Trials 04 Shadow's Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  "Angelic?" Janeway murmured. "That isn't the word that I would have

  used to describe him."

  "Really?" Tom said impudently. "What word---would you use, Captain?"

  "Actually, I used the word bear-like." She speared him with her gray

  eyes.

  Unfazed, Tom quirked an amused eyebrow at her. "As in grizzly---or as

  in teddy?"

  She sent a quelling glance in his direction and promptly changed the

  subject. "Who else have we decided on? And who's left? Are you writing

  these down?"

  When the captain played a game, she entered into it wholeheartedly.

  The others enjoyed her joining in and none of them noticed how subdued

  Malista Shadow had become. She was experienced at fading into the

  background. All it took was smiling, nodding, and murmuring agreement

  often enough to keep others from noticing she wasn't really

  participating. Saying nothing was often the easiest way to avoid

  saying the wrong thing.

  *****************

  After a morning of working on the aft sensor arrays, Lt. Susan

  Nicoletti accompanied Crewman Malista Shadow to the Security Office

  during their lunch break. Malista had asked Ensign George Natwick for

  workout programs for practicing her self-defense training. She'd

  hesitated to pick them up as promised because she felt awkward about

  facing him again alone.

  Nicoletti, her occasional partner in working Maintenance, had

  volunteered to go with her. She didn't trust George Natwick as far as

  she could throw the warp core and she wanted to be sure he wouldn't

  try anything. There were several good reasons why Nicoletti was

  occasionally referred to as Mama Bear, though never to her face.

  Natwick looked up from his terminal as they walked in and stood before

  his desk. His eyes made a quick inspection of Shadow and her

  attitude.

  Malista remembered Jenny Delaney's orders and smiled sweetly at him.

  His eyes narrowed. "Can I help you?" His voice was totally

  professional, but his intent was hard to read. He never took his eyes

  off Malista Shadow and ignored Sue Nicoletti as if she were invisible.

  "Yes, Ensign. You told me you had some self-defense workouts that I

  could borrow for use in the holodeck." Her tone was thoroughly

  business-like.

  He stared at her for a moment. "Oh. Yeah, uh, sure. Let me find them,"

  he faltered. He began to paw through the desk drawer and produced

  three data crystals. He got to his feet and extended them toward

  Malista. As he dropped the crystals into her palm, his hand brushed

  hers and he captured her hand for a moment. "Are you all right?" he

  said in an undertone, ignoring Nicoletti's frowning surveillance. His

  brown eyes scanned her face as if trying to see beyond her polite mask

  of professionalism.

  Shadow tugged her hand free. "I'm fine, Ensign Natwick," she replied

  evenly. "Thank you. Is there anything I need to know about the

  programs?"

  He seemed to shake himself out of a light trance and dropped his eyes

  to the desk. "The numbers of each program indicate the difficulty

  level. One is the beginner program. As the numbers increase, so does

  the difficulty of the simulation---number of opponents, types of

  weapons---that kind of thing."

  Malista felt a wisp of her black hair escaping its anchor and reached

  up to push it back into place. Natwick's eyes darted to her hand and

  traced its movement, almost as if he expected her to pull a weapon on

  him. Shadow darted a glance at Nicoletti.

  Sue shrugged. She didn't know why the Security Officer seemed so edgy.

  Natwick reseated himself behind the desk, still staring at the women

  suspiciously. "Let me know if you need help with the programs."

  "I will. Thank you." Shadow turned to leave, but halted when he said

  her name.

  "Malista? I'm sorry about---you know."

  Her spine stiffened. She cast a look at him over her shoulder, but

  didn't turn. "What? For hitting Harry?" she asked scathingly.

  Natwick scowled. "He had that coming for the way he treated you. No, I

  meant---" His brown eyes went to Nicoletti again. "I meant I was sorry

  I said anything to him. I didn't intend to hit him. I was a little

  off balance emotionally at the time. When I saw him, I just---lost my

  temper. Something I haven't done in a long time. I didn't really

  intend to hurt him. I'm sorry. No hard feelings?"

  Nicoletti was watching the exchange impassively, but her mind was

  spinning. If she didn't know better, she would think George Natwick

  had serious feelings for Malista Shadow---but was also afraid of her

  for some reason. Or at least concerned about her reaction to his

  behavior. That was a first. When not on duty, Natwick was known for

  going his own way, without regard for anyone's feelings or opinions.

  His was the original lone wolf personality.

  Malista, remembering Jenny Delaney's instructions, smiled as sweetly

  as she could manage. "Of course not, George. Why would there be any

  hard feelings?" The words were innocently spoken, but coupled with

  that smile---rang false in Natwick's ears. As they were meant to,

  though Malista wasn't really aware of that.

  As the door slid closed behind Nicoletti and Shadow, the ensign began

  to analyze the possible plans of attack Malista might use to take her

  revenge on him. Without trying hard, he'd come up with twenty-five

  different scenarios before the end of his shift.

  *****************

  B'Elanna studied her surroundings. "This is it?" she asked sharply.

  "Not exactly," Tom replied.

  She watched as he lazily leaned forward with an outstretched hand and

  switched on the---What was it he'd called it? Oh, yes. A radio. Some

  idiot started crooning stupid questions. 'Are the stars out tonight? I

  don't know if it's cloudy or bright---'

  B'Elanna reached out and snapped the radio off.

  "What did you do that for?" Paris complained.

  "It was ridiculous. Of course the stars are out. They're always out.

  If he'd look up, he'd see them---"

  The lieutenant slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand.

  "B'Elanna, it's a song! Not a science class!" He sighed deeply. "Come

  on. Lean back. Relax." He dropped his hand on her shoulder and pulled

  her back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

  "And do what?" she asked impatiently. "What kind of program is this?"

  Tom fought off another sigh. He'd bet a week's worth of replicator

  rations that the Doc hadn't had this much trouble with Denara Pel.

  "It's a leisure program, B'Elanna. You don't have to fight anyone, or

  scale anything, or chase something around in circles. You just sit

  here in this wonderful classic 1957 Chevy and look at the stars. And

  listen to some mellow music. Or enjoy the view of the colony below.

  Or---cuddle a little. Or a lot. Don't you *ever* just sit still and do

  absolutely nothing?"

  She pulled away from him and stared at him. It was *not* a happy

  stare.

  He decided his words were getting in the way more than they were

  helping. He tried letting hi
s eyes speak for him. His blue eyes had a

  way with words. When his mouth didn't interfere. After a moment, she

  relaxed against him again, turning to rest her back against his

  muscular chest, her head lying on his shoulder.

  "All right, I'll *try* your *leisure* program." She paused. She

  tilted her head to look up at him, "But it's going to get boring, if

  this is all there is to it----"

  He fastened his lips onto hers. Her objections melted away in the

  sizzling sensations aroused by his kiss.

  Oxygen deprivation forced a brief intermission.

  "There is something to be said for relaxing," she purred. "Turn the

  music back on."

  He obeyed.

  "Now kiss me, Lieutenant Paris." Her smile was predatory.

  "Yes, ma'am!" He obeyed. With enthusiasm.

  ******************

  Every day it seemed to get worse. The comments, the sly digs, the

  looks---especially the looks. Conversations stopped abruptly or made

  sudden detours in topic when she came into view. Malista was

  beginning to dread getting out of bed and reporting for duty. She felt

  half of the Alpha shift had nothing better to do than to try to pump

  her for information about her relationships with Harry Kim, Tom Paris,

  and B'Elanna Torres. Those who weren't curious, were judgmental and

  wanted her to feel the weight of their disapproval.

  She hadn't had to deal with so much attention since---since Huldon

  III. At that time, she'd been so physically and mentally traumatized

  that she'd hardly noticed the stares and whispers. And when she had

  been in a condition to do so, Niko Dishon had been there to run

  interference. She missed Niko and mourned his death. They hadn't had

  much in common, but he'd always been there. For five years, he'd

  protected her, shielded her, and even fought for her---to keep other

  people away. To keep other people from hurting her.

  It seemed that everywhere she went, someone was talking about her. She

  would walk into a room or out of the turbolift and everyone would

  stare. She didn't know what to do when that happened, so she tried to

  pretend she didn't see them, didn't hear them. She didn't answer their

  greetings, didn't speak to anyone. She stopped wearing makeup on duty

  and screwed her shoulder-length hair into an unflattering bun on the

  nape of her neck, trying to make herself as unattractive as possible,

  hoping to avoid attention.

  It didn't work. She didn't need makeup to draw attention to her good

  features. With her hair pulled back, her classical bone structure and

  wonderful pale gold skin were more easily admired. She tried her best

  to disappear into the crowd and go unnoticed but, for the first time

  in her life, she couldn't achieve anonymity simply by wishing for it.

  *****************

  "I can't believe her attitude!" The exclamation came to Tom Paris'

  ears as he rounded the corner of the corridor on his way to

  Engineering. The unseen speaker was working in the Jefferies tube that

  he was passing.

  "Since when does being with the Senior staff give you the right to put

  on airs? She won't even speak to us common people any more. Who does

  she think she is? Some kind of princess?" The complainer went on,

  encouraged by a mumble from her companion. "Well, I can tell you I'm

  not going to speak to her either. She thinks she's fooling anyone?

  She's sleeping her way to the top. Everyone knows that."

  Tom directed a scornful glance at the hatch as he passed by. He

  detested gossips. If he'd thought it would do any good, he would

  confront them. But he'd learned from bitter experience that a

  confrontation just gave them more ammunition to lob---and sometimes a

  new target. He wondered idly who they could be talking about.

  Senior staff? The only women on the Senior staff were Captain Janeway,

  B'Elanna Torres, and Kes. It couldn't be Janeway. She was the top of

  the chain of command---no reason to 'sleep her way to the top'. Kes?

  Some people didn't like her because they found her telepathic

  abilities frightening, but---no, he didn't think it could be her.

  B'Elanna? Most people gossiped about her temper, not her private

  life. And anyway, her relationship with him wouldn't help her gain a

  promotion. It didn't add up.

  Paris shrugged. Some people could find insult in any behavior. Maybe

  B'Elanna or Kes had ticked someone off. A little gossip wouldn't do

  any harm. He decided to ignore it.

  If he'd lingered a little longer, he would have solved the mystery of

  the identity of the object of discussion. The second person in the

  access crawl way finally gave his opinion. "I think she's

  intimidating. She towers over me and the way she looks at me with

  those cold green eyes---I've seen warmer expressions on statues!"

  His partner laughed as they went back to work. "Well, if Harry Kim

  wants to cuddle up to an overgrown marble sculpture---it's his loss.

  Now if he wants a real woman---"

  "You'd volunteer for that duty? I knew you were interested in him for

  yourself."

  **************************

  Torres was nowhere in sight when Tom Paris entered Engineering. He

  caught the eye of the nearest engineer and asked for her. Susan

  Nicoletti pointed up to the second level. Paris thanked her and

  started for the lift. A sudden flurry of loud Klingon epithets

  drifted downward from above---not falling gently on anyone's ears.

  Tom's eyebrows rose and he hurried to the lift. Now he knew why

  everyone else in the department had found work to do on the lower

  level.

  She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the open access

  panel in the bulkhead. When he got closer to the source, he could

  identify the epithets as being directed at a recalcitrant lubricant

  container that was oozing slimy liquid all over the chief engineer's

  hands. It was quite evident from the appearance of the container that

  ---probably in a fit of pique---she had squeezed it much too tightly,

  forgetting the strength her Klingon heritage afforded her. The seams

  had burst.

  Hearing his footsteps, she turned a glare in his direction.

  "Don't-you-dare-laugh!" she rapped out vehemently. She felt

  self-conscious, inept, and embarrassed to have him or anyone else see

  her make such a silly, clumsy mistake. She was just glad that no one

  else was working in the area.

  Widening his eyes as much as possible, Paris shook his head silently.

  He saw a cleansing towel resting on a table nearby and handed it to

  her without comment. He deftly scooped up the container and placed it

  in a small trash receptacle---without getting a speck of lubricant on

  himself, of course.

  Torres thought it was resoundingly unfair that Tom Paris always looked

  so perfectly groomed and elegant. And even when he didn't, he always

  looked good. At times, she felt like a disheveled mess standing next

  to him. Slightly mollified by the lack of teasing, she wiped her hands

  clean.

  When she finished, he extended a hand towards her. Eyes slightly

  narrowed, she placed h
er small hand in his and allowed him to pull her

  to her feet. "Well?" She was certain he wouldn't be able to resist a

  comment. She was braced for it.

  He crooked a long, slender finger at her.

  She frowned and took a step closer. "What? Have you lost your voice?

  The ship couldn't get that lucky."

  His brow wrinkled in a distressed expression. At times he looked about

  four years old. This was one of those times. His blue eyes

  looked---piteous.

  "Tom, what's the matter?" She was beginning to be concerned.

  His eyes darted around to be sure they were alone. He crooked his

  finger at her again. She took another step closer and stretched on

  tiptoe to incline her ear to catch his whisper, "I think I hurt

  myself."

  She stared at him, brown eyes rounding. "What? How?"

  He leaned closer and whispered even more quietly, "You told me not to

  laugh. I think I hurt myself trying not to." He put a small whimper in

  his words.

  For a split millisecond---she bought it. Then his meaning sank in. He

  began to chuckle at the expression on her face as she stepped back and

  clenched her fists. She could feel herself flushing as her temper

  swiftly soared. "You---!" She couldn't think of an epithet strong

  enough. She took a swing at him.

  Tom was no fool. He was ready for her reaction. He ducked back---just

  enough so that her fist missed his jaw by a centimeter. "Now, Torres,

  watch your temper!" he said soothingly.