"Was there something else?" The doctor's study of human behavior and
habits had included extensive research on nonverbal clues. He had
deemed this necessary since the members of this particular crew seemed
reluctant to ask for his help in a direct manner. In fact, for some
reason he found unfathomable many of them seemed to do their best to
avoid him altogether.
"If you have some time, I'd like to talk to you---about something
personal," she said, casting a nervous glance at the floor.
"Of course. Step into my office, Ms. Shadow."
"Could you call me Malista?" she requested as they seated themselves
on opposite sides of his desk.
He was gratified by the request. He was not on a first name basis with
many of the crewmembers. "Malista, what did you wish to discuss?"
"Doctor, what do you know about treating the traumatic effects of
rape?"
The doctor was clearing his desk as he spoke. "As you may know, I am
programmed with information from two thousand medical reference source
materials, as well as with the experience of forty-seven Starfleet
medical officers. I am certain that I can answer any question you may
have---Malista." When she didn't speak, he raised his eyes.
As he watched, a single tear trickled down the young woman's cheek.
Since he had been activated, he could not recall seeing such a
desolate expression in the eyes of any crewmember. He was swiftly
reminded that she was not asking about an objective case study. She
was asking for help with a personal tragedy. Her mouth worked as she
tried to formulate words. She couldn't. Another tear fell. Then
another. She impatiently dashed the tears away with her fingertips.
"Malista," the doctor sputtered, "I apologize. I don't mean to sound
callous or indifferent. I've never been asked to deal with this
particular problem---and I will admit that bedside manner is not my
greatest strength. If you'd prefer to talk to Kes---"
"No! It's all right. I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she said,
angry with herself.
"You have every reason to cry," the doctor corrected in a softer
voice. "You have been injured. It is an injury that can't be healed
instantaneously. I am sorry."
The tears were rolling freely down her cheeks now. "I don't think I
ever cried about this before," she sighed, her voice strangled. "I
mean, it's not like it does any good."
The Doctor came around his desk and supplied her with a box of
tissues. With some hesitancy, he brought his hand up and awkwardly
patted her shoulder. Studies showed that such contact was perceived as
supportive and comforting in situations of stress.
He was so obviously uncomfortable in dealing with a crying woman,
Malista almost found it in herself to feel amused. She took a deep
breath and managed to shut off the flow of tears. She reached up and
captured his hand, rubbing it lightly across her cheek. "Thank you."
"You're quite welcome. Any time," the doctor said, regaining his seat
and leaning forward, elbows on his desk. He arranged his features in
what he hoped was a sympathetic countenance. "Are you ready to talk
about it now?"
She blew her nose and cleared her throat. "I think so."
**********************
Malista was on her way from Sickbay back to Engineering. For the first
time in a long time, she was alone. The corridors were deserted. She
stepped into the turbolift.
Crewman Paul Castelle was the only occupant. He was going to Deck
Fourteen.
She almost stepped right back out again. He grinned at her insolently,
making a mockingly inviting gesture with his hands. Holding her head
up high, she moved to the far side of the turbolift, as far away from
him as she could manage and said, "Deck Eleven."
The turbolift began to move.
"Still playing hard to get?" His voice was challenging, provoking. "No
time between Paris and Kim---and now maybe Gerron? You must be
something really special. What do I have to do to get on your list?"
She swallowed hard. "Leave me alone." It wasn't said with much
conviction, but it was all she could manage to say around the solid
lump that seemed to have materialized in her throat. She dropped her
eyes and stared at her boots, but watched him using her peripheral
vision, alert for any move towards her.
His eyes roving over her with undisguised lust, he opened his mouth to
say something else, but the lift doors slid open at that moment.
Head down, she stepped out and quickly started walking away. She
plowed right into someone coming the other way. Her eyes flew up as
she bounced off a massive chest and tumbled backwards.
It was Ensign George Natwick. With the quicksilver reflexes of a
Caldorian cougar, he pounced forward, catching her upper arms, and
pulling her upright again. He set her on her feet, holding on until
she regained her balance. He was frowning with misgiving as he noticed
her distraction and her pallor. "Malista, are you all right?"
"George," she breathed his name, as if relieved to recognize him. She
almost achieved a smile before her lips began to tremble. She bit down
on her lower lip to force it into stillness. Without conscious
thought, her eyes darted apprehensively over her shoulder in the
direction of the turbolift.
"Are you all right?" he repeated, slowly releasing her arms. He wasn't
sure how steady on her feet she actually was. She didn't look good.
Her color was off and she looked on edge---as if any sudden movement
might startle her into headlong flight.
With an effort that was visible, she resumed her air of calm control.
"I'm fine," she said, with a nervous, unconvincing smile. "Excuse me."
She stepped past him and moved away on slightly unsteady legs.
Natwick's face was shuttered as he tried to fit the puzzle pieces
together. She looked positively traumatized. If Harry Kim was playing
games with Malista again---He slapped his commbadge. "Computer,
identify the occupants of turbolift one, during its last stop on Deck
Eleven."
"The occupants of turbolift one were Crewman Malista Shadow and
Crewman Paul Castelle," the bland voice replied.
Natwick pushed the call button for the turbolift as he mulled that
over. His expression was not pleasant.
**********************
Harry Kim was working in the ship's library doing research on the type
of energy signature emitted by the probes to see if it correlated with
any information they'd been given by any of the races they'd
encountered. He wasn't sure why, but he'd become aware that Diane
Russell, the ship's librarian, was eyeing him with a frown of
disapproval which disconcerted him. It was rather like being glared at
by a cute, fluffy, blonde kitten. She was normally shy, but not
unfriendly.
Kim tried a polite smile as she brought him the padd he'd requested.
She didn't return it. "Is that all you need, Ensign?" Her tone was
totally coo
l and professional.
With a bemused expression, Harry nodded and returned his attention to
the task before him. Approximately an hour later, he put the padd
down. He was getting nowhere---at the speed of light. There was no
correlation he could find. He stood and stretched, stifling a yawn
behind his hand. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and
turned his head to identify its source.
Russell was sitting behind her desk working on her computer terminal.
She flickered another frowning glance his way, then ignored him.
Harry was mystified. He had almost become accustomed to the looks he
was getting from the Maquis crew, but Diane was Starfleet. Then he
remembered. Diane was involved with Aron Dalby, who was Maquis. The
thought occurred to him that this might be his opportunity to find out
why the Maquis were angry with him. Before he could formulate the
question, the door slid open and Malista Shadow walked
in---accompanied by Crewman Gerron Tem.
It was the first time in weeks that Kim had seen her when she was on
duty. He vaguely noticed that she had taken to confining her shoulder
length hair in a tightly controlled bun and was wearing no makeup, but
he was most disconcerted by the restrained expression she wore. He
wondered if she and Gerron had been arguing just before their
entrance. Gerron's demeanor was unfriendly, bordering on hostile, as
he recognized the Operations Officer.
In the split second that it took for Malista to become aware of
Harry's presence in the library, her whole attitude changed. At the
sight of him, her eyes lit up, her rigid posture eased, and her free
hand reached for his in a manner that spoke of a familiar custom and
absolutely no fear of rejection. "Harry."
He couldn't resist. Ignoring Russell and Gerron, he took her hand and
leaned in for a quick kiss. "You won't report us for a PDA, will you,
Diane?" Kim joked. He and Tom had made a running gag out of referring
to that particular regulation---and breaking it, or at least pushing
it to the limit, as often as possible.
He looked at the librarian in time to catch a quick exchange of
glances between her and Gerron. The ensign looked at the Bajoran. His
mood seemed to have improved as well. Kim didn't understand it, but he
didn't really care that much about either of them or their mood
swings. He turned his attention back to Crewman Shadow, who was still
holding his hand. He hadn't expected to see her for hours. Their paths
usually didn't cross while on duty. This was a pleasant surprise.
"Harry, you wouldn't believe---the doctor called me to Sickbay and let
me use the dermal regenerator on Joe Carey. He cut his hand on an
access panel. Doc said I did an excellent job. He says I have a light
touch and I'm a quick study." She sounded positively thrilled with the
compliment.
"He's right, but I could have told you that." He smiled at her proudly
and then added, "I'm glad I ran into you. I was going to leave a
message on your terminal."
"Why?" Malista asked. Out of habit, her free hand came up to lovingly
brush back the stubborn lock of hair that persisted in falling down in
Harry's face.
He grinned and caught her hand, pressing his lips to the inside of her
wrist briefly as a thank you. "Tom and B'Elanna can't make it to the
circus tonight. Something about the navigational deflector acting up
again. Do you want to cancel? Or should we practice without them?"
"We'll practice without them. I have a few other tricks to show you.
You haven't seen me do my high wire act yet," she said, smiling as he
flinched apprehensively.
"I wonder if we should make the safety net bigger?" he muttered
thoughtfully.
"Harry!" she wailed plaintively in a rare moment of disagreement with
the ensign. "If you make it any bigger, we won't be able to walk
around the tent at all!"
"I'd love to see your circus program," Russell remarked unexpectedly.
Malista looked at her blankly. "Really?" She never expected others to
share her interests. In fact, she'd been astounded at the way Tom,
B'Elanna, and Harry had thrown themselves into participating in the
program.
"When I was a little girl, I saw a circus on Kelonius III. I thought
it would be a wonderful way of life," she explained. "Would you mind
if Aron and I---and Gerron came by to take a look? We wouldn't
interfere---"
"Oh, no! That's fine. If you really want to. The four of us are
planning to do a trapeze act at the next talent show. Maybe you three
could find another act you'd like to perform. Neelix said that maybe
we could make it a circus theme if others were interested," Malista
said, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds. She was flattered and
thrilled that someone else was taking an interest in her favorite
program. "About 1900?"
Russell nodded.
Malista's eyes flashed to Gerron. He nodded as well. "Well, I'd better
get to work. Which console went out this time, Diane?"
"I'll see you all later then," Harry said and squeezed her hand before
he left to resume his post on the bridge.
As she went to work, Malista began to sing happily under her breath,
"Ten minutes ago I met you...."
Gerron and Diane Russell regarded at each other thoughtfully.
************************
"I can't believe this." Tom Paris' voice reflected his self-disgust.
Torres sniffed unsympathetically. "I tried to tell you---"
"You know, Torres, it's very annoying when people say 'I told you
so'," Tom informed her sourly.
"Given your accident prone nature, Mr. Paris, I would assume you would
be quite accustomed to that particular annoyance," the doctor noted
acerbically as he passed the dermal regenerator over the helmsman's
left arm once more.
"I am *not* accident prone!" he protested acidly. "Was it my fault the
hydrospanner slipped---"
"Yes," B'Elanna replied succinctly. "If you'd held it properly---the
way I told you---"
"All right," Tom conceded ungraciously. "If I had done it your way, I
wouldn't have received a life-threatening injury. Are you happy now?"
The doctor couldn't resist interjecting. "I would hardly call a three
inch gash in the musculature of your left forearm life-threatening---"
"Who asked you?" It was obvious Lieutenant Paris was in a petulant
mood.
B'Elanna folded her arms and glared at him. "Don't take it out on the
doctor because you missed dinner."
The doctor nodded as comprehension came to him. "Ah, low blood
sugar---along with the loss of blood---and dignity. That would account
for the irritability---"
"I'll show you irritability---" Paris began. He stopped himself and
made an effort to control his rising crankiness. B'Elanna was right.
The hollow feeling in his midsection probably was a contributing
factor to his bad mood. At least there was something he could do about
that. "Are we finished here, Doc?" He started to slide off the biobed,
but remained seate
d when the doctor spoke.
"Actually, Mr. Paris, there was a matter I wished to discuss with
you," Doc said, with a dismissive look towards Torres. "A confidential
matter."
Torres shrugged. "I'll go down to the messhall and see what Neelix
still has available. Don't be too long."
As she left the room, the doctor pulled up a stool and sat facing
Paris. "Lieutenant, I am aware that since Crewman Shadow's---Malista's
attempted suicide, you have been assisting Commander Chakotay with
counseling her."
"That's right. What about it?"
"I assume you are still in a position to share confidential
information with Commander Chakotay? And you are privy to
Malista's---history?" The doctor was working hard on developing
'tact'. Kes had told him resolutely and repeatedly that it was
important in perfecting a good bedside manner.
Tom didn't like the direction this was heading. He sat forward,
resting his forearms on his knees as he studied the doctor's
expression. "Yes. Malista gave Chakotay permission to discuss
her---treatment with me. And she has told me about her past. Probably
more than she's told anyone else. What exactly are you getting at,
Doc?"
The doctor had been nodding with each statement the pilot made. "Very
well. There was a suggestion of a slight conflict in my programming