to. "You're afraid to ask for more? Afraid of getting your hand
slapped away?"
She nodded, her wide green eyes mirrored hope and apprehension. "I
don't want to lose what we have. He may not want more. He may change
his mind when he finds out about---" Her hand flew to her mouth,
trying to still the trembling of her lips.
Tom placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can never win big,
if you don't risk anything. Trust yourself. Trust Harry. You've become
a major factor in his happiness. Don't let your fears keep you from
reaching out to him." His throat was closing up on him. "And have the
right answer ready when he asks you to marry him!"
"But I'm not---I'm not marriageable!" she blurted.
"That's not your decision to make," Paris contradicted. "If someone
asks you to marry him, then you're marriageable. I know. Harry hasn't
asked. Yet. That doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it. He moves
slowly sometimes, but when he makes a commitment, he's in it to stay.
I don't know if he told you how we met?"
She nodded.
He elaborated nevertheless, unsure of just how much Harry had told
her. "I rescued him from a Ferengi con artist. He decided I was his
friend without knowing anything about me. Did you know he chose to be
my friend in the teeth of the disapproval of the senior officers of
this ship? They told him to stay away from me. I told him the same
thing. He told me no one chose his friends for him. He's a lot
smarter, stronger, and tougher than most people give him credit for.
It's that boyish exterior that makes people underrate him, I think."
"But why did you choose me?"
"It wasn't because of the family resemblance," he joked, then quickly
sobered as she stared at him wistfully. She really needed to know.
"Because you looked like you could use a friend. Or even an older
brother. And I needed a sister. I didn't know it at the time. But I
did. And you're it, you lucky girl! Bet you didn't know what you were
getting into either, huh?"
"Tom," her voice was choked with tears. "Thank you. I still don't
really understand why you picked me---"
"Are you under the impression this has been a one way deal?" he asked
indignantly. "That I've helped you, but you haven't done anything for
me?"
Her frown of puzzlement answered him in the affirmative.
"Malista! You have got to stop overlooking your sterling qualities!
Don't laugh. I'm being serious. You saved my life!"
"That was sort of an accident." She shrugged. "I just grabbed you.
*Anyone* would have done it. It was a reflex."
"A reflex that saved my life. And no, I don't believe that just
*anyone* would have made the effort. You could have used both hands
and both legs to save yourself from being blown out the hull breach.
No one would have blamed you or even known the difference." He waved
an impatient hand to still her argument. "Never mind. Do you remember
how we started? B'Elanna had dumped me. Harry had abandoned me---I
know, he didn't want to be caught in the middle between Torres and me,
but the effect was the same. I *felt* abandoned. Then I saw you
sitting all alone in Sandrine's. You looked so---abandoned yourself."
"I felt that way too," she said, sharing a sympathetic smile with him.
"I thought, 'Well, Tom, here's something to keep you busy. A
redemption project.' So I approached you. Partly it was the challenge.
To see if I could get you to talk to me when you wouldn't talk to
anyone else."
"A redemption project? Oh, Tom, you didn't?!"
"I told you. I didn't know I was looking for anything more than
something to pass the time. A hobby of sorts. I certainly wasn't
looking for someone who would sneak her way past my defenses and get
me emotionally involved. Where was I? Then when I really needed to
talk, you were there for me. More than once. The first time we came
here to Lake Como. And what made it even better, everything I told you
didn't come back in some distorted form from the rumor mill."
"One thing I *can* do well is keep quiet," Malista commented wryly.
"Oh, yeah!" Tom agreed with a grin. "Sometimes too quiet. Like not
reporting these people who've been harassing you?"
"Tom, I don't think I can do it. It's so embarrassing. I feel so
st---dumb." She changed words hastily at his threatening frown. "I can
see now that I shouldn't have tried to ignore it. I should have done
something about it."
"Sis, I'm not going to make the decision for you, but I don't think
you have a choice any more. The sexual harassment issue affects
everyone aboard. There was almost a fight in Sandrine's last night.
Gerron and Castelle are in the brig. The Doc was telling me about it
before you came to Sickbay. I assume Castelle is one of them? You
don't want others to suffer the same abuse you've put up with. The
captain certainly isn't going to let you pretend this is going away.
Not when it's beginning to affect ship's morale."
"And I have to go apologize to the captain." A shudder of dread ran
through her at the thought. She knew it was ridiculous. She was at
least a head taller than the older woman. Janeway wasn't going to hurt
her. Then why did she feel so intimidated when those gray eyes fixed
on her?
"Which reminds me, why did you get so upset about being offered a
promotion?" Tom asked oh-so-casually.
"That was one of the things they kept saying. That I was after Harry
or you or anyone who could get me a promotion." She frowned when he
slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
"Damn! You were the one they were talking about! I heard some rumor
about someone supposedly sleeping her way to the top, but I thought
they meant Kes or B'Elanna because they said something about the
senior staff. Malista, that story has been circulated in every ship,
on every world since the dawn of time. People who know anything won't
believe it. Could you believe that tactic would work with Kathryn
'Call Me Captain' Janeway in charge?"
She sent him a shame-faced smile. "No, I guess not. But other people
might believe it. Oh, and I have to tell Harry everything before I
talk to Tuvok. Do you think he'll forgive me? For not trusting him
enough to tell him before?"
Paris gave her his patented wide-eyed 'Are you joking?' look. It had
the effect of making her wish she hadn't asked. He didn't answer her
question directly. "I'll tell you what, Sis. I'll go with you to see
the captain. I'm one of her favorites, you know." He smirked. "*Her*
personal reclamation project."
"Oh, you've heard that nickname, have you?" Malista began. She picked
up her protective lenses and slid them up her nose as she smiled up at
him then handed him his own.
He put them on then let them slide down his nose so he could peer over
them at her. "You know I think I could learn to like these things."
The intruder alert sounded. Almost in the same moment, the bright
light of the probe reappeared on the holodeck. Tom Paris and Malista
Shadow didn't have time to react at all. They simply winked out of
existence.
**************************
Ensign Kim and Commander Chakotay were just resuming their stations on
the bridge when the klaxon began to sound. Kim and Ayala worked in
tandem, scanning the Ops station for input. "The probe is back,
Captain!" Harry announced.
Before Janeway could react, Ayala added. "It's gone. It just popped in
then disappeared. It was within range of our sensors for less than 3.5
seconds."
"That's too fast for another complete scan. What did it do?" Chakotay
commented.
"Harry," Janeway began.
Before she could finish the thought, Harry was running a lifesigns
scan. "Captain," he said heavily. "There are six lifesigns unaccounted
for. Six crewmen are missing from the ship." He closed his eyes and
tried to control his breathing as Ayala took over and checked for more
detailed information.
Janeway didn't need to ask for the identities of the six. She knew.
They all did.
***************************
Tom's mind wavered slowly from unconsciousness to awareness. As his
eyes finally opened, he saw that he was lying face down and on top of
his right arm. He couldn't feel it at all. It was pinned between his
body and the surface of the----bed? The numbness told him he must have
been in this position for some time. This was not good. This was a bad
thing. This was a very bad thing.
With a groan in anticipation of pain, he allowed his body to flop
backwards and cast his eyes up toward to see the ceiling of an
unfamiliar room. There was a ceiling there, wasn't there? Didn't seem
to be. Strange. He definitely wasn't outdoors.
He felt the circulation beginning to return and became aware of sharp
stabs and prickles of pain in his arm. "Owwwwwwww." It didn't help
the pain, but the sound of his own voice reassured him somehow.
He wasn't dreaming. Damn. This really, really didn't look good. His
communicator was missing.
His neck and back felt stiff. How long had he been lying there? Long
enough to stiffen up this much? He tried to focus and concentrate.
Something was different. He lay there for a moment and tried to assess
his surroundings and his own physical condition. No spots! That was
it.
Even the Doc's jungle juice had only managed to make them fade, but
hadn't gotten rid of them completely. For the first time in what
seemed like forever, there were no colored spots dancing in front of
his eyes. None at all. And his head didn't hurt. Much. Or at least not
any more than the rest of his body. He felt as stiff and sore as if
he'd been pummeled by an angry or excited Klingon. A feeling he was
somewhat familiar with.
Malista? Where was she? The last thing he remembered---He couldn't
remember. No, wait. Malista was with him? If she wasn't here, then
maybe she was safely on the ship? Maybe. But if this was because he
was one of The Six? So was she. Or was he the only one---?
He staggered to his feet, wincing yet waving his arm to speed the
returning blood flow. He might need that arm. His whole body felt
stiff, as if he'd stayed in one position for far too long. 'A hexagon
shaped bed?' he mused. As he glanced around, he thought, 'Maybe some
kind of decorating theme?'
The room was hexagon shaped. Each side of the room rose smoothly and
seamlessly from the floor to a height of approximately fifteen feet,
then seemed to end without closure. High above the level of the
caramel-colored walls, there seemed to be an opaque brown dome. A
domed building? But the walls didn't go as high as the dome. In fact
the distance to the dome from the wall was about another fifteen feet.
It didn't make sense, but then nothing about this made sense anyway so
Paris decided not to worry about it.
He began a tour of inspection, not knowing what he might find, but
having nothing better to do. Maybe he could find out something about
this place. Thinking aloud, he muttered, "First figure out where you
are. If you can't determine your location, try to understand what's
going on. Order and simplification are the first steps towards the
mastery of a subject---the actual enemy is the unknown. Thomas Mann."
"Sheesh, those trainers at the Academy do know what they're talking
about. What a surprise!"
"Don't let the fear of the unknown scare you into inaction. Who said
that one? Can't remember. Maybe it was my dad? Oh, that's good, Tom.
How many more pithy proverbs can you recite? And why are you talking
out loud to yourself? The Doc would love to make a note of that in my
medical records. Add that to all the extensive notes on my performance
at the Academy."
But in a way, his experience in the classes, simulations, and field
exercises at Starfleet Academy worked to his benefit in situations
like this. He automatically fell back on his training and used it to
help him feel in control---or at least, not totally out of control.
Managed fear, if not conquered fear.
His concern for Malista began to mount. If all The Six were indeed
here, she was the only Maquis. The others all had Starfleet training.
They were familiar with strategies for maintaining calm in facing a
fear of the unknown. The Academy trained every recruit in the
protocols of first contact situations. Malista had no such training or
experience. She must be frightened out of her mind to find herself
imprisoned by an unknown enemy. And alone.
He jumped, startled as a section of the wall he was standing nearest
suddenly moved. Though he hadn't seen any indication of openings, a
panel slid down revealing a window of sorts between his room and the
next. He stepped closer and peered through the transparent covering.
The room was identical to this one. The only piece of furniture was a
hexagon shaped bed approximately eight feet across in the center of
the room. Sitting in the center of the bed, cross-legged and arms
resting on bent knees was Megan Delaney. She wasn't in uniform. She
must have been off duty. She was wearing loose slacks and a long
sleeved blue tee-shirt. One sleeve was torn open as if ripped along
the seam from her wrist to just above her swollen, empurpled elbow.
She seemed to be meditating, her eyes closed.
He knew she meditated when she was stressed and being kidnapped
without warning was enough to stress anyone. He knew he felt stressed.
Paris slapped at the window with his hand, trying to make a noise to
get her attention. "Megan!" He thumped the wall with his fist.
No response. Evidently, she couldn't hear him. Soundproofed? And one
way glass? Well, her presence did give credence to his theory that he
wasn't the only one brought here. Were the others here as well? The
other four that made up The Six? Including Malista?
He wondered why the panel had opened. Had he triggered it, by
approaching the wall? He decided to test that idea and approached the
next wall section. Again, a panel slid down. An
identical room. This
one was occupied by Janine Lamont. The petite blond was pacing in
circles---or hexagons---around the bed. She seemed nervous, but alert.
She was out of uniform as well, wearing a tank top and jogging shorts.
She was shivering as her breath misted in the air before her. Her room
must be significantly colder than his. Her arms were wrapped around
her waist while her hands rubbed up and down trying to generate
warmth. There was nothing he could do about it---for now.
Paris moved to the next wall. Though he didn't notice a triggering
device, the panel obediently slid down to reveal yet another identical
room, this one occupied by Ethan Simms. The young ensign was seated on
the bed, his left leg was turned at a peculiar angle, as if his leg
was broken or damaged in some manner. His auburn curls showed signs of
having been finger-combed repeatedly in agitation. He was out of
uniform as well, wearing well-worn sweats and a tee-shirt damp with
perspiration. He must have been working out in the gym, perhaps with
Janine, when snatched from the ship. The young man's glazed eyes
scanned right past Paris' position without a hint of recognition or
focus.
"Ethan!" Paris shouted, as he whammed a fist against the clear panel.
The ensign had looked right at him, but apparently hadn't seen him at
all. All of the rooms had to be sound-proofed, the glass one-way.
Why? What was going on? How had Simms been injured? A mounting sense
of dread began to tickle its way up his spine, raising the soft
golden hairs on the back of his neck. So far all the others seemed to
Trials 04 Shadow's Trial Page 36