Trials 04 Shadow's Trial

by Terri Zavaleta

  angry. She may be furious. But she would never hurt me. And I *will*

  help her."

  "I will monitor your---conference from here, but I promise not to

  interfere unless necessary to ensure her safety or yours," the doctor

  stated. "Tom? I feel I should warn you. She has been repressing her

  emotions for some time. She may resent your part in leading her to

  release them and make you the object of her deep seated resentment and

  rage. You should also know that she may never forgive you for your

  part in this."

  The pilot's mouth twisted bitterly. "I know that, Doc. Sometimes you

  have to be willing to lose someone's love in order to do what's best

  for them. And I'm a gambler, remember? Or I used to be. I'd say the

  odds are about fifty-fifty, at this point. But even if * I * lose her,

  I'll make sure Harry won't. I'll take that deal. Would you notify the

  captain and the commander for me?"

  The EMH nodded. He waited until the duo had departed for the holodeck

  before he signaled the Bridge.

  **************

  "Harry, it's obvious Malista is emotionally---overwrought." Chakotay

  chose his words carefully. "We would prefer to ask her about any

  harassment---"

  "I don't know that she would answer your questions, Commander," the

  ensign confided uneasily. His fear of betraying a confidence was

  overridden by his fear for Malista's mental and emotional health. "I

  found out by accident, last night that someone has been sending

  her---" He trailed off as he glanced at the captain and tried to think

  of how he could explain the contents of the messages and their impact

  on Shadow without embarrassing himself or his superior officers.

  "She's been getting obscene messages on her terminal. Tom and I

  figured out that she's probably been receiving them for weeks. That's

  why she hasn't been sleeping much."

  "Obscene?" The captain's tone asked for clarification. "How obscene? I

  mean, in what manner?" She cleared her throat and plowed on. "Harry,

  I'm sorry. Could you give us some idea of the---content? It's not

  necessary to, uh, give details. Just a general idea."

  Harry's face was flushed and hot, but he maintained control of his

  expression. "I only saw one. Malista didn't report them and has been

  deleting them as she got them. It was threatening. Sexually

  threatening. Crude comments about---her body and what they---he wanted

  to do to her. Not with her. *To* her." Kim had reached his limit. "I

  saved the one from last night. If you'd like to---"

  "Maybe later," Chakotay said. "Do you know if Malista has been

  bothered in any other way? Comments or unwelcome advances?"

  The young man looked miserable. "She won't talk to me. Or to Tom. I

  know something has been bothering her, but she wouldn't tell me what

  was wrong. She kept saying she wanted to handle her own problems.

  After I, uh, got so jealous for no reason before, I think she's afraid

  I won't believe her. Until I found the message, I didn't have any clue

  as to what was bothering her."

  The comm system signaled. "Please turn to your Emergency Holographic

  Channel."

  The captain hit the control and the doctor's unsmiling visage appeared

  on the viewscreen. "Yes, Doctor?"

  "I have placed Crewman Malista Shadow on medical leave. She will not

  be reporting for duty today."

  "How is she?" Harry blurted, throwing protocol out the airlock without

  a thought.

  "She is---recovering. Mr. Paris was able to calm her and bring her out

  of her self-induced anxiety attack. She was breathing normally when

  she left and her vital signs were nearing normal parameters," the EMH

  reported.

  "When she left? You dismissed her from Sickbay?" Janeway asked,

  raising an eyebrow.

  "Not exactly. I released her into Mr. Paris' care. He is going to

  attempt to persuade Malista to discuss her problems in a more private

  setting. He is confident that she will talk to him. He plans to insist

  on it. Vehemently, if necessary."

  "Doc, where---" Kim began.

  "Mr. Kim, I know you are concerned, but I do not think your presence

  would be helpful." The doctor tried his 'sympathetic smile'. It wasn't

  terribly successful, but it was improving with practice. "Malista

  seems reluctant to speak to anyone. It is Tom's intention to compel

  her to confide in him in order to give her the opportunity to

  verbalize the reasons for her emotional distress. He believes---"

  "Doctor," Chakotay interrupted, "I'll explain to Mr. Kim. Thank you."

  The doctor nodded his agreement and closed the communication channel.

  "Captain?"

  Janeway nodded toward her first officer, got to her feet, and moved

  toward the exit. "Take all the time you need, gentlemen." She returned

  to the bridge.

  After her departure, Kim waited impatiently for Chakotay to begin.

  Finally, he couldn't stand the silence. "Commander, what is going on?

  What's wrong with Malista? Why can't I go see her? She may need me."

  Chakotay was shaking his head before the ensign had finished his first

  sentence. He'd been trying to decide how much detail he should go into

  and wondering how to explain to the younger man what he, Tom, and the

  EMH had discussed. "I'm sorry, Harry. She wouldn't want you to see her

  right now. I'm sure."

  "Why not? I only want to help her! I love her!" His impassioned voice

  and expression were absolutely convincing.

  Chakotay sat forward, studying the young man carefully. "Have you told

  her that?"

  "Yes."

  "Harry, I don't want to intrude on your personal life---"

  "Commander, I don't think you have a choice. I want to know and I want

  to know now. What is going on?"

  *****************

  Tom had chosen the holodeck program of Lake Como for several good

  reasons. It was a peaceful setting, but it was also a not-so-subtle

  reminder of the roots of the friendship between the two of them. It

  was here that he and Malista had first talked at length and made a

  start at confiding in each other. It was here that she had planned to

  commit suicide and it was here that he had stopped her, earning first

  her anger then, eventually, her gratitude.

  He led her to the picnic table and bench under the shade of the tree

  overlooking the lake. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the

  still waters near the lake shore and stole a quick moment to admire

  the look of the RayBans. They suited him.

  "Groovy," he said approvingly, with a fond smile in remembrance of

  Raine Robinson. While waiting for Tuvok to return with breakfast,

  she'd finally told him, much to his embarrassment, that the word was

  at least twenty years out of date by the time he'd used it in 1996.

  With a quick glance at Malista, he slipped off his pair, then removed

  hers, and set them on the picnic table. Tom wanted to be able to read

  the changes in her expression and her eyes were a dead giveaway of her

  feelings, at least to him. Plus, his own eyes were often his best

  means of communication. He wasn't willing to sacrifice t
hat advantage

  for the possible protection the eyewear might provide in a situation

  that might not arise.

  She stood next to the bench and made an effort to relax. In the

  distance, on what appeared to be the horizon, sailboats glided to and

  fro with bright, colorful sails fully unfurled and making rainbow

  patterns against the purplish blue sky.

  Paris gave her a moment to contemplate the beauty of her surroundings

  before he broke the silence. "This is peaceful, isn't it?"

  "Yes. You were right about the doctor's 'jungle juice'. The headache

  is sort of blurred around the edges. It's not gone, but it's

  manageable. And the spots do seem duller. How strange. I wonder

  why----"

  "The privacy lock is activated. We're alone. Are you ready to talk

  now?"

  "About what?" she asked warily, as she turned to face him. She hoped

  if she forced him to define the limits of the conversation he might

  miss zeroing in on the source of her anxiety and she could divert him

  to a less threatening topic. It was a method that had served her well

  in the past. It clouded the issues and made direct lies unnecessary.

  He understood her better than she'd thought. He didn't fall for that

  tactic. It was probably one he'd used himself.

  The roguish pilot looked positively parental in demeanor as he drew

  himself up to his full height, folded his arms across his chest and

  frowned at her demandingly. "Make no mistake here, Malista. We *are*

  going to talk. No more evasions, half-truths, changing the subject, or

  telling me what you think I want to hear. You are going to tell me

  what has been making you tense and scared and robbing you of sleep.

  Then you and I will decide how to deal with it. Whatever it is." He

  paused.

  She stared up at him mutely, her eyes meeting his, then darting away.

  "Harry told me about the messages," he added.

  She gulped her dismay at this revelation, and dropped her eyes. Her

  knees gave way and she sank down onto the bench beside her. She'd

  hoped she'd have more time to come up with a story, an excuse,

  something.

  "Do you know who's sending the messages?" he asked gently, crouching

  next to her without touching her.

  She shook her head mutely, her eyes fixed on her clasped hands in her

  lap. "Did he---did he tell you what they said?"

  "No. Just that they were nasty. I don't have to know the details. I

  don't want to. What I do need to know is why you didn't report them to

  Security? Or tell Harry? Or me? Or B'Elanna? Or even Chakotay? It's

  not like we all haven't been asking you what was wrong. Why didn't you

  tell us, Malista?" he insisted.

  "I didn't want you to think---I thought maybe I---" Her hesitant words

  faltered.

  "You thought we'd blame you?" he said, disappointment coloring his

  pleasant tenor. "Tell me, Sis, did you ever reply to one of the

  messages?"

  "No." Her voice was very small.

  "Did you put a notice on the ship's bulletin board asking for a porno

  penpal?" he asked in the same matter-of-fact tone.

  "No! Tom!" She straightened in revulsion and tried to recoil from him,

  but he latched onto her wrist and held her in place.

  "Then you aren't to blame."

  "How can you know?" she cried, twisting her arm, trying to pull it out

  of his grasp.

  He refused to let her slip away from him. "No more hiding, Malista. I

  know you aren't to blame, because I know the kind of pervert who gets

  his thrills by assaulting and sickening someone with an anonymous

  attack like this. It's probably someone who was afraid to approach you

  directly with a proposition. Afraid of rejection, or afraid you'd have

  him thrown in the brig. Or maybe someone who just has a grudge against

  you for whatever sick reason in his own mind. Someone who knew or

  guessed that you wouldn't report it. Someone who knew it would get to

  you. I know *you*. I know you wouldn't knowingly encourage something

  like this. That's how I know it isn't your fault."

  She shook her head mulishly, miserably. "It has to be."

  "How could it be your fault some deviant decided to send that filth to

  you? You said you didn't reply or ask for it. Come on, Sis," he said,

  shaking her arm lightly when she failed to respond. "I can't wait to

  hear this one."

  "I must have done something. Said something. To someone. They wouldn't

  do something like this and keep it up, if they didn't think I wanted

  it. I *must* have done something."

  Paris almost growled under his breath in exasperation, but caught

  himself. That's what he got for hanging around with half-Klingons he

  supposed. "Malista, listen to me, it's not your fault. You don't

  *have* to do anything to encourage that type of mistreatment. *Except*

  to let it go on. And you did do that! That part of the blame is yours.

  You could have put a stop to this after the first one by reporting it.

  How long have the messages been coming to your terminal? One week?

  Two?"

  "Forty-two. I've gotten forty-two messages," she choked out. "Almost

  every night. At first they weren't too bad. Just kind of rude. But

  they kept getting worse." Now that she'd begun talking, she couldn't

  seem to stop. The feeling of relief was incredible as the pressure of

  keeping secrets eased as the words flowed out. "They got worse after

  Harry and I broke up. Then when Harry and I---after we got back

  together, they got even worse. I kept thinking they couldn't get any

  worse, but they did. More specific. More sadistic. I stopped reading

  them. I just deleted them right away. As soon as I saw what they

  were." She held herself with her free arm and began rocking back and

  forth as she spoke.

  Tom released his hold on her forearm, stood, and reseated himself on

  the bench behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling

  her head back to lie on his shoulder, and started rocking along with

  her as she lay cradled against his chest. She absorbed his warmth,

  drawing strength from his figurative and literal support.

  Paris was doing the math in his head. The messages had started not

  long after Dishon had died. So this probably had nothing to do with

  him or a desire to hurt Harry Kim somehow. It had everything to do

  with persecuting Malista herself. He was sure Tuvok would find that

  interesting.

  After a few moments, the lieutenant decided it was time for the next

  step. "What else?"

  She stiffened in his arms, the rocking motion ceasing. "What?"

  "Sis, you're answering a question with a question again," he rebuked

  mildly, releasing his hold on her and turning her to face him. "What

  else has been going on? Computer messages wouldn't be enough to get

  you into this state of anxiety. So something else has been going on.

  You and Harry seem to be getting along. Is it B'Elanna? Are you having

  trouble working with her?" He fervently hoped for a negative answer,

  but made sure that hope didn't show in his demeanor.

  "No, of course not," she replied. "She's a good supervisor. She lets

  you know
what's expected and demands your best performance. I don't

  have a problem with that." There was a hint of a proud smile as she

  added, "She says I do an excellent job. I'm good at repairs and she

  knows she can count on me. That's what she said and I believe her. She

  wouldn't tell me that if it wasn't true."

  "You're right there," Paris chuckled. "My B'Ella is not known for

  diplomacy in dealing with her staff. She doesn't suffer fools gladly.

  She told me she was glad you and Nicoletti have the good sense to fix

  what needed fixing and ask for help if you needed it. That seems to

  have been a problem with other members of the engineering staff?"

  Malista nodded, smiling slightly and remembering an

  incident---actually several incidents. Working in Engineering was

  never dull with its volatile Chief.

  Paris persisted in returning to the topic of conversation she didn't

  want to deal with. "So it's not Harry or B'Elanna. So that brings us

  back to my question: what else is going on?"

  Her face fell once more. "Tom, I can handle it---"

  "You're not handling it! You're avoiding it. It's not going to go away

  because you pretend it isn't there! Any more than those messages did.

  Tell me what's going on."

  No reply.

  Coaxingly, he tried once more. "Sis, I promise you I won't blame you.

  Tell me what's going on."

  There was still no verbal response, but this time she did succeed in

  pulling away from him. She got to her feet and walked down to the edge