Trials 04 Shadow's Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  "Was there something else?" The doctor's study of human behavior and

  habits had included extensive research on nonverbal clues. He had

  deemed this necessary since the members of this particular crew seemed

  reluctant to ask for his help in a direct manner. In fact, for some

  reason he found unfathomable many of them seemed to do their best to

  avoid him altogether.

  "If you have some time, I'd like to talk to you---about something

  personal," she said, casting a nervous glance at the floor.

  "Of course. Step into my office, Ms. Shadow."

  "Could you call me Malista?" she requested as they seated themselves

  on opposite sides of his desk.

  He was gratified by the request. He was not on a first name basis with

  many of the crewmembers. "Malista, what did you wish to discuss?"

  "Doctor, what do you know about treating the traumatic effects of

  rape?"

  The doctor was clearing his desk as he spoke. "As you may know, I am

  programmed with information from two thousand medical reference source

  materials, as well as with the experience of forty-seven Starfleet

  medical officers. I am certain that I can answer any question you may

  have---Malista." When she didn't speak, he raised his eyes.

  As he watched, a single tear trickled down the young woman's cheek.

  Since he had been activated, he could not recall seeing such a

  desolate expression in the eyes of any crewmember. He was swiftly

  reminded that she was not asking about an objective case study. She

  was asking for help with a personal tragedy. Her mouth worked as she

  tried to formulate words. She couldn't. Another tear fell. Then

  another. She impatiently dashed the tears away with her fingertips.

  "Malista," the doctor sputtered, "I apologize. I don't mean to sound

  callous or indifferent. I've never been asked to deal with this

  particular problem---and I will admit that bedside manner is not my

  greatest strength. If you'd prefer to talk to Kes---"

  "No! It's all right. I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she said,

  angry with herself.

  "You have every reason to cry," the doctor corrected in a softer

  voice. "You have been injured. It is an injury that can't be healed

  instantaneously. I am sorry."

  The tears were rolling freely down her cheeks now. "I don't think I

  ever cried about this before," she sighed, her voice strangled. "I

  mean, it's not like it does any good."

  The Doctor came around his desk and supplied her with a box of

  tissues. With some hesitancy, he brought his hand up and awkwardly

  patted her shoulder. Studies showed that such contact was perceived as

  supportive and comforting in situations of stress.

  He was so obviously uncomfortable in dealing with a crying woman,

  Malista almost found it in herself to feel amused. She took a deep

  breath and managed to shut off the flow of tears. She reached up and

  captured his hand, rubbing it lightly across her cheek. "Thank you."

  "You're quite welcome. Any time," the doctor said, regaining his seat

  and leaning forward, elbows on his desk. He arranged his features in

  what he hoped was a sympathetic countenance. "Are you ready to talk

  about it now?"

  She blew her nose and cleared her throat. "I think so."

  **********************

  Malista was on her way from Sickbay back to Engineering. For the first

  time in a long time, she was alone. The corridors were deserted. She

  stepped into the turbolift.

  Crewman Paul Castelle was the only occupant. He was going to Deck

  Fourteen.

  She almost stepped right back out again. He grinned at her insolently,

  making a mockingly inviting gesture with his hands. Holding her head

  up high, she moved to the far side of the turbolift, as far away from

  him as she could manage and said, "Deck Eleven."

  The turbolift began to move.

  "Still playing hard to get?" His voice was challenging, provoking. "No

  one believes that game, Shadow. Everyone knows you're dividing your

  time between Paris and Kim---and now maybe Gerron? You must be

  something really special. What do I have to do to get on your list?"

  She swallowed hard. "Leave me alone." It wasn't said with much

  conviction, but it was all she could manage to say around the solid

  lump that seemed to have materialized in her throat. She dropped her

  eyes and stared at her boots, but watched him using her peripheral

  vision, alert for any move towards her.

  His eyes roving over her with undisguised lust, he opened his mouth to

  say something else, but the lift doors slid open at that moment.

  Head down, she stepped out and quickly started walking away. She

  plowed right into someone coming the other way. Her eyes flew up as

  she bounced off a massive chest and tumbled backwards.

  It was Ensign George Natwick. With the quicksilver reflexes of a

  Caldorian cougar, he pounced forward, catching her upper arms, and

  pulling her upright again. He set her on her feet, holding on until

  she regained her balance. He was frowning with misgiving as he noticed

  her distraction and her pallor. "Malista, are you all right?"

  "George," she breathed his name, as if relieved to recognize him. She

  almost achieved a smile before her lips began to tremble. She bit down

  on her lower lip to force it into stillness. Without conscious

  thought, her eyes darted apprehensively over her shoulder in the

  direction of the turbolift.

  "Are you all right?" he repeated, slowly releasing her arms. He wasn't

  sure how steady on her feet she actually was. She didn't look good.

  Her color was off and she looked on edge---as if any sudden movement

  might startle her into headlong flight.

  With an effort that was visible, she resumed her air of calm control.

  "I'm fine," she said, with a nervous, unconvincing smile. "Excuse me."

  She stepped past him and moved away on slightly unsteady legs.

  Natwick's face was shuttered as he tried to fit the puzzle pieces

  together. She looked positively traumatized. If Harry Kim was playing

  games with Malista again---He slapped his commbadge. "Computer,

  identify the occupants of turbolift one, during its last stop on Deck

  Eleven."

  "The occupants of turbolift one were Crewman Malista Shadow and

  Crewman Paul Castelle," the bland voice replied.

  Natwick pushed the call button for the turbolift as he mulled that

  over. His expression was not pleasant.

  **********************

  Harry Kim was working in the ship's library doing research on the type

  of energy signature emitted by the probes to see if it correlated with

  any information they'd been given by any of the races they'd

  encountered. He wasn't sure why, but he'd become aware that Diane

  Russell, the ship's librarian, was eyeing him with a frown of

  disapproval which disconcerted him. It was rather like being glared at

  by a cute, fluffy, blonde kitten. She was normally shy, but not

  unfriendly.

  Kim tried a polite smile as she brought him the padd he'd requested.

  She didn't return it. "Is that all you need, Ensign?" Her tone was

  totally coo
l and professional.

  With a bemused expression, Harry nodded and returned his attention to

  the task before him. Approximately an hour later, he put the padd

  down. He was getting nowhere---at the speed of light. There was no

  correlation he could find. He stood and stretched, stifling a yawn

  behind his hand. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and

  turned his head to identify its source.

  Russell was sitting behind her desk working on her computer terminal.

  She flickered another frowning glance his way, then ignored him.

  Harry was mystified. He had almost become accustomed to the looks he

  was getting from the Maquis crew, but Diane was Starfleet. Then he

  remembered. Diane was involved with Aron Dalby, who was Maquis. The

  thought occurred to him that this might be his opportunity to find out

  why the Maquis were angry with him. Before he could formulate the

  question, the door slid open and Malista Shadow walked

  in---accompanied by Crewman Gerron Tem.

  It was the first time in weeks that Kim had seen her when she was on

  duty. He vaguely noticed that she had taken to confining her shoulder

  length hair in a tightly controlled bun and was wearing no makeup, but

  he was most disconcerted by the restrained expression she wore. He

  wondered if she and Gerron had been arguing just before their

  entrance. Gerron's demeanor was unfriendly, bordering on hostile, as

  he recognized the Operations Officer.

  In the split second that it took for Malista to become aware of

  Harry's presence in the library, her whole attitude changed. At the

  sight of him, her eyes lit up, her rigid posture eased, and her free

  hand reached for his in a manner that spoke of a familiar custom and

  absolutely no fear of rejection. "Harry."

  He couldn't resist. Ignoring Russell and Gerron, he took her hand and

  leaned in for a quick kiss. "You won't report us for a PDA, will you,

  Diane?" Kim joked. He and Tom had made a running gag out of referring

  to that particular regulation---and breaking it, or at least pushing

  it to the limit, as often as possible.

  He looked at the librarian in time to catch a quick exchange of

  glances between her and Gerron. The ensign looked at the Bajoran. His

  mood seemed to have improved as well. Kim didn't understand it, but he

  didn't really care that much about either of them or their mood

  swings. He turned his attention back to Crewman Shadow, who was still

  holding his hand. He hadn't expected to see her for hours. Their paths

  usually didn't cross while on duty. This was a pleasant surprise.

  "Harry, you wouldn't believe---the doctor called me to Sickbay and let

  me use the dermal regenerator on Joe Carey. He cut his hand on an

  access panel. Doc said I did an excellent job. He says I have a light

  touch and I'm a quick study." She sounded positively thrilled with the

  compliment.

  "He's right, but I could have told you that." He smiled at her proudly

  and then added, "I'm glad I ran into you. I was going to leave a

  message on your terminal."

  "Why?" Malista asked. Out of habit, her free hand came up to lovingly

  brush back the stubborn lock of hair that persisted in falling down in

  Harry's face.

  He grinned and caught her hand, pressing his lips to the inside of her

  wrist briefly as a thank you. "Tom and B'Elanna can't make it to the

  circus tonight. Something about the navigational deflector acting up

  again. Do you want to cancel? Or should we practice without them?"

  "We'll practice without them. I have a few other tricks to show you.

  You haven't seen me do my high wire act yet," she said, smiling as he

  flinched apprehensively.

  "I wonder if we should make the safety net bigger?" he muttered

  thoughtfully.

  "Harry!" she wailed plaintively in a rare moment of disagreement with

  the ensign. "If you make it any bigger, we won't be able to walk

  around the tent at all!"

  "I'd love to see your circus program," Russell remarked unexpectedly.

  Malista looked at her blankly. "Really?" She never expected others to

  share her interests. In fact, she'd been astounded at the way Tom,

  B'Elanna, and Harry had thrown themselves into participating in the

  program.

  "When I was a little girl, I saw a circus on Kelonius III. I thought

  it would be a wonderful way of life," she explained. "Would you mind

  if Aron and I---and Gerron came by to take a look? We wouldn't

  interfere---"

  "Oh, no! That's fine. If you really want to. The four of us are

  planning to do a trapeze act at the next talent show. Maybe you three

  could find another act you'd like to perform. Neelix said that maybe

  we could make it a circus theme if others were interested," Malista

  said, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds. She was flattered and

  thrilled that someone else was taking an interest in her favorite

  program. "About 1900?"

  Russell nodded.

  Malista's eyes flashed to Gerron. He nodded as well. "Well, I'd better

  get to work. Which console went out this time, Diane?"

  "I'll see you all later then," Harry said and squeezed her hand before

  he left to resume his post on the bridge.

  As she went to work, Malista began to sing happily under her breath,

  "Ten minutes ago I met you...."

  Gerron and Diane Russell regarded at each other thoughtfully.

  ************************

  "I can't believe this." Tom Paris' voice reflected his self-disgust.

  Torres sniffed unsympathetically. "I tried to tell you---"

  "You know, Torres, it's very annoying when people say 'I told you

  so'," Tom informed her sourly.

  "Given your accident prone nature, Mr. Paris, I would assume you would

  be quite accustomed to that particular annoyance," the doctor noted

  acerbically as he passed the dermal regenerator over the helmsman's

  left arm once more.

  "I am *not* accident prone!" he protested acidly. "Was it my fault the

  hydrospanner slipped---"

  "Yes," B'Elanna replied succinctly. "If you'd held it properly---the

  way I told you---"

  "All right," Tom conceded ungraciously. "If I had done it your way, I

  wouldn't have received a life-threatening injury. Are you happy now?"

  The doctor couldn't resist interjecting. "I would hardly call a three

  inch gash in the musculature of your left forearm life-threatening---"

  "Who asked you?" It was obvious Lieutenant Paris was in a petulant

  mood.

  B'Elanna folded her arms and glared at him. "Don't take it out on the

  doctor because you missed dinner."

  The doctor nodded as comprehension came to him. "Ah, low blood

  sugar---along with the loss of blood---and dignity. That would account

  for the irritability---"

  "I'll show you irritability---" Paris began. He stopped himself and

  made an effort to control his rising crankiness. B'Elanna was right.

  The hollow feeling in his midsection probably was a contributing

  factor to his bad mood. At least there was something he could do about

  that. "Are we finished here, Doc?" He started to slide off the biobed,

  but remained seate
d when the doctor spoke.

  "Actually, Mr. Paris, there was a matter I wished to discuss with

  you," Doc said, with a dismissive look towards Torres. "A confidential

  matter."

  Torres shrugged. "I'll go down to the messhall and see what Neelix

  still has available. Don't be too long."

  As she left the room, the doctor pulled up a stool and sat facing

  Paris. "Lieutenant, I am aware that since Crewman Shadow's---Malista's

  attempted suicide, you have been assisting Commander Chakotay with

  counseling her."

  "That's right. What about it?"

  "I assume you are still in a position to share confidential

  information with Commander Chakotay? And you are privy to

  Malista's---history?" The doctor was working hard on developing

  'tact'. Kes had told him resolutely and repeatedly that it was

  important in perfecting a good bedside manner.

  Tom didn't like the direction this was heading. He sat forward,

  resting his forearms on his knees as he studied the doctor's

  expression. "Yes. Malista gave Chakotay permission to discuss

  her---treatment with me. And she has told me about her past. Probably

  more than she's told anyone else. What exactly are you getting at,

  Doc?"

  The doctor had been nodding with each statement the pilot made. "Very

  well. There was a suggestion of a slight conflict in my programming