line on a possible palliative for the most acute symptoms.
*****************************
"Sit down and put your feet up," Harry ordered, silencing her protest
with an upraised finger. "Every time I come to your quarters---or you
come to mine---you spend half your time racing around, waiting on me.
It's my turn to take care of you. You'll hurt my feelings if you don't
cooperate. Sit. Rest. I can program a replicator."
Malista surrendered. If Harry wanted to fuss over her, she would let
him. Anything Harry wanted, she'd do her best to be sure he got it. No
matter what it was. She sank thankfully into the firm support of the
couch, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She hadn't been
sleeping very well. She was tired. But when she slept, she dreamed.
She didn't want to dream. Maybe if she just rested her eyes for a
moment.....
Harry came back with two cups of hot chocolate and found her dozing.
He set the cups down on the coffee table, trying not to make any noise
at all. He stood there for a moment, just watching her sleep. In
repose, with all her defenses down, she was so beautiful. So young. So
vulnerable. The slight shadows under her eyes and the finely drawn
lines around them lent her an air of fragility that he found alarming.
He tried to decide if he should carry her to her bed, or simply try to
make her comfortable on the couch. Tiny frown lines began forming
between her brows as she slept. He wondered what she was dreaming that
made her frown. She started to murmur fretfully in her sleep. The only
word he understood was 'dome'. Dome? Maybe she said home? No, she said
it again. It was 'dome'. Strange.
The computer terminal on her desk suddenly beeped---an incoming
message. Harry was across the room in an instant to silence the
signal. It was too late. Just as he hit the control to display the
message and shut off the alert, she snapped awake and sat up, her
green eyes startled.
"Sorry. I wasn't fast enough." He indicated the computer with one
hand. His eyes drifted down to the message.
"No, Harry!" she yelped, holding up her hand to forestall him.
Uselessly.
His eyes had already scanned the message. "What IS this?" His face was
flushing, partly from anger, partly from embarrassment. The message on
the screen was obscene. No, it was worse than that. It was a sexual
attack---a smear directed at Malista---designed to hurt and humiliate
her---or perhaps to intimidate or scare her.
"Just delete it," she sighed, falling back against the couch.
Kim scrolled it down looking for a signature. There was none. It was
an anonymous, obscene...."Have you gotten these before?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Just delete it."
He didn't. He saved the file then snapped off the screen and came to
sit next to her, taking her hands in his. "Malista, have you reported
this to Security?"
She closed her eyes. "No."
Harry was speechless for a moment. "No! Why not? Do you know who's
sending you that---that filth?"
"No." She pulled her hand free of his hold and thrust them through her
hair. "I don't know. I wish they'd stop."
"It would stop if you would report it, and let Security put a stop to
it."
"Harry, I don't want to report it."
"Why not?" he asked, speaking very precisely in an effort to keep
control of his temper. He wanted to explode, but he didn't have a
target for his anger----yet.
She exhaled on a quavering sigh. "I don't want to make trouble for
anyone."
"Malista, I will *not* have you subjected to this kind of---abuse.
Sending material like that through the ship's communications system is
in violation of at least half a dozen Starfleet regulations.
Especially sending it anonymously. Have you kept any of the other
messages? How many have there been?" Harry seemed to have no doubts
about the proper course of action.
She wished she was as sure. "I don't know how many. I've been deleting
them every night as soon as I---Harry, I don't think it will do any
good to report it. I mean---it's anonymous. I don't know who---"
"There are ways to find out. It may take some time, but---" He stopped
as she turned away from him, arms crossed on the back of the couch,
and dropped her head to hide her face. To hide her face---from him?
"Malista?"
"I'm sorry, Harry." Her words were muffled, but the pain came through
clearly. Was she crying? She almost seemed to be cringing, as if she
expected---as if she thought---
Harry Kim felt like kicking himself. She thought he blamed her? That
he was angry at her? Because of that---stuff? She was always a little
too ready to accept the blame for anything and everything---even
things she had no control over. He had to tread carefully. He had to
make it clear she wasn't to blame and that he knew it.
Kim drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it
slowly. His head was a little clearer. He sank down on the couch next
to her and gently slipped an arm around her. Overcoming her slight
resistance, he gently twisted her body towards him and cradled her
against his chest, pressing her face into the curve of his neck.
He couldn't think of what to say. So he stroked her hair with one
hand, while the other held her firmly and lovingly against his body.
After a moment, he began to croon under his breath, the way his mother
had when she'd soothed him as a child. "It's all right, Malista. It's
all right. I'm here, Cookie. I'm not going anywhere. It's not your
fault. It will be all right."
She didn't speak. This was so much more than she'd expected. She'd
thought Harry would be angry at her. She must have done something
stupid or mislead someone. Why else would the anonymous sender think
she would welcome such messages? Had she unknowingly encouraged this
kind of---She didn't want to think about it.
Right now, Harry was here. Harry was holding her. She'd think about
that. Nothing else. Not the messages. Not all the people who stared at
her or the two men who tried to touch her. Not the future---when Harry
might not be there. If he knew---if he found out how bad her
reputation---No! She wouldn't think about that. Just the now. That's
all she would think about. Just what was happening right now. This
minute.
She was so tired. Tired of being on guard every moment that she was
out of Harry's sight. Tired of being wary every moment that she was
out of her quarters. Tired of not being able to sleep for fear of
hearing her father's voice accusing her in her dreams. Tired of
everything and almost everyone---except Harry Kim.
He was rocking his upper body back and forth, and her along with him.
It was so soothing. Almost like being in a swing or a hammock. Except
there were warm, strong arms enfolding her. Comforting her. She hadn't
felt so safe, so cherished and protected since....
She wasn't even aware of the moment that she fell asleep. In his arms.
*****************************
/>
The tension between Maquis and Starfleet personnel was running high.
It was inevitable that an eruption would occur as the anger and
resentment simmering beneath the surface surged upward and spilled
over. It was ironic that Malista Shadow, the innocent reason for most
of the ill feeling, wasn't even present at Sandrine's when it
occurred.
Henley was shooting pool with Gerron Tem. As she bent over for a shot,
she heard a snickering remark from someone seated at the bar. The
first two times, she didn't understand all the words, but she caught
the tone. The third time she heard the words clearly. Slamming her
pool cue down on the table, she spun to confront the smart mouth who'd
been stinging her with sotto voce comments.
It was Crewman Paul Castelle. He'd just shared one gibe too many with
the unresponsive Starfleet crewman sitting next to him at the bar.
When Henley turned to confront him, Castelle got to his feet, his
expression combining smiling defiance and a smirking leer. "Something
wrong, Henley?" Insolence dripped from every syllable.
She made a move toward him, to find her way blocked by Gerron's
shoulder as he faced her. "Henley, don't lose your temper."
She darted a glance at the young Bajoran, then turned her glare toward
her antagonist. "Yeah, there's something wrong, Castelle. You have
something to say to me, say it loud enough I can hear you. And say it
to my face!"
The confrontation drew the eyes and ears of all those present in
Sandrine's bar. All activity was at a standstill. Several people stood
and drew closer, vaguely forming a semicircle. It was no coincidence
that the Maquis were lining up near Henley and Gerron.
"What did I say?" Castelle said mockingly. "I was just expressing
admiration for your form---with a cue stick." Unsure what was going
on, several Starfleet crewmen were moving to stand with him---just in
case. They couldn't leave one of their own isolated and
outnumbered---whether they liked him or not. Castelle knew that and
counted on it. He hadn't expected Henley to actually confront him.
Shadow hadn't.
"Yeah, sure," Henley snapped. "I don't need your admiration. Or your
opinion. So keep it to yourself."
"Maybe the Maquis haven't heard of freedom of speech? It's one of the
principles of the Federation Constitution," he sneered. "But I forget,
you Maquis are from those backwater colonies in the demilitarized
zone."
Henley went for his throat. The only reason she didn't get it was
because Gerron Tem wrapped his arms around her waist and thrust her
back into the small crowd of Maquis and her forearms were seized by
Dalby and Chell on either side of her.
"No! That's what he wants! If you throw the first punch---" Gerron
whispered vehemently right in her ear.
Henley, breathing hard, let Gerron's words soak in and subsided even
as she glared at the other man. The whole incident might have ended
there, except for a single mistake in judgment.
"See?" Castelle said to the other Starfleet crewmen, gesturing toward
Henley. "I told you those Maquis women were savage. They're barely
civilized---but that just makes them wilder for sex. I hear they're
insatiable? Right, Gerron?" The ensign was keeping a wary eye on Dalby
and Henley, assuming any action would be started by one of the two
hottest heads among the Maquis crew. That was his mistake.
He underestimated the young Bajoran's reaction to the taunt. That
became clear as Gerron swung a fist and connected with Castelle's jaw.
Castelle dropped to the deck, holding his chin and shaking his head to
clear it. Before he could scramble to his feet, Dalby, Henley, and
several other Maquis stepped forward, as did Castelle's Starfleet
companions.
Before more fists could fly, a strong and powerful voice boomed,
"That's enough! Stand down!" The First Officer, accompanied by Lt.
Tuvok and two Security Officers pushed through the crowd and placed
themselves squarely between the opposing sides.
"Everyone back off," Chakotay continued, staring down each and every
crewmember individually. "You're finished for the night. Go to your
quarters. As of now, the holodeck is closed for the night."
Reluctantly the crowd started to dissolve, the level of muttering
increased but they obeyed. There were several more Security Officers
stationed in the corridors to ensure the hostilities wouldn't be
carried on elsewhere.
Chakotay looked down with disgust at Crewman Castelle. He should have
known this man would be involved. "Lt. Tuvok, place Crewman Castelle
and Crewman Gerron under arrest. The captain will deal with this in
the morning."
At a nod from Tuvok, Ensigns Simms and Hudson took the sullen pair
into custody and marched them to the brig.
Dalby began to protest, but was stricken into silence by the glare in
Chakotay's brown eyes. He swallowed his words.
Henley was still standing there as well. "Gerron didn't---"
"Save it," the commander snapped. "I expect a full incident report
from each of you in one hour---in my office. And that goes for you,
too," he added, directing the comment to the Starfleet crewmen who'd
apparently been siding with Castelle.
They nodded reluctantly, accepting their dismissal and skulking out of
the holodeck. Henley and Dalby continued to wait for an opportunity to
speak to the first officer. Their eyes darted to Lt. Tuvok.
Chakotay noticed. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate your promptness
in dealing with this situation before it got out of hand."
"Anticipating problems facilitates dealing with them when they arise,"
the Vulcan replied. "Though I fail to see how you were able to predict
this course of events with such accuracy. Did you have access to
information that I did not?"
Chakotay's dimples briefly flashed into view. "In a manner of
speaking. That's why I programmed Sandrine to warn us, if it seemed
likely that a brawl was about to occur."
Tuvok nodded. "A wise course of action. If you will excuse me,
Commander, I will fill out an incident report of my own and check on
the status of the prisoners." At Chakotay's nod of dismissal, he left
the holodeck.
The first officer now turned his attention to his former Maquis
shipmates. "When I asked you for information last week, you
stonewalled me. You ready to talk? Now?"
They nodded.
*****************************
Lieutenant Tuvok ran a quick assessing eye around the brig and the
occupants of the two cells. He nodded approvingly at Simms and Hudson.
"Have you summoned medical assistance for the prisoners?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir," Simms replied. "The doctor is on his way. He was a little
put out that we didn't bring them to Sickbay---"
"The doctor is quite frequently 'put out' as you call it," Tuvok
replied evenly. "Their injuries do not seem severe enough to warrant
chancing further confrontation while they are undergoing medical
treatment."
"Ye
s, sir." Simms darted a look at his partner, soliciting his opinion
wordlessly.
Hudson stepped forward. "Lt. Tuvok, there is a matter we need to
discuss with you. We've been informally investigating a problem that
may be more widespread than we believed in light of this incident...."
*****************************
Malista awoke slowly, vaguely aware of an unusual feeling of safety,
warmth, and comfort. A pleasant spicy scent nearby tickled at her
nose. She smiled as she snuggled into the source of the warmth---then
her whole body seemed to turn to stone. Her eyes flew open.
Her nose was pressed up against a red tee-shirt. That was covering the
muscled chest of Harry Kim. Awareness rushed at her like an incoming
photon torpedo as she recalled the previous night's events.
She didn't remember falling asleep. She certainly didn't remember
getting into her bed, but that was undoubtedly where she was.
Harry was sharing her bed?!
Her face was pressed up against his chest, one arm around his waist,
her hand clutching at his back, her other hand tucked under her cheek.
One of his arms was draped over her back, holding her loosely against
him. Their legs were entangled. They were both barefoot, but other
than that, they were fully dressed.
She held her breath. She had to get out of the bed. This was
embarrassing. Maybe if she was careful, she could get up and get
Trials 04 Shadow's Trial Page 29