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Moonlight and Shuttlecraft
Three interrelated vignettes: "Crescent Moon" takes place during Voyager's third year in the Delta Quadrant, a few days after the episode "Unity." "Shuttlecraft" and "Moonlight, Star-Bright" take place shortly after the episode "Rise." (Voyager, P/T, "PG rated")
GENERAL DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Star Trek characters and is responsible
for the backstory. This particular story and the shuttle bay crewmen are my own invention. I thank Paramount for allowing me to mentally wander around their back lot for a while.
This is the first fiction story I've written in 25 years. Thanks, B'Elanna and Tom (and the actors who portray them, Roxann Dawson and Robert Duncan McNeill), for the inspiration.
CRESCENT MOON
"Please, Chakotay...."
"I'm sorry B'Elanna. I have some reports to complete for the 0600 meeting tomorrow. Another time. Chakotay out."
Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres bit back the rest of what she was going to say when she heard the soft click of his comm badge as it was switched off. His voice seemed even more formal and distant through the badge than it had when they had spoken face to face during the last few days. Bag of hoverball gear in hand, B'Elanna leaned on the wall of the corridor in front of Holodeck 2, stood up for the third time in as many days from the game the commander had promised her in the shuttlecraft when they were returning to Voyager. Surprised at hearing the call of a Federation distress beacon in the Delta Quadrant, Chakotay had landed on an isolated planet. He had helped a Cooperative of former Borg repair some equipment in repayment for healing him of serious injuries and had developed some personal attachments to some of them. Sensing the mood he had been in since their departure from those he had been helping, B'Elanna had offered to thrash him on the hoverball court to distract Chakotay from his restiveness.
He had accepted her offer. Before he had stunned her. Before he had gone to the Borg ship, turning it on long enough for the Cooperative to seize control of the minds of all the former Borg living in exile on the planet. Clearly, he had not yet forgiven himself for his actions, even if everyone else on Voyager had accepted that he had been coerced.
B'Elanna found herself feeling so frustrated by her inability to help her friend and mentor that she required some physical activity herself. She needed to thrash someone, on the hoverball court or anywhere else -- even be thrashed herself, if anyone on Voyager was capable of it. Thinking of a likely victim, she tapped her badge. "Computer, location of Harry Kim?"
"Ensign Kim is on the Bridge," the cool voice replied.
B'Elanna remembered that he was pulling an extra shift because of the poor reaction of Ensign Hamilton's stomach to Neelix's luncheon special. She tried again, "Computer, location of Tom Paris?"
"Lt. Paris is on Holodeck 2."
This was more promising. B'Elanna turned to the door in front of her, taking notice that the privacy lock was not engaged. "Computer, is anyone on Holodeck 2 with Tom Paris?" The last thing she needed to do was to burst in on Paris when he was in the middle of a tryst with some female companion.
"Lt. Paris is alone."
'Now that is unusual,' thought B'Elanna, pleased nonetheless. 'Wonder if I can convince him to play...play hoverball.' She squirmed mentally as she amended her thought. There were lots of games Mr. Paris liked, games that she always had made a habit of refusing to play when he'd offered to play them with her. Thanks to Ensign Vorik and his transmitting to B'Elanna his 7-year-itch of a Vulcan sex drive, however, she had shamelessly thrown herself at Paris only a few weeks ago. His behavior towards her in the mines of the Sakari had been completely honorable, even though it obviously had just about killed him not to succumb to her requests for his attentions. Demands for sex, she admitted to herself. Tom had been a considerate and good friend in a difficult time, then and since they had come back on board Voyager. She hesitated only a moment before entering the portal.
As she first walked onto the dimly lit holodeck, B'Elanna thought Paris was using the beach resort program. Although the computer had said no one was with him, she had not thought to ask if this included hologram people. The idea that she would encounter him with a group of scantily-clad holo-beach bunnies almost made her turn back. Stopping and listening for a moment, though, B'Elanna realized she could not hear any voices, as would be expected if he had been immersed in a wild holodeck party. The only noise she was aware of was a hushed, rhythmic murmur. After a salty tang registered in her consciousness, she identified the sound as pounding surf. Looking around her more carefully, she realized that while the setting did resemble the beach resort somewhat, it was much smaller in scale. It was furnished more like a Terran beach house she had visited during her Starfleet Academy days than a public building.
Curiosity aroused, B'Elanna moved through the shadowy rooms to a covered verandah. Beyond the verandah was a wooden deck slicked by a fine rain that was falling outside. Glancing from side to side, B'Elanna could see that she was in a beach house perched upon a rocky cliff about 10 meters above the sands. She saw Tom, his long frame stretched out on some kind of chaise lounge, face illuminated by the flame of a single candle that was protected from the breeze by a glass hurricane chimney. Although he was gazing out over a wide beach to the waves crashing below, she doubted that he actually saw anything before him. He was as far away mentally from the recreated scene of an Alpha Quadrant beach as he was from it in reality, stranded on a ship at the other end of the galaxy, 67 years from home.
She could not remember ever before seeing him with the particular contemplative expression she now saw on his face. B'Elanna decided to leave him to his privacy and tried to creep out of the holodeck without being seen by him. When she turned to leave, however, the bag with her hoverball gear caught on a small table, knocking over a hurricane lamp that was the mate to the one lighting Paris' face. As it thunked solidly on the table, Paris turned and brought his clear blue eyes to bear on B'Elanna.
"B'Elanna," he said, standing up, "I'm sorry, have I gone over my time on the holodeck? I know you're next. Computer..."
Before he could turn off the program, however, B'Elanna stopped him. "No, actually I was early. Don't leave. When I realized you were alone here on the holodeck I wanted to ask you if you would be interested in playing hoverball with me, since the opponent I thought I was going to torture decided not to come."
"Ah. Chakotay's still not himself, is he?" asked Paris.
"No, he isn't," she admitted, righting the tipped over lamp before it could roll off the table and onto the floor.
"The Borg seem to have that affect on people."
Nodding agreement, B'Elanna asked, "Mind if I join you?"
A small gleam sparked in his eyes. "Not at all, ma'am. Sit down right here next to me." He patted the edge of the chaise lounge invitingly.
"Don't be a pig, Paris. I was getting to like the noble you."
He laughed and pushed a cushioned chair around for her so that it too faced the ocean setting, then stretched himself out again on the chaise.
Taking the proffered seat next to him, B'Elanna said mildly, "I don't remember seeing this program before, Tom. Is this the one you run when you feel like sitting in the rain?"
A faint smile appeared. "When I want to think about my pathetic love life, I come here. I spent several summers in this house at the beach when I was a kid, while my father was teaching at the Academy -- one of the few perks of being the son of an admiral that I was able to appreciate. I had some great times here as a kid. Even lost my...um... my first girlfriend when I was staying here. She dumped me for a cadet."
"Oh really? It's surprising you have such great memories of this place then, Tom." At the sight of his crooked grin and averted eyes, she silently added, 'but I'll bet she's not the only thing you lost here.' At least he had the good grace to blush.
"And since when is your love life pathetic, Paris? I seem to recall you pursuing most of the women on this ship at one time or another."
He sighed. "Oh, yes, the famous Paris reputation. Well, pursuing doesn't mean catching, you should know that B'Elanna."
B'Elanna felt her own face become flushed. Thinking that he was making a crack about her heated pursuit of him in the galacite mines, she started to make a sharp comment and leave. Then the engineer saw his face. He was looking over the water again with the same melancholy look she had seen when she first came onto the holodeck. This was not the smart-mouthed Paris before her now, but the vulnerable one she had encountered several times. She felt a kinship with this Tom Paris: the man who knew how hard it could be to live up to a parent's expectations, who had protected and comforted her when they were prisoners of the Vidiians, who had proven over and over that he could be her friend.
Her curiosity was again aroused. What had he been thinking of just now? And how could she ask him about it without resuscitating that mask of nonchalance he assumed when asked serious or personal questions?
Paris turned to her again and must have read something in her face, for he asked, after a short pause, "Don't you like the rain, B'Elanna? We can change the weather. Computer, cease rainfall. Dry the deck and clear the sky. What kind of sky do you want, B'Elanna, a full moon? No, a full moon might scare you away, and I've been trying to get you on the holodeck with me for a long time. How about a moonless, starry night? Or... I know -- computer, add a crescent moon low on the western horizon. What do you think?" A bright, narrow sliver of moon appeared low in the sky, the lunar full disc faintly visible above the crescent, as it would when the light of the sun reflected back upon it from the day side of a full Earth. "That's the moon the goddess Diana used for her bow -- with moonbeams for arrows, if I recall properly. Appropriate for a half-Klingon woman, I should think."
With a half-smile, she shook her head from his chatter, but B'Elanna could not help but appreciate the sight. She had always thought the terrestrial moon prettiest in this phase. B'Elanna glanced back at him. Did he know somehow, or had it been a lucky guess? She didn't recall ever having discussed it with anyone on Voyager, or even her former Maquis mates, for that matter. She almost told him it was beautiful. Instead, she eyed him speculatively.
"Actually, I'd still like to mop up the floor with someone on the hoverball court."
"You never give up, do you Torres? Well, I'm not actually dressed for hoverball." She noticed then that he was wearing the blue jeans, tank top, and shirt that he had worn when Voyager had gone back in time to twentieth century Earth. She hadn't even realized he'd kept those clothes.
"Would you consider Captain Janeway's game, tennis? I might even be able to take a few points off you in that."
"You're on, Paris," B'Elanna replied.
* * * * * * * *
An hour later, victorious despite losing several points to her dogged but outclassed opponent, B'Elanna handed Paris a towel to wipe the sweat out of his eyes as they deposited the tennis balls and racquets back into the recycler. "Sure you don't want another game?" she asked.
"Thanks, but I've been humiliated enough for one night. Would you like to stop at the mess hall and get something to eat?"
"No, I don't think so, Tom. I really should read over some reports tonight."
"Good night, then, B'Elanna. See you in the morning." As he returned her towel to her, she retrieved his top shirt from her bag and handed it back to him. Calling out, "Display arch," he leisurely strolled off the black and yellow lined cube of the holodeck. His usual playful attitude was still nowhere in evidence.
B'Elanna stayed in the holodeck a few extra minutes, folding and refolding the towel he had used before putting it back in her bag. Even though B'Elanna herself had been the one eager for athletic competition, she found that she had been disappointed when the beach and moon and verandah all disappeared at his command, replaced by the tennis court in a park at midday. For a few moments, she tried to conjure up memories of how the beach scene had looked, but finally she decided not to try to call it up again. Who knew which program of his she might wander into if she snooped? Better to ask him about it first. B'Elanna suspected he'd be flattered by the request.
As she walked to her quarters, B'Elanna wondered about this curious mood of his that she'd sensed when she had arrived on the holodeck. He couldn't possibly have been thinking about his 'pathetic love life,' yet she thought she had heard the ring of truth in his quiet voice as he had said it. And she wondered about herself.
Beating Paris at tennis hadn't been nearly as satisfying as sitting and talking with him had been.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
SHUTTLECRAFT
"Look here, Lieutenant. See what I mean about the stabilizers?" Crewman Andres leaned into the wrecked shuttle to show Paris the break where the stabilizer should have been attached to the shuttlecraft body. "At first I thought that the joint had broken during the crash landing, but from the damage, the shuttle seems to have landed more to starboard. I think it broke on the way down, from the turbulence."
"I think you're right, Tim. Tuvok did a better job landing this thing than I thought, if the port aft stabilizers were rocking around like that. No surprise he lost control. Of course, I probably won't ever tell him that." Paris grinned at the young crewman, who was even younger than Harry Kim by a few months. Tim smiled back at the pilot and moved forward to start removing the most sensitive equipment from the shuttle.
"That's the trouble with these shuttle parts that we've been getting from the Delta Quadrant people. They mean well, mind you, but there's just no quality control like we're used to. Ensign Myers was saying just yesterday that she was sure we could do better fabricating all of the parts, if we only had the room on board Voyager."
"I can't quarrel with you, Tim. I'm just not sure where the captain is going to be able to find the space for you." Paris stooped to unfasten the panel by the helm. The most delicate instrumentation from the wreck was being taken back on Paris' shuttle before the destroyed craft's shell was beamed back on Voyager via the bulk cargo transporter. Lt. Torres wanted to check out the sensitive parts without their having gone through the transporter buffers, just to make sure no subtle evidence of malfunction could be obscured by the transporter process itself.
"We were thinking that we could possibly build a bigger door in that wall between the cargo hold and the shuttle bay. Most of the time that cargo hold is half-empty, and it's usually our stuff in there anyway...." The young crewman went on enthusiastically as Paris half-listened. Not that he wasn't extremely interested in what Andres had to say: Tom placed his own life, as well as the lives of his passengers, on the quality of the craft that he flew. He had simply heard it so often lately from Myers, Andres, and Jim Joseph, the other young ensign assigned to shuttle repair, that he did not really need to listen to follow the conversation. He could recite it himself.
A couple of hours later, Paris tapped his comm badge. "Paris to Torres."
"Torres here."
"We've packed up the equipment you wanted retrieved, B'Elanna. You can beam the shell up anytime you're ready. We'll be back in about an hour."
The pilot waved Tim into his shuttle as the chief engineer replied, "I'll meet you in the shuttle bay. Torres out."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
B'Elanna Torres had just finished examining the latest wrecked shuttle with Ensigns Myers and Joseph when Paris gracefully piloted his shuttle into the bay. The chief engineer and the repair crew watched as the shuttle settled gently next to the alcove which bore the official sign of "Shuttle Maintenance Bay #1." Below the official sign was another:
YOU BLITZ 'EM, WE FIX 'EM
The first time Elaine Myers had forgotten to take the paper printout sign down before Captain Janeway arrived to take a shuttle with Commander Chakotay, she had been extremely embarrassed that the senior officers had seen it. Had she not been so busy using hand signals to order Joseph to remove the offending sign, Myers might have seen the captain's mouth twitch in amusement and the commander's broad but quickly extinguished grin. She did not hear their laughter in any case, as they had held it back until they had closed up the vehicle for take-off.
The next day, a larger, replicated wood sign with the slogan had appeared on Ensign Myers' desk, with the captain's compliments. Captain Kathryn Janeway had long been aware of the value of gallows humor in difficult situations; and despite the valiant efforts and competence of the shuttle bay crew, shuttle maintenance on Voyager had become a very sick joke, indeed.
Since their forced entry into the Delta Quadrant, over a dozen shuttles had crashed. At every opportunity, the shuttles were retrieved and repaired or, if beyond help, stripped for parts and broken apart for rebuilding materials. Only one shuttle that had arrived from the Alpha Quadrant was still essentially whole. The others were either completely rebuilt or were substitutes cobbled together from spare parts and components obtained from the space-faring races of the Delta Quadrant. Andres was not the only one concerned that the parts were not close enough to Starfleet specifications for safety. B'Elanna Torres shared the concerns of the maintenance crew.
"I'm not sure what we can do when the body of the shuttlecraft itself breaks like that, Lt. Torres," said Ensign Myers as they examined the broken stabilizer linkage. The older woman looked at her young charges before adding, "Jim and Tim want us to just go the rest of the way and turn the cargo bay into a shuttle fabrication area, and I have to agree. We're practically building them now anyway. All we really need to do is store molds for the shells in between castings. We have the specs for the necessary equipment in the main computer. You are already making the warp coil parts and such down in Engineering. It would take less time to start from scratch than to try to repair some of these..."
As Myers gestured at the partially dismantled craft in the shuttle bay, she gave Paris a look that prompted him to say, "Don't blame me, this time it wasn't my fault! Tuvok and Neelix own this mess, Ensign Mom." Myers laughed. Her two teenagers were with her husband on the Decker, and she was known for assuaging her own heartache by mothering the youngest and loneliest of the crew. She was Samantha Wildman's first port of call whenever she needed someone to care for her daughter Naomi.
Pacing around the shuttle bay, Torres began to get an idea. She asked, "What's the status of the other shuttles?"
"Well, we've only got two operational at the moment. We could use a little more help in here. Couldn't you spare an engineer for a few days?" Although she tried to hide the fact that she was begging, Myers was unsuccessful, and knew it.
Perfect. "I think I might be able to assign Ensign Vorik down here for a while to help out." Torres was getting tired of having the mortified-but-trying-to-look-as-impassive-as-ever Vulcan underfoot in Engineering. "In fact, maybe we should have him complete a feasibility study about converting the cargo hold into the fabrication facility you've been talking about. If he determines it's possible, I'll present the idea to the captain." She turned around and added, "And if she approves, I may be able to assign him to you down here long term."
Even better, Torres thought.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Lieutenant." The ecstatic woman called across to her young subordinates. "Did you hear that? The Tim & Jim Shuttle Shop may just be getting into business after all."
Tim cheered while Jim smilingly shouted back, "Nah, it's got to be called Ma's."
As the maintenance crew bantered back and forth, Paris took in Torres' crafty smile and leaned over to whisper, "Ulterior motive, Lieutenant?"
"Whatever could you mean, Mr. Paris," Torres replied ingenuously. "I'm just thinking about his career. Vorik could use the experience."
"Sure. Not to mention a little mothering." The image of the dour young Vulcan with the warm, effusive Ensign Mom and her young charges made Paris snicker. Torres unsuccessfully tried to assume an innocent expression. Privately, however, both thought that learning to deal with this kind of emotion might be good for Vorik in the long run, serving as he was on a ship that was mostly human. Certainly, it appeared that they were all in it for the very long run.
As they started for the exit, Paris and Torres waved farewell to the shuttle crew.
"Oh, don't go yet. I almost forgot," Myers called after them. "The Sacajawea is almost ready for a test run. Do you think you could accompany Ensign Joseph and take the shuttle out, Lt. Paris? All the readouts and specs seem to be coming out right, but I still have this funny feeling that we haven't found all the glitches yet. I'd rather you test it out than any of the other pilots."
"Flattery will get you anything, Ensign," he joked. "When do you need me?"
"Tomorrow should be okay."
"Let me read over your findings, Ensign Myers," said Torres. "If the readouts on the Sacajawea look okay to me, I'll clear the flight with the captain." Myers sent Andres over with the padd that had the readouts to the chief engineer before she left the shuttle bay with the pilot. As they cleared the door, both lieutenants grinned as they heard the maintenance crew crowing and shouting, "Hallelulia" behind them.
"Do you think they can make this shuttle building idea work, B'Elanna?" asked Paris.
"Well, that cargo bay will be tight quarters for it, but I agree with them on one thing. They're more likely to meet Starfleet specs building them than the ones we've been getting supplied to us from off the ship."
"Not to mention how motivated they'll be to do a good job. They've got to ride in 'em, too," gibed the pilot.
* * * * * * * * * *
At 1100 hours the next day, Tom Paris walked into the shuttle bay already dressed in an environment suit. The shuttle maintenance crew raised their collective eyebrows at the suit and began to haze him. He replied for all ears, "Hey, just your normal Test Pilot gear." For Ensign Myers' ears alone, however, Paris leaned over and added, "But you're the one with the 'funny feeling' something isn't right, Ensign Mom." She grimaced, then ordered Ensign Joseph to don a suit himself before entering the shuttle for the flight.
Torres walked into the shuttle bay, accompanied by Ensign Vorik, as the pilot and copilot were finishing the preflight check. She handed the padd back to Ensign Myers as Vorik nodded to and took a place near Andres. "I couldn't find anything wrong in your readings, either," she said, but I think you were wise to ask Tom to be your pilot. With his instincts, he'll be able to check the craft out thoroughly -- not that Jim Joseph couldn't also, mind you, but..."
"Jim is a good kid, but he's the first to say that he isn't the pilot Lt. Paris is, at least not yet. Lt. Paris may kid around with us with that hot-shot pilot stuff, Lt. Torres, but we all know he really knows what he's doing." Myers had been one of the first of the crew, outside of the senior staff, to see through Paris' tough shell and recognize that a lonely kid still lived within him. She often thought that all he really needed to be truly happy was to settle down with some nice girl, but NOT one of the Delaney sisters, in her opinion. This was Ensign Myers' usual prescription for happiness, but that did not make it any the less true in Paris' case, as far as she could see.
"Torres to Janeway."
"Janeway here."
"We are just about ready for the test flight, Captain."
"Very well, Lieutenant. We're planning on remaining in orbit the rest of the day, so there's no rush to finish the testing. Janeway out."
After Paris saw the signal that he was free to start, the Sacajawea lifted slowly off the shuttle bay floor and sailed through the force field out into space. For half an hour, Paris and Joseph limited propulsion to the thrusters while they checked all of the systems on the shuttle, including life support, finding all in good working order. Finally, Paris opened communications to Torres and said, with a hint of drawling laughter in his voice, "We'll go with the impulse engines now, B'Elanna, and then to warp, with your permission, of course, ma'am."
"As if you'd listen to me anyway, Tom Paris! We'll manage to follow you with the sensors, no matter what you do with my shuttle."
"Your shuttle? I think Ensign Myers might have something to say about that, not to mention Captain Janeway."
"Don't you worry, Hotshot. I'll clear it with them. Just watch the daredevil stunts!" she teased back.
Torres did not catch the looks between Ensign Myers and Andres at their casual tone while they were supposedly in test pilot mode. Vorik stood stoically in front of the sensors, not lifting his eyes from the instruments.
A short time later, after the shuttle had been pointed out-system and the impulse engines had also tested out without incident, Paris said, "We're going to Warp One, now, B'Elanna," Seconds later, the crew in the shuttle bay heard, "Whoa!" over the open comm line before Ensign Vorik announced dispassionately, "The shuttle has just disappeared from the sensors, Lt. Torres."
"How is that possible?" she shouted. "Shuttle Sacajawea, please respond. Tom, what's going on out there?" As the seconds dragged out to minutes, without any reply, B'Elanna felt both of her stomachs start to churn. She wanted to hit something, anything. With the shuttle bay doors closed, the large area seemed oppressively small to B'Elanna. Losing two crewmen because of something as silly as a shuttle test flight was her worst nightmare. Almost as bad was having to inform the captain of losing two crewmen during a test flight.
"Torres to Janeway."
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Something's happened with the Sacajawea. They disappeared from the shuttle bay sensors. Can you have Harry start a wide-scale scan of the area?"
"Of course." The order was given. "We'll leave the comm line open to the shuttle bay for the benefit of your crew, B'Elanna."
"Thank you, Captain."
* * * * * * * * * *
To Torres it felt like an eternity, but barely 10 minutes passed before she heard Harry Kim's voice say over the open line, "I've found them, Captain. They are way over on the other side of the system, on the far side of that asteroid belt. The metals in the asteroid masked them from our sensors. I'm picking up an audio transmission now."
"Let's hear it, Mr. Kim," said the captain, relief evident in her throaty voice.
"Paris to Voyager. This thing sure has a kick, Captain. Tell Ensign Myers that her 'funny feeling' was right on the money. This baby only wants to do Warp Four and doesn't want to drop out of warp once it gets there. We had to cut power to all systems to get it to stop. Can you send out the cavalry to pick us up? We don't feel like shooting past you on the way back."
"Stay put, Lieutenant. Ensign Richards, plot a course to pick up the shuttle. Lt. Torres, it sounds like our test pilots are doing okay. We'll be closing the comm line from the bridge until we get near enough to pick them up. Janeway out."
B'Elanna had not realized how tightly she was clenching her hands until she looked down to see the crescents of blood marking where her nails had pierced the flesh of her palms. She paced from one end of the shuttle bay to the other until the bay doors were opened for the Sacajawea to enter and touch down.
"You scared us all half to death, Tom Paris," Torres growled at him, as he casually swung out of the shuttlecraft door.
"Worried about the shuttle or me, Torres?
"About Mr. Joseph, if you must know. Having to be copilot to you..."
"Your concern for my well being is so touching, Lieutenant," he said, but with a jaunty air, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then he bent down close to her ear and whispered to her, in all seriousness, "I think Ensign Joseph was rethinking his career as a test pilot for a few minutes there. In addition to everything else, we had a little trouble with the inertial dampers, with the sudden jump to Warp Four so close to the star. It's a good thing we had on environment suits, or it would have been worse." They both stole a quick look at the young ensign's Vulcanish complexion as he stepped out of the shuttle, confirming the pilot's statement.
Tom tossed a comment off loudly to Ensign Myers with a wink: "Let us know when you get this thing ready again, and we'll make sure it's working okay," while waving over to Ensign Joseph. The wave was returned, along with a tentative thumbs up sign from the young ensign as he walked with Andres through the bay to the maintenance alcove. Torres did not miss the change in Paris' expression from concern to a relieved grin at Jim Joseph's gestures.
Exasperated as she was by what B'Elanna felt was a too casual dismissal of what could have become a dangerous situation, Torres was touched by the pilot's obvious regard for the young ensign. Although she was glad that both of them were back in one piece, Torres was unable to resist challenging the helmsman. "Paris, what am I going to do with you?"
He hesitated for a moment, making an elaborate show of thinking of an answer before replying, "Do you really want an answer to that question?"
The engineer glared at Paris for a few moments for his saucy remark and saucier expression. As his laughing eyes gazed steadily upon her, the idle thought entered Torres' head that it was odd how warm ice blue eyes could look. Then she sighed as any remaining shred of annoyance with him ebbed away.
'Give it up, Torres' resounded in her thoughts. Aloud, she mentioned, off-handedly, "I suppose I could help you get over your obvious terror from your ordeal." As she walked toward the exit of the shuttle bay, she realized that she meant it and stated as a fact, not a request, "Dinner with me tonight -- on the holodeck -- but I pick the program and do the food, Paris, not you, understood?"
"Yes ma'am," he drawled, grinning broadly. "How do you want me...to dress?"
Choosing to ignore any double meanings, she replied, "What you were wearing last time we were there will be fine. By the way, what was the name of that beach house program?"
"Paris, Beta 10. But there are some other really nice ones..."
"That one will do just fine, Paris," she retorted.
* * * * * * * * * * *
As the two lieutenants walked out into the corridors of the ship together, Ensign Myers glanced at Ensign Vorik. When the helmsman had disembarked from the shuttle, the young Vulcan had moved himself to the far end of the bay out of earshot of Torres and Paris. She had also noted how he had carefully avoided looking back at the two officers as they left the bay together. Myers recalled hearing rumors of some kind of romantic triangle developing between Vorik, Torres, and Paris during a recent galacite mining expedition. On a ship the size of Voyager, it was impossible to avoid such gossip; but she had thought little about it afterwards, especially after Voyager's experience with a Borg ship had reduced all other topics to old news. Now, however, the ease with which she had obtained Ensign Vorik's transfer to her shuttle bay was suddenly making a lot more sense.
Myers had long espoused hard work as good discipline and a distraction for anyone who needed one. She had no doubt that it would be especially effective for a supposedly emotionless Vulcan. Taking pity on her new engineer, Myers marched over to him.
"Ensign Vorik, we're going over this shuttle right now with a fine-toothed comb and analyze exactly what went wrong with the controls and warp drive." The young Vulcan nodded and turned to retrieve a set of tools and instruments from the maintenance bay.
As Myers grabbed her own tool kit, she shook her head. All the while they were working, she knew, her own head would be filled with an analysis of a very different sort: whether or not a supposed playboy and a half-Klingon engineer could have any future together. 'How interesting,' she thought to herself. 'And what fun!'
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
MOONLIGHT, STAR-BRIGHT
Tom Paris stood outside of Holodeck 2, holding a bottle of replicated wine and trying to decide if he really was as nervous as he thought he was. After being rebuffed in his romantic overtures so frequently by Voyager's chief engineer, he worried that he could not possibly enjoy this evening, considering the fantasies with which he had indulged himself over the last several months. Reality could not possibly live up to those fantasies. Ah, but -- if they even came close -- what a wild ride it could be! Even better than a shuttlecraft that didn't want to fly at less than Warp Four.
At exactly 1930 hours, as instructed, Tom stepped through the arch and into the beach house. He could tell from the light slanting back along the hallway that she had the simulation programmed for late afternoon. Dinner at sunset, a very nice touch.
When he first arrived on the verandah, Tom did not see B'Elanna. As he walked out past the overhang, however, he saw her bending over the table on the outdoor deck, setting out dishes on the table from a large tray that he recognized as coming from Neelix's mess hall. Her back was towards him, almost completely bared by the scarlet halter top she wore with blue jeans and sandals. Her beautifully molded backbone was visible beneath her bronze skin, warmed by the red-gold light of the setting sun. His fingers immediately longed to brush down her spine from the top to the bottom. 'Control yourself, buddy,' he thought, as he walked closer to her.
Hearing his steps on the wooden deck, she turned to him and smiled hesitantly at him as he presented her with the bottle of wine. "Oh, hello, Tom. Thanks. I'm afraid dinner is all from Neelix. Once I replicated these clothes I didn't have enough credits for the full dinner. There's coffee and raktajino, though."
"If you want, I have some credits saved up to get something else."
"Last I'd heard you were out of replicator credits. Do I want to know how you happen to have some now?"
"Probably not," he laughed. "But don't worry, B'Elanna, a feast for the eyes can be as important as one for the stomach. Or stomachs, as it were," remembering that fact of her personal physiology from his brief studies with the holodoc. "You look, I don't know, great, fantastic ... I don't know a big enough word for how you look."
"Is it okay? I put in what you'd be wearing and programmed the replicator to come up with something that would coordinate with it. But I didn't expect to be wearing the same pants."
"They look better on you than they do on me."
She did not agree but decided not to make an issue of it. "Well, sit down and let's see what this food tastes like. At least it doesn't smell too bad."
Like most of Neelix's meals, the look of the food did not appeal to either human or Klingon tastes. The wild color schemes Neelix chose for his wardrobe were echoed by the colors of his special dishes. A blob of greenish blue paste clashed with slimy looking, orange and purple spotted ropes that looked more like dead gagh than anything else. Discs of neon green sat next to pulsing pink strings of some sort of vegetable. Neither of them recognized even one of the foods from any of Neelix's past culinary extravaganzas. "At least, no leola root tonight," Tom said. "Let's be thankful for small favors. The wine may help, too."
Gamely taking a small serving from each dish on their plates, they began their meal with a mutual smile when Tom raised his wine glass, sarcastically saying, "Bon appetit." After a few mouthfuls of food, however, he said in some surprise, "You know, I can hardly believe it, but this dinner really isn't too bad."
"You're right, Tom. This imitation gagh is actually good."
Taking a taste, he replied, "Yeah, a little like chicken." As they ate he added, "You know, if you couldn't see this stuff on the plate it would be even better. Sure you don't want to do a moonlight dinner kind of thing, with candlelight?"
She looked at him to see if he was being fresh with her but could detect only sincerity. "I was kind of looking forward to the sunset that I programmed. Why don't we look at that, and at the food as little as possible?" He nodded agreement. They spent their meal in contemplation of the swollen ball of Sol as it drifted into the sea. B'Elanna had programmed just enough wispy cloud in the sky to scatter the light into glorious shades of gold, orange, pink, and purple as the sky grew a deeper blue. When the meal had been eaten and, for once, enjoyed, the sun's show was almost over. Tom caught up B'Elanna's left hand in his right hand as they looked out over the waves.
"Beautiful," he said, looking at her. From his enigmatic smile, she could not tell if he was talking about the sky show or the face that he was gazing at. She was glad that it was getting dark so that the flush on her face wouldn't show too much.
* * * * * * * * *
Over coffee and raktajino, they spoke briefly of the recent breakup of Kes and Neelix before turning to the subjects of the test flight and the prospective shuttle construction area. Or rather, B'Elanna talked and Tom listened, nodding agreement to virtually every fact, statement, or opinion. Finally, B'Elanna said, "Are you going to 'yes' me all night, Tom Paris?"
"Only if you let me," he laughed. At that moment, he glanced to the inland side of the simulation and saw the full moon, bloated by the magnification of the atmosphere, rising in golden splendor over the rocks behind the beach house. Her eyes followed his to admire the view but then turned back to Tom. The full moon's light sculpted the bones of his face into sharp relief. B'Elanna was surprised to see that the melancholy look she had seen the last time they had sat on the deck was back.
She leaned over the table to gently touch his hand and said softly, "I probably won't want to hear the answer to this question, but is something bothering you, Tom? You have the same expression now that you had the other night we were here, before we played tennis. If it's something I could help you with, I certainly owe it to you, even if it's just to listen. You were there for me when I really needed you." He caught his breath a moment before speaking.
"I guess you didn't believe me. It's like I told you -- my pathetic love life.
"I guess compared to mine, your love life doesn't seem that pathetic."
"I'd have to agree that just about everyone's love life on this starship is pretty pathetic," he admitted, with grudging good humor.
"You always seem to have such a good time on shore leave."
"Do I," he laughed, but with a bitter edge. "Good times, yes, let me count the ways. How many times have I been sent to prison or stabbed when visiting some planet? And that's without getting involved with anyone. The one time I do get involved, I ended up being convicted for a murder I didn't commit. Fun times, that's for sure."
He averted his eyes and hesitated a moment before looking back at her. "And then there was Rain."
B'Elanna had to think a minute. "Oh, you mean that astronomer in Los Angeles?"
"Uh-huh. She was a really nice girl. Young, but pretty, smart, brave." He paused, looking as if there was something more he wanted to say, then added only, "The kind of person I think I could have had something good with -- but I couldn't touch her without risking the pollution of the time line -- not to mention the fact that she's been dead now for over 300 years."
She was beginning to see where the sad look was coming from. "On board ship, then. The Delaney sisters have always seemed so -- attentive."
Tom shook his head. "I've had some really good times with Jenny and Megan. They are nice girls, my buddies, I guess you'd say. But we're not really -- I don't know -- I guess I'm saying that we'll never be more than just friends. When you consider how long we're likely to be on this ship, I think I'd like someone, sometime, to be more than just a friend." He smiled, but it seemed forced to B'Elanna.
"There are plenty of women on board that would love to have a chance with you . . . ," she protested.
Tom gently touched B'Elanna's lips to stop her, searching deeply into her dark eyes as if that were not what he was hoping to hear her say. Then he said quietly, but intently, "Thanks, B'Elanna, I hope you're right. But believe it or not, the idea of having affairs with every woman on this ship and starting over again when I run out of new blood is pretty repulsive -- even to me. Despite what you may have heard." Tom leaned back in his chair with a wisp of crooked grin on his face, as if he were deciding the wisdom of continuing, before meeting her rapt gaze. "I'm over 30 years old now, B'Elanna. Back home, when I made my life into such a mess -- I frankly couldn't even think about loving anyone that was worth loving. Chasing women was just another way to run away from myself. Now, out here I'm realizing that maybe I'm not such a bad guy after all, and . . . well, maybe I might deserve someone worth being with." He clasped her right hand in both of his. "Here we all are on Voyager, out in the Delta Quadrant, where I'm happier and better off than I ever was before. And where the Borg eat species like ours up for lunch." He laughed ruefully before adding, "Wonder how the Borg manage their romantic relationships."
"Tom, don't be ridiculous. They don't have relationships. That's why they assimilate people. How else would they keep their species going?"
"I'm not so sure. You know, when our friend Q transported the Enterprise to the Delta Quadrant several years ago and introduced Picard and company to the Borg, an away team found babies on board the Borg ship that were already being fitted with prosthetics. I was still in Starfleet then, and Picard's report was pretty common knowledge, at least among the officers."
B'Elanna looked at him, a chill running down her back at the implications. They sat for a bit in a silence that was considerably less comfortable then the one they had enjoyed while eating dinner. Finally Tom shook his head and said, "Look, I'm sorry, B'Elanna. We're going to waste a perfectly good evening talking like this. Let's do something else. Anything else. Even hoverball."
"In this outfit?" she queried, with a Tuvokian rise of the eyebrow.
"You're right. Dressed like this, no hoverball. Dancing, maybe?"
"Oh Tom, I've never been much for dancing. I tolerate it, that's all."
"C'mon Torres. Where's your spirit of adventure? Romance?" At her quizzical expression, he squeezed her hand. "Weren't you going to help me get over my 'terror' tonight? This is the way! Slow dancing, twentieth century style to fit the clothes, doesn't take any skill, B'Elanna. It's just an excuse to hold someone in your arms. Even someone who is just a friend. Even a . . . very good friend." He stood up, still holding her hand, and pulled her towards him. "Computer, list twentieth century songs with the word 'moon' or 'moonlight' as part of the title, suitable for slow dancing." The computer began to list song after song. Three dozen or so later, he laughingly said, "Stop, computer." He looked down at her. "You pick. I have no idea what they all sound like."
B'Elanna said, "Computer, last title, please?"
"Moonlight Serenade."
At her shrug, Tom said, "Okay, computer, play Moonlight Serenade." At the beginning strains of the song, he recognized it. "This one's a lot older than some of the others on that list, but it's pretty good. It'll do just fine. Just sway with the music, that's it." He held B'Elanna's right hand to his chest and tucked her head under his chin as the music, as mellow as the moonlight, played softly. As they moved together, he tried but failed to keep himself from stroking his right hand down her back, finally leaving it gently touching the small of her back when he felt her tense up. The one thing he was determined not to do tonight was make her angry.
When that song stopped, he had the computer play the next song on the list, a slightly faster one called Moondance. The next was another vintage song: Moonlight Becomes You. The swaying of their bodies lulled them both into a languorous mood. When B'Elanna felt what seemed to be a soft kiss brush gently against her forehead ridges, she looked up into his eyes. "So, Lieutenant. Are you still being careful what you wish for?"
His eyes seemed to soften to a lovely blue mist as he replied, "Absolutely. Whenever I do the star-light, star-bright bit, I know exactly what to wish for." At her blank look, he asked her, "You do know about wishing on a star, don't you, B'Elanna?"
"No, I never heard of it."
"B'Elanna! I thought you told me that you were raised on a human colony, at least when you were little!"
"My mother wasn't too big on human customs. If I ever did learn it, I guess I must have forgotten it. How do you wish upon a star?"
"There's a rhyme that kids recite when they see the first star of the night and want to wish for something. It goes:
"Star-light, Star-bright,
First star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.
"And then you wish for something. Actually, you should probably be saying, planet-light, planet bright, since most of the time the first 'star' is Venus, but no one seems to feel it's important to be that precise."
"What do you wish for, Tom?"
"Oh, can't tell you. Bad luck to tell. But why don't you try it. Look over the sea, towards Venus, the Evening Star. It's hanging over the water now, just waiting for someone to wish on it."
B'Elanna looked up at him. Despite his gently mocking tone, she could tell he really wanted her to do this. Tom repeated the simple words of the rhyme so that she could recite it with him as she gazed at the jewel-like planet, just before it sank below the horizon. She closed her eyes as their bodies shared the rhythm of the music, thinking of a wish that she realized she wanted to come true, if she could ever bring herself to let go long enough for it to happen.
Just when she began to wonder whether either one of them would find the words to speak again, Tom asked her, "Torres, if by some chance you ever want to bite me on the face again, do you think you could just give me a little warning? Yelping in pain is kind of undignified."
"Sorry, Paris. It would take too much of the excitement out of it."
"Oh," he said, but she was sure she could feel him smile.
* * * * * * * * * END * * * * * * * * * * *
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