Trials 04 Shadow's Trial
Page 32
The raised voice spilled through the doors of the ready room and onto
the Bridge---not the words, the sound-proofing was too good for that.
Nevertheless, Harry Kim recognized the shrill shouting as Malista's
voice. Reflexively, he started to move around his Ops console.
"Ensign Kim." It was Tuvok.
Kim's eyes flew toward the Security Officer.
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Have you found a method of detecting
the probe's approach?"
With another uneasy glance toward the captain's private room, Kim
returned his attention to the panel in front of him. "I think so. I've
remodulated the sensors to alert us to any changes within the
frequency range of the probe's energy signature. We should have a
warning next time it approaches the ship."
"At what distance?"
Kim missed the question as sudden silence fell in the next room. Why
would Malista be shouting? He'd never heard her shout---not once. What
could the captain have said? How bad was the problem? Were the
obscenities on her terminal the least of what Malista had been dealing
with? Should he---
"Mr. Kim!" Tuvok didn't raise the volume of his voice, just the
intensity. "At what distance will the probe be detectable?"
His words snapped in Harry's ears, warning him to focus his attention
where it belonged. Kim gathered his thoughts and referred to his padd.
"Uh---" He was interrupted by the chirp of the commlink.
"Janeway to Kim."
"Kim here, Captain."
"Please join me in my ready room."
"Yes, Captain." With an alacrity born of apprehension, Kim was around
the Ops station and halfway to the ready room doors before Ayala could
replace him.
As he stepped inside, his eyes searched for Malista Shadow. He'd
watched her come in. She hadn't come out. He'd been too preoccupied to
note that a transport had occurred. The captain and first officer met
his eyes steadily.
Before he could formulate a question, Chakotay answered him. "We sent
her to Sickbay, Harry. She became---hysterical." He hesitated over the
word, wondering if it truly conveyed an accurate representation of
what had occurred.
The young man gulped. "Why? Did you ask her about---"
"We didn't get that far," the captain stated softly. "She was very
tense when she came in. I attempted to give her a compliment to make
her feel more comfortable. Let's say, she didn't react in the manner I
expected. I told her she'd been recommended for promotion. She started
screaming that she didn't *want* a promotion."
Kim's face went totally blank as he tried to grasp the concept. "What?
Why? Why would she---I don't understand."
"That makes three of us, Mr. Kim," Chakotay said heavily. "Sit down,
Harry. We need to talk."
*******************************
Tom Paris had changed out of his uniform. Kes had suggested he make
himself comfortable during the last round of tests. Since he was now
officially on medical leave, he was wearing his favorite black jeans
and a black tee-shirt. Smart woman, that Ocampan. She knew how much he
hated Sickbay pajamas. Her wiliness had ensured his cooperation during
the last three tests. The ones he'd been awake for. He hated tests.
Paris had finally been dismissed and was about to return to his
quarters to try to get some sleep when he heard Chakotay's message. He
stayed there to await Malista's arrival.
If Commander Chakotay hadn't identified the patient beaming in, the
EMH wouldn't have recognized her immediately. She materialized curled
tightly into a fetal position, head tucked down, hands now clasped
behind her neck, face hidden between her arms and legs. When the
transporter effect released her, she was lying on her side, unmoving
on the floor, breathing shallowly and rapidly.
The doctor reached for a hypospray. Paris grasped his wrist and
silently shook his head. Chakotay had advised him to go with his
instincts. 'Okay, then here we go,' he thought. 'Ready or not, here I
come.' He took a deep breath and assumed a calm he didn't feel.
Paris dropped down to sit cross-legged next to Shadow, not touching
her, but sitting close enough to touch if it became necessary. In a
cool, conversational voice, he said, "Malista, what the hell is going
on here?"
The EMH frowned at Paris' cavalier attitude and would have spoken his
disapproval aloud but, from the response he received, it seemed that
the pilot knew what he was doing.
As she recognized his unruffled voice, Shadow's rigidity visibly
lessened. Slowly, by degrees, she began to uncoil, stretching out on
her side, her arms still wrapped around her head and covering her
face. Her breath was still coming in short pants.
"Sis, breathe like a normal person," Tom ordered in a bored tone. "You
keep hyperventilating and you'll pass out and be at the Doc's mercy
for *hours*."
"Hmmph!" the doctor muttered, shooting an indignant glare at the pilot
from under a furrowed brow. His justifiable resentment of the comment
was somewhat mollified when Paris winked at him to indicate he wasn't
serious. "If Malista is in need of assistance, she can have every
confidence that I will provide it," the EMH stated clearly and firmly.
There was slight easing in the tension of her body. The normalcy of
the conversation, the lack of embarrassing questions, and the fact
that the two men present were trusted friends were all factors in
helping her to reassert her self-control at her own pace.
Paris waited for another moment as her breathing evened out and became
less labored. "Malista." This time he waited patiently for a reply. It
was almost a full minute in coming.
"What?" Her voice was muffled and shaky, but at least she had finally
responded.
"Let me give you some advice. If you want to clean the Sickbay floor,
don't do it with your uniform," he said. "We have cleaning tools for
that kind of thing."
One hand came down to swat tiredly and feebly at his leg. "Oh, shut
up, Tom." She left her hand resting on his knee. He dropped his hand
over hers. Her eyes opened to slits, watching him, trying to gauge his
reaction to her behavior. He gave her hand a squeeze and winked at
her.
"People are always telling me to shut up, Doc!" he complained loudly,
looking up and signaling the EMH with his eyes that he should answer.
"I wonder why, Mr. Paris!?" the doctor said. "It's a mystery to me."
He was intrigued by the lieutenant's handling of the situation and was
recording it for further study. It might be helpful in developing and
improving his own bedside manner.
"Some people just don't have a sincere appreciation for humor." Paris
grimaced and got to his feet. He put his hands on his hips in his best
Janeway impression and stared down at the young woman. "Sis, get up,"
he ordered. "If the Doc had a *real* emergency, they'd beam in on top
of you. That could get embarrassing." He extended a hand in her
direction.
She took it and stagg
ered to her feet with his help, her muscles
aching and protesting their mistreatment in being locked in place so
tightly and for so long. He slipped an arm around her waist and led
her to a biobed. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up, then
seated himself next to her. He slipped a brotherly arm around her
shoulders, carefully refraining from making her feel constrained, but
allowing her to feel connected to and supported by his presence.
"Doc, are you going to run that scanny thing over her?" he asked in
his most deliberately annoying nasal inflection. She winced and gently
nudged him with her shoulder. She hated when he did that. That voice
grated on her ears. He only used it when he wanted to annoy or tease
her.
"Scanny thing?" the doctor echoed scathingly. "If you are referring to
my diagnostic scanner, then yes, I am going to perform a scan." He
suited his actions to his words. He noted that Paris had subtly warned
and relaxed his nervous patient and made it possible for the EMH to
approach without alarming her unduly. He made a note to do a study
comparing the lieutenant's unusual methods with those of professional
counselors. There seemed to be some correlation, regardless of whether
the young man's actions were the result of training or instinct.
"I can predict what you'll find," Tom said smugly. "Headache, eye
irritation, and a lack of sleep catching up with her. She's been
riding on her emotions for too long. She needs rest and relaxation."
She let her head fall back to rest on his shoulder, eyes closing.
"Good diagnosis, *Doctor* Paris. What's your next trick?"
"Well," he drawled, "I recommend the Doc give you some of that jungle
juice he gave me. I was his test subject this morning and it worked on
me. It lessens the headache. It doesn't get rid of the spots, but
somehow they're less noticeable. Maybe the color is fading or they
just aren't tap dancing any more. They're waltzing instead."
The doctor silently nodded his agreement of the pilot's summary. Aloud
he scoffed, "Jungle juice? I will have you know, Mr. Paris, that this
elixir is concocted from several natural herbs and the juices of
certain fruits that produce---"
Paris waved him off. "Yeah. Sure, Doc. Jungle juice." Malista almost
found the energy to laugh at the doctor's indignant expression.
The EMH injected her with the hypospray. "Here. I want you to wear
these. Hopefully they will protect your eyes from further damage,
should the probe reappear."
Paris and Shadow took the visor like objects from his hand. Paris
unfolded the ear pieces and slipped the device on. They reminded him
of the safety goggles worn when using superheated materials. "They're
tinted. What are these things, Doc?"
The holodoctor all but preened. "They are optical instruments with
polarized lenses designed to protect the human eye from glare or
radiation. I got the idea from our visit to Earth of 1996. I took the
design from something called RayBans. They were very popular for
protection against ultraviolet radiation before the advent of the
controlled weather satellite programs in the 22nd century."
Shadow reluctantly slid the glasses into place. "Everything
looks----green."
"That facilitates the filtering process," the doctor explained then
moved away to give them some privacy. Mr. Paris seemed to be dealing
with the crisis satisfactorily, but the doctor prepared a sedative
hypospray and kept it close at hand. Better to err on the side of
caution.
Paris slid the glasses up and down his nose, finally leaving them in
place. After a moment, he asked, "Feeling better?" She nodded. "Okay,
so what happened, Sis?" She tensed. "Tell me," he insisted. "You know
I'll find out anyway. Everyone tells me everything eventually. I have
this power!"
She turned her head away from him and mumbled something under her
breath.
"What?" He shook her shoulder. "Speak Standard, not Greek," he
complained.
She looked at him with the beginnings of a displeased frown. "I *was*
speaking Standard."
"Then speak it louder."
Her eyes dropped again. "I said," she whispered, "I *yelled* at the
captain."
"What?" Paris couldn't believe his ears. If he'd been asked to predict
what she was going to say---well, that certainly wouldn't have been on
the list.
A little more loudly, becoming defensive, she said, "I YELLED at the
CAPTAIN!"
"What did you yell?" he inquired politely.
She stared at him.
"Well, it makes a difference," he said offhandedly. "I mean if you
called her names---like Ironpants Janeway or Killer Kathryn or the Bun
of Steel---"
"Tom!"
He shrugged. "Okay. So you didn't call her names. What did you yell at
her?"
She bit her lower lip, caught herself, and stopped. "She told me I was
up for promotion to Ensign. I told her I didn't want a promotion. Very
loudly."
"I wish I could have seen her face," Paris said wistfully. "And
Chakotay's. I assume he was there? Do you think the security cams----"
"Tom!" she said again. "I YELLED at the captain!" She couldn't believe
he didn't grasp the seriousness of her offense.
He raised his eyebrows. "So?" He looked only mildly interested. "Did
she faint?"
"What? No!" She tried to pull away from him.
He refused to let her go. "Malista!" He waited till she stopped
squirming and he had her full attention. "What do you think she's
going to do? Space you? Trust me, the captain has been yelled at
before. By the best of them, I'm sure. Including my own dear father,
Admiral Paris. And believe me, he can tear a strip off you. Captain
Janeway will *survive* being yelled at. You can apologize later. She's
a reasonable woman. She'll forgive you. Right now, I want to know why.
And why you turned into a basket case just because you lost your
temper."
"Basket case?"
"Old Earth expression. Something to do with the guillotine, I think.
When they lost their heads, people got carried off in a basket.
Something like that. Stop trying to change the subject. Why would you
get upset when you're offered a promotion? Most people would be glad
for the recognition of their hard work. Why aren't you?"
She didn't answer, refusing to look at him.
His jaw tightened. Paris was not prepared to let her withdraw this
time. Things had gone too far if she could lose control to the point
of having an anxiety attack of the magnitude of the one he'd just
witnessed.
It was time to deal with this. He just prayed he would know what to
say. "Fine. You don't want to talk to me. I'll get Harry."
Her eyes flew to his, panicked. "No! You can't tell Harry!"
"Why not? Give me a reason, Sis, or I'm calling him to come to Sickbay
right now. You will talk to me---or you talk to him." His blue eye
were determined. He meant exactly what he said. "Or you can go back
and yell at the captain some more," he
added provocatively.
"I don't *want* a promotion," she said evenly.
"I figured that out. Why?"
She ducked her head and mumbled.
"Damn it, Malista! Answer me!"
Her body jerked and her eyes flew up to meet his. She'd never heard
Tom sound so angry---at least, not at her. "I said because everyone
will think the rumors are true!"
He sighed tiredly. "Which *rumors* are we talking about *this* time?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes ran around Sickbay, pausing for just a
moment on the entrance. He got the message. Anyone could come in. At
any time.
"Okay, fine," the lieutenant said. He turned to the EMH. "Doc, I think
we're going to continue this little therapy session in a more private
locale. Would you be willing to place Malista on medical leave for
today as well?"
"Of course," the hologram agreed. He gestured Paris closer with a
beckoning finger and they stepped out of the young woman's earshot.
"If it is your intention to provoke a reaction and allow Malista to
vent her anger, I feel I should warn you that it may be hazardous."
Paris' aristocratic features took on a haughty, reproachful air.
"Malista will not hurt me." There was no sign of doubt in his azure
eyes. "I'm taking her to the holodeck for some privacy. She may get