"Sue, are the internal sensors online?" Tom asked. They were, she confirmed. Tom moved to the closest panel and began to scan Deck 8. "Cargo Bay 2 looks like it's in pretty good shape." He turned to Seven. "Why didn't they move your alcove to the Resnick?"
"I don't know," she answered. "My request was denied." Tom knew the answer to the next question before he asked it. "Denied by who?"
Seven confirmed his suspicions. "Captain Wheaton," she answered.
Tom shook his head. "I'll take care of this, Seven." He was resolute. "Joe, get repair crews suited up and over here right away. Start by reestablishing artificial gravity. We'll never get anything done like this. Then send a team to Cargo Bay 2. I want Seven and Icheb's alcoves prepped and ready for transport to the Resnick by 1400 hours. Get another crew working on that shuttle bay. I want that morgue ready by tonight."
Tom turned back to Seven. "Are you alright? Do you want to come back with me?"
She turned to face him. "I would like to continue. Where are you going?" she wondered.
"I have a few things I need to discuss with Captain Wheaton," he answered sharply. "Joe, keep and eye on her." He shrugged at Seven before hitting his combadge. "Paris to Resnick. One to beam over."
He found the captain right where he'd last seen him. Did this man ever leave his office? "Mr. Paris, I thought you were trying to meet a deadline." Wheaton wasn't smirking, but he might as well have been.
"We're not going to make that deadline, sir. You're going to extend it." Tom was polite, but forceful.
"And what makes you think that?" was all he got in reply.
Tom was doing his best to hold it together. It would take a lot more than this talking uniform to get him unnerved. "I've had to divert my crew to another project. They're transferring the regeneration alcoves from our cargo bay to the Resnick."
Wheaton was furious. "I will not have that Borg technology installed on this ship."
Tom was trying to keep cool. "Sir, we have two crewman who need those chambers in order to survive." Wheaton was unmoved.
"We are a tactical vessel. I will not risk the safety of this ship and crew by bringing untested alien technology onboard. Your passengers will just have to wait until we reach Starbase 32," he spat.
Tom didn't miss the subtle dig. "With all due respect, Captain, they're not passengers, they are members of my crew, and this technology has been used safely on Voyager for four years. There's no risk to the Resnick."
Wheaton stood and walked around to the front of his desk. He was not a short man, but Tom still towered over him. If this move was meant to intimidate Paris, it was poorly chosen. "With all due respect," he mocked back to Tom, "the status of the Borg, the Maquis, and Voyager's other non-coms is undetermined. I'm willing to work with you because you've been given a field commission and because I have a lot of respect for your father, but--frankly--your status is just as tenuous. So I'd recommend you get back to work on that crew manifest and leave these decisions to me."
Tom suddenly realized that Harry was the wrong role model in this situation. A serious dose of Kathryn Janeway was required here. "Captain, I understand your skepticism about me and the others. But, frankly, I can't let your fear get in the way of the health and safety of my crew. We've come too far and survived too much."
He slapped his combadge with some force, "Paris to Carey." Joe responded right away. "Change of plans, Joe. Have those alcoves moved to Voyager's sickbay, and make Deck 5 your top priority. I want every able-bodied crewman working on getting the environmental controls back on line." Tom never moved his eyes off Wheaton as he spoke.
"Sir?" Carey asked, not needing to finish the question.
"We'll be moving back to Voyager as soon as conditions are safe," Tom explained.
"Yes, sir!" A ringing show of support from one of Starfleet's finest.
"Paris out." Wheaton started to speak, but Tom cut him off. "As you have been so careful to point out, I'm Voyager's senior officer in charge. And I'm taking my people home. We might not make it back under our own steam, but we'll do it on our own ship. Now if you'll excuse me, sir." Tom headed for the door.
"Mr. Paris," Wheaton blurted out. "I'll be making a full report on your actions to Starfleet."
Wrong way to threaten me, Tom thought. He said instead, "I take my orders from Captain Janeway. You're free to take it up with her as soon as she regains consciousness. Excuse me." With that, Tom was gone.
Wheaton watched the doors close before moving back to his seat. He knew he had pushed Paris to disobey him, mostly to test this man he had reason to suspect. But he was surprised at Tom's response: forceful, protective of his people, yet not irreverent or disrespectful. The reality of this man didn't match his service record. Perhaps he was wrong about Tom Paris. Only time would tell.
~*~*~*~*~
Twelve hours later Voyager's crew was home. Well, in what they had come to think of as home. Environmental controls and sickbay systems were restored first. Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, and two other critical-but-stable patients were transported over, along with the Doctor, as soon as Tom was assured it was safe. Still in some pain, but mostly recovered from her injuries, Samantha Wildman was now well enough to fill in as a medic.
Acting Commander Paris's first executive order might have seemed a bit controversial: to make Seven of Nine his first officer. He, B'Elanna, and Seven were the only surviving senior officers not on life-support, and B'Elanna was still recovering from her injuries. She was also too valuable in her own job as chief engineer. Seven's lack of even a provisional rank was immaterial. She had been Voyager's defacto science officer for the past few years, and the crew had grown accustomed to taking her orders.
Tom was surprised when B'Elanna supported his decision. He figured she was just glad to be back on duty at all. Once they'd secured the ship, however, Tom never seriously considered relieving her. Not only did he know how therapeutic his wife found her work, there was no way they could make the ship habitable without her. With a strict agreement that she would supervise her crews while seated behind a console--a prenatal monitor firmly in place--Torres organized damage control parties and got to work on bringing the ship back from the dead.
Icheb was now almost fully recovered, and he and Seven--after several hours of regeneration in their relocated sickbay alcoves--began a full systems check. They identified critical areas in need of repair, and issued each project a priority level. B'Elanna would then assign crews according to those priorities. Critical projects drew the most skilled crews, since--for the foreseeable future--every able-bodied crewman was a deputized engineer.
Top priority was, of course, the power grid. The ship was operating on emergency power cells, but that was a stopgap measure at best. Equal weight was given to shoring up the emergency forcefields and reducing the radiation on the middle decks. The ship's habitable areas were currently cut off by this dead-zone. They couldn't keep wasting energy with site-to-site transports whenever they needed to cross that barrier.
Their next priority was the morgue. Tom put Vorik in charge of the transfer and identification project, hoping that his Vulcan reserve would protect him from the overwhelming emotions others might endure seeing the faces of so many dead friends. It seemed to be the logical choice, even though he knew how close Vorik had been to Tuvok. Tom's guilt was relieved a bit when Vorik assured him this duty--an exercise in emotional control worthy of a Vulcan facing the deaths of friends and colleagues--would allow him to show his respect for his mentor. Soon, the deceased were all positively identified, and the young engineer joined the other repair teams.
The compilation of the crew roster had taken most of Tom's time. The final tallies were gut wrenching: of the 148 who began the transwarp trip, 50 were dead, 56 had been seriously injured, and 42 were rescued with only minor injuries. Even with most of the wounded now treated and released, Voyager's working crew complement was just ninety-two. Ninety-two people now counting on him to make the right decisions for t
hem. He hoped he was up to the job.
~*~*~*~*~
She was sitting on a rocky beach looking out over a magnificent sunset. Behind her was a lush tropical forest. It was the place she felt most content, though she couldn't remember where it was or when she had last been there. She drew her knees up to her chest, and took it all in.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a quick movement. A rustling from out of the trees and onto a felled log just behind her. She turned slowly--so as not to scare the creature off. She saw it--a small lizard, perhaps a chameleon, though she wasn't sure, perched silently on the branch. It seemed to be calling to her, without words. "What are you trying to tell me, my little friend?" she asked softly. Before the creature could answer, the world around her began to spin. What was happening?
"Captain. Captain, can you hear me? Ensign, two cc's of cordrazine and call Mr. Paris to sickbay."
She knew the voice, but couldn't place it. She felt a small tingle on her neck, and her body suddenly felt heavy, as if she were moving back into it after a long absence. She knew the person speaking wanted her to open her eyes. She wasn't ready. She had been happy there on that beach. At peace with herself for what she sensed had been the first time in a long while. 'Don't make me come back,' she thought. But the voice was persistent.
"Captain, this is the Doctor. Can you hear my voice? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." She found her fingers ignoring her will and tightening involuntarily. "She's coming out of it," she heard him say.
Suddenly there was another voice, also familiar, coming closer.
"Is she waking up?" she heard it say.
"Yes, according to her cortical monitor she should be conscious now, but I can't get her to respond."
She felt pressure on her arm, a hand she realized. "Captain. It's Tom, can you hear me?"
The other voice was next, "Cortical stimulator." The hand loosened its grip. She felt a buzzing at her temple. She was fighting the impulse to open her eyes. 'Leave me alone,' she thought.
The second voice spoke again, "Captain Janeway." At the sound of her name, she came to consciousness, though everything around her was hazy, including her memory.
Her eyes were open now, and she could see the three people surrounding her. "Captain, how are you feeling?"
She tried to sit up, but was gently restrained by the two men on either side of her. "Not so fast," she recognized the first voice.
"Doctor...what...?" She was startled at the sound of her own. Raspy didn't begin to describe it.
It was the second voice this time, "Do you know where you are?"
She tried to swallow, tried to get her body to respond to her commands. "Voyager," she eked out.
She saw the men above her exchange glances. "She needs more time to recover now that the coma has broken."
They looked back down at her. "Captain, you need some sleep. I'll come back when you've gotten some rest."
She found herself grabbing his hand to stop him, "Tom." She wasn't about to let him go until she knew. "Where are we?"
Again, a look passed between the two men. She saw Paris take a deep breath before answering her. "Home, Captain. We're almost home."
That one word was enough to relax her. 'Home.' She let go of his arm and closed her eyes. Within seconds, she was asleep.
~*~*~*~*~
PART 7 -- THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF:
At 0700 hours, Tom Paris began his first full day in command of Voyager. If one could command a derelict junk pile being tractored back to Federation space by another vessel. His decision to move the crew back to the ship had received no real resistance from the Resnick's captain, and he was grateful. He wouldn't have wanted to force his friends to take sides in a conflict between him and Captain Wheaton this close to reclaiming their places in the Fleet.
His first task of the day: conducting a deck-by-deck sweep to assess the ship's condition, with the assistance of his new first officer. They'd start on the bridge and work down. Of course, he'd have to get there first. Except for those in sickbay, what remained of the crew was bunking in temporary barracks on Decks 13 and 14. Call it 'captain's privilege' or 'I have a very pregnant wife who shouldn't be sleeping in a make-shift dormitory,' but Tom had turned one of the computer labs on Deck 11 into temporary quarters for himself and B'Elanna. Since the turbolifts were still offline, this saved her from having to crawl through the ship's Jeffries tubes to get to her station in Main Engineering. Of course, it also mean Tom had an eleven deck climb to start his day. Partly to meet up with Seven of Nine and partly to break up the grueling ascent, he decided to stop in sickbay on his way up.
Thinking it might be less than dignified for the ship's commander to crawl out of the sickbay access tube in full view of his crew, Tom entered Deck 5 from the vertical junction at the far end of the corridor and walked the last few meters to the medical bay.
Seven was still in her regeneration alcove when he arrived, so he took a moment to check on the captain.
"How's she doing, Doc?" Janeway had regained consciousness briefly the day before, but the doctor was concerned when her vital signs didn't improve after the coma broke. Tom knew just enough about human synaptic function to know the doctor was right to be worried.
"No change, I'm afraid. She's been sleeping since you left her yesterday afternoon, but I've detected no REM cycles--she hasn't been dreaming."
"Yet you're sure she hasn't slipped back into the coma?" Tom asked.
The doctor nodded. "Yes. She's only asleep. One of my two Sleeping Beauties, as a matter of fact." He gestured to Seven's alcove in the biolab.
"What do you mean?" Tom asked.
"Seven. She's been regenerating for almost ten hours. I've scanned her, though, and there's nothing wrong with any of her cybernetic implants."
The men walked into the Doctor's office. Tom watched as the EMH called up his readings from Seven's medical file. "Maybe I should have Icheb run a full diagnostic of her alcove," Tom suggested. The doctor nodded. He didn't have a better idea.
"How are the others?" Tom asked, concerned not just as their friend, but as their new commanding officer. He had taken the responsibility for moving the injured back from the Resnick, and he worried if he'd made the right call.
"Crewman Jor's burns are healing nicely, but the muscle and tissue regeneration can be quite painful, so I'm keeping her sedated. She should be on her feet again in a day or so. Ashmore is almost fully recovered. The prosthetic leg he received needs some minor adjustments, so I'm keeping him here until they're complete. I imagine he'll be released some time this afternoon."
"Any improvement in Chakotay?" Tom watched the physician's face fall.
"I'm afraid not. He has only minimal brainwave activity, and we're sustaining his cardiopulmonary functions artificially. If he were stronger, I'd attempt to repair some of his neural pathways with Borg nanoprobes, but he's too weak to withstand the treatment right now. Yet he's holding on. I'd say he's surviving only on the strength of his will at this point."
Tom wished the turbolifts were working. It was killing B'Elanna that she couldn't visit her friend, and Tom was worried that Chakotay might die before his wife could see him. "Keep me posted, Doc," he said.
The two men turned as they heard the voice of the computer that served as Seven's 'alarm clock.' "Regeneration cycle complete." The young woman opened her eyes and took a step forward. Tom couldn't help but notice that she looked less than refreshed.
"Good morning, Seven," he greeted her.
She looked slightly disoriented. "What time is it?" she asked.
The doctor answered, "8:07. You overslept." He picked up a medical tricorder and began scanning her.
"I apologize for keeping you waiting, Lieutenant," she said softly.
Tom was worried now. "Doc, is she okay?" The fact that Seven wasn't protesting the examination was a bad sign.
"She's showing some indications of fatigue, but she's well otherwise. How are you feeling, Seven?"
; She seemed distracted. "I'm fine," she said less than convincingly, "Shall we begin?"
Tom looked to the doctor, who could only shrug. "Doc, notify B'Elanna that I want Icheb to get back up here and check out Seven's alcove." He changed his tone to mask his concern, "I can't have my first officer falling asleep on duty, now can I." He would have expected a sarcastic comeback from Seven. She barely seemed to notice.
They hardly spoke during their climb to Deck 1. Tom saw that Seven was having trouble keeping up with him, but he chose not to say anything about it. He punched in his security code and the corridor access panel opened.
They climbed out into the aft corridor, and Tom knew immediately it would be a long time before anyone worked on this deck again. The damage was worse than he had imagined. He and Seven climbed over and under the massive debris, cataloguing the compromised systems as they went. Bridge access from the corridor was blocked by a huge section of collapsed ceiling, so they were forced to try and enter through the Briefing Room.
Be Careful What You Wish For Page 17