word is enough to convey it;

  There were others who could have, as easy as not--- But, just the same, they didn't say it.

  There may have been someone who could have done more To help me along, though I doubt it;

  What I needed was cheering, and always before

  They had let me plod onward without it.

  You helped to refashion the dream of my heart,

  And made me turn eagerly to it;

  There were others who might have (I question that part)--- But, after all, they didn't do it!

  Thank you, Tom.

  Malista

  Tom was moved by the sentiment of the poem. It made him feel warm, but somehow the message also made him uneasy. There was at the back of his mind. He ran through the day's events in his mind, searching for a clue. The look in Malista's eyes when he'd hugged her good-bye after lunch---he recognized it. He just didn't know how. He felt compelled to go check on her.

  He was approaching her quarters from one side when he met Torres and Kim coming from Sandrine's. "You're supposed to be resting," Harry accused.

  Tom was frowning. "Have you seen Malista?"

  "She's not in her quarters?" Torres asked.

  Paris hadn't thought to find out. His anxiety had led him there without thought. "Computer, locate Crewman Shadow."

  "Crewman Shadow is in her quarters."

  Paris hit the door signal. There was no response.

  "It's kind of late, Tom. She might be asleep," Harry protested. "She's off duty."

  Paris hit the signal again. His nerves were jittery and getting more so. Still no answer. "Computer, override lock on Crewman Shadow's quarters."

  "Authorization?"

  Paris didn't have clearance---or if he did, he couldn't think of the right words right now. He shot a pleading glance at B'Elanna who was picking up his edginess. Her intuition was starting to signal that something was amiss. "Authorization, Torres, Engineering Kappa Delta Pi."

  The door slid open. "Computer, lights. Standard illumination." Paris was moving faster, as he quickly searched the quarters. Everything was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. She wasn't there, but her commbadge was lying on her desk. Next to it was the pink material she'd been knitting. There was a note attached with the name 'Kim Wildman' printed on it clearly. She'd finished the blanket

  for Samantha's baby. Why would she bother to label it? She could deliver it herself. Where could she be?

  "Why would she leave her commbadge?" Kim asked.

  "She doesn't want to be found."

  "Tom, what's going on?" B'Elanna demanded.

  Paris closed his eyes as he tried to think clearly. "God, I hope I'm wrong." He stared at Kim and Torres. "I think she might be---I don't want this to get out! I could be wrong! I think she could be planning to commit suicide!"

  Kim looked shocked. "Why would you think that? You said she was acting normally at lunch."

  "That's the point, Harry. She was saying good-bye. She put her things in order, made her plans, had a farewell lunch---she'd already decided on when and how. She made a point of saying goodbye to all of us when we left her quarters. I knew I'd seen that look before! Why am I so stupid? I should have expected it." He couldn't think! "How

  can we find her?"

  "Tom! It's her choice, not yours. Let's find her and stop her," B'Elanna snapped. "Computer, use internal sensors to locate any human life form not identified with a commbadge."

  "Computer, omit those who are not alone," Kim added.

  "Working," the computer responded.

  Torres stared at Kim. "She wouldn't be with anyone else. She'd be somewhere she could be alone and uninterrupted. And some people don't wear commbadges when they're in their quarters," Kim explained.

  "Within the parameters given, there is one human female on Holodeck One. A privacy lock is in place," the computer reported.

  Paris, Kim, and Torres burst out into the corridor and almost ran over Chakotay who was approaching with an anxious lo
ok on his face. "Did she---"

  "Holodeck One!" Paris shouted, barely slowing as he ran, holding his side and breathing hard, with Torres and Kim on his heels. Chakotay spun and joined in the chase.

  "Computer, open Holodeck One! Override privacy lock---authorization Chakotay Gamma Delta Twelve." The doors slid open. The four stopped to catch their breath and entered quietly, not knowing what to expect. Paris' Lake Como program was running.

  Malista was standing at the top of the hill, leaning against a tree as she watched the sunset over the lake. She was dressed in a white peasant blouse and a long white skirt. She had a wine glass in her left hand. She heard them coming. They let Paris take the lead, Chakotay, Torres and Kim hung back so they wouldn't precipitate any

  action.

  "Go away."

  "Malista, let's talk," Tom said earnestly. "We need to talk about this."

  "Damn. I knew I shouldn't have sent that poem. You're too damned smart. I should have told the computer to wait till tomorrow."

  "Malista, don't. Please! Don't!" Tom was at the bottom of the hill now, about twenty yards below her.

  She seemed to be in an introspective mood. "I knew you were smart, Tom. I should have known you'd figure it out too soon. Stop. Don't come any closer." She lifted her right hand from the folds of her white skirt. She had a long, wicked-looking knife.

  "You wouldn't hurt me," Tom stated confidently, taking another step nearer.

  "No, but you could force me to do this the hard way." She held the knife to her own throat. "The messy way. I'd planned to use hemlock. Traditional Greek to the end." She held up the wine glass as if making a toast.

  Tom froze. "You're determined to do this?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry you found out. Was it just the poem? Or did I slip up?" She asked curiously. She was so serene the whole scene seemed surreal.

  "I knew I recognized the look in your eyes. I'd seen it before," Paris said, trying to match her calm.

  "Oh, really? Where? Or should I say who?"

  "In the mirror. There was a time when I thought about it. More than once actually." Vaguely Paris was aware of a loud gasp behind him. He couldn't afford to think about other people or their reactions right now. He was focused on Malista. He had to stop her. He didn't think he could stand it if she did this.

  "What stopped you?" she asked, almost dreamily, her words were slightly slurred. Tom suspected she'd been drinking wine---and not syntheholic wine---for some time before adding the poison to the glass.

  "A poem. I was reading a book of poetry while I waited for a chance to---anyway, there was a poem called "To The Men Who Lose" by some human named Scarborough. Would you like to hear some of it? I memorized it."

  "You're just stalling," she accused.

  "No, really. The best one is the second stanza. Listen:

  Here's to the men who lose!

  If triumph's easy smile our struggles greet,

  Courage is easy then;

  The king is he who, after fierce defeat,

  Can up and fight again."

  Paris slid his foot a little higher on the hill. If he distracted her, he might get close enough to pin her before she could use the poison or the knife.

  "That's a good poem. I wish I'd had a chance to read it." She held up the glass of wine and rubbed the rim of the glass against her bottom lip. "Tom, stop moving---unless you want to leave."

  "Tell me why you want to do this," Paris pleaded. "Help me understand."

  Her response was between laughter and tears. "Tom. You're sweet. But think about it---why shouldn't I? It would be easier to be dead." Her voice broke.

  "Easier than what?" Tom asked quietly.

  "Easier than life. Easier than living with no family---no friends. Easier than living with guilt!" She was turning inward again, tortured by her thoughts.

  "What guilt? Huldon III? Is this what it's about?" Chakotay came to stand at Paris' shoulder.

  She nodded slowly. "That's where it started. This is where it's ending."

  "What happened there?" Chakotay asked. "Was Dishon the hero you said?"

  She answered Chakotay's question, but looked only at Paris. "You said you'd heard about Huldon III? Dishon and I were the only survivors. Try living with the guilt of surviving when three others didn't. It would be easier to be dead," she repeated insistently.

  "I have lived with it. Remember Caldik Prime? Who killed the Cardassians, Malista?" Tom asked, suddenly sure he knew.

  "They asked who wanted to be interrogated first. I volunteered." Tears were streaming down her face completely unnoticed. She kept playing with the knife, running it lightly across her throat as she spoke. A small slip and she could cut her jugular vein, bleed to death within minutes. "See, I'd heard that the Cardies liked to take

  their time with the female prisoners. I thought maybe I could buy some time to wait for the rescue attempt."

  What a price she'd been willing to pay to save her friends! It hurt for Tom to breathe. He couldn't imagine what she'd been through. "Malista, I'm sorry you had to experience that. But it's over---"

  "That's not all!" The words had been bottled up for more than five years. She'd started telling it. She'd tell the whole thing. She had to make Tom understand why she was ready to die. "They took me first, but then they beat the others--- They beat Jano, Lanal, and Hapay to death to get me excited so it would be more fun to rape me. I didn't struggle at first. They found out I could stand my own pain, but I hated it when they hurt the others. They couldn't break me so they used the others. They'd just started on Niko---" she choked for a moment.

  "They started in on Niko. The blood made my arm slippery so I got my arm free. I grabbed the Cardies' rifle. Only one of them was armed. They didn't expect any trouble from us. They'd already killed---already hurt---I blasted my restraints and stunned the Cardies holding Niko. As the one next to me fell, I grabbed the knife he'd

  been---playing with," She drew the knife she held down her cheek as if remembering. "I cut my hair off so I could get off the table. I used to have long hair. Did you know that?"

  Paris held her eyes. "No, you never told me."

  "It was down to my waist. The Cardies used it like a rope to tie my head to the examination table they used. That's why my hair's so short now. Never again." She shook herself out of her reverie and returned her attention to Tom, looking at him vaguely. "Where was I?"

  "You stunned the Cardassians," Paris supplied, sliding his other foot higher up the hill.

  "That's right. Niko killed one of the Cardies. I'd stunned the other four by then. The Cardies were just lying there unconscious. All of them. Then I went crazy. I just---went crazy. Have you ever heard of a berserker? That's what I was. I hacked them to pieces with their own knife. While they were lying there unconscious. The next

  thing I knew, Niko was holding me and telling me it was over. But it wasn't. It wasn't really over till Niko died." She put the knife against her throat, pressing more firmly into her flesh this time, causing an indentation.

  "Malista, Niko wouldn't want you to do this!" Paris argued. "He wanted you to live."

  "He made me live." There was resentment in her voice. "I had to live or he couldn't deal with the guilt of being the only survivor. Even though I was damaged goods, Niko wanted me around. He didn't want me for himself or anything. He just needed me to be his friend."

  Paris could feel her slipping away. She was working herself up to it. "Malista, you owe it to yourself to live. There's a reason you survived."

  "Tom, how can you think that? You, of all people? You survived Caldik Prime. Look what it did for you. Ruined your life. Disowned by your family. You're damaged goods, too. Both of us. It would be easier to be dead. It would be easier to be dead." The repetition sounded like a mantra. She seemed to be trying to convince Paris she

  was right---as if to win his approval of her action.

  Chakotay touched Paris's shoulder. "There's something else. This isn't only about the past," he whispered. "She ma
y feel guilty for surviving this time too."

  Paris nodded, without taking his eyes off her. "Malista, when we were in the cargo bay, what happened? You grabbed my arm, didn't you? You saved my life. Did I ever thank you? I meant to."

  She said nothing.

  "You snatched a cargo loader with one hand and grabbed my arm with the other, right?"

  Her eyes were going blank. Finally, she said, "Yes. I saved you. " She held the knife in front of her face and studied it. "I did. I chose you. Instead of Niko."

  Tom felt he was caught in a nightmare as he followed the implication. "You tried to save Niko?"

  "I tried. I reached for both of you. I locked my legs around the cargo loader. I caught you. I didn't catch him. I didn't catch---him." Her voice was trembling. The knife was shaking in her grasp.

  "You tried!" Paris said desperately. "He was further away than I was. You couldn't reach him."

  "If I'd let you go, I could have." She looked at him like a lost child, hoping for reassurance. "Couldn't I?"

  "No. He was standing at least five feet behind me. You couldn't reach him! There was no way you could have helped him. It wasn't your fault!" Paris felt tears running down his own cheeks. "You saved my life because I was standing closest to you. You didn't choose to save

  me and let Niko die. Don't take on blame and guilt that isn't yours! You did your best!"

  "I lived for him!" she shouted. "Don't you understand? I wanted to die after Huldon III, but I lived for him. Because he wanted me to. He's dead. There's no reason for me to live. I'm damaged goods! I'll never be whole again! There's nothing---no one left to live

  for."

  Paris shouted back at her. "You can't live your life for someone else! Not your friends, not your family, not anyone other than you! You have friends on this ship. You could have a family of your own. You have to want to live for you---no one else! You're talking to the expert here! If you aren't living for yourself, you'll never be

  happy. Because you're trying to live up to their standards or live the way they want you to. You have to live your own life---not someone else's. You have another chance to make a new life for yourself here. The way I want---the way I have."