nothing's wrong, she's trying to protect him---or she's accepting his
treatment of her." His tone sharpened. "Did you see any bruises?"
"Aron!" Diane protested. "I think you're both jumping to conclusions.
There are several explanations for why she'd be crying---"
"Name one," Dalby challenged.
"She could be crying about losing Niko Dishon. He was her best friend
for years and some people grieve for a long time. Or she could be
upset because she's homesick---or all those stupid rumors about her
having an affair with Tom Paris." Diane's face pinkened as she added
the final excuse.
"You have a crush on him, don't you?" Dalby said, drawing his arm
away.
"Harry?" Diane asked, feigning innocence.
"Tom Paris!"
Diane dimpled as she gently insinuated her arms around his waist,
ignoring his slight resistance. "I did. Past tense. Tom's a very
attractive man. But he was never more than friendly---with me. I got
over my crush on him---the day you asked me out."
"Really?" the Maquis said skeptically, hoping to be convinced.
"Uh-huh." She frowned as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and
gazed up at him thoughtfully. "Tom Paris? The name sounds sort of
familiar. Remind me? What does he look like? The only face I can
remember is yours."
Dalby growled at her under his breath, a promise to be kept later in a
less public locale. She did not tremble with fear.
Gerron Tem sighed, feeling a little lonely. He liked Malista Shadow.
And she was Megan Delaney's friend, as well as a fellow Maquis. He
planned to keep an eye on Shadow---and on Harry Kim---just in case.
****************************
Harry Kim got into the turbolift and found Tom Paris there, already on
his way back to the bridge after his lunch break.
Paris noticed Kim's irritated glance at him. "What? What are you
looking at?"
"It's all your fault, you know," Kim said sourly.
"What?" The lieutenant crossed his arms with exaggerated patience,
waiting for his friend's accusation. "What did I do now?"
"You suggested a reading list for Malista," the ensign complained.
"All your favorites you said. And she wants to read every one of them
because you suggested it. Heaven forbid she skip a single one of your
recommendations!"
"She wanted to catch up on what she's missed. Her colony didn't have
an extensive library. So what?"
"So now she keeps reading these wonderful works of literature that
*you* suggested---and crying her eyes out! To Kill a Mockingbird? Tom,
it's a tearjerker!" Harry scowled at him. "It took me twenty minutes
to calm her down when she got to the part where---"
"Hey, she wants to read great literature! A lot of it is depressing!"
Tom explained. "Those people lived in depressing times. The only
non-depressing stuff is children's literature and she's already read
Carroll, Milne, and C.S. Lewis."
"Tom."
"Harry. Okay, you want a little relief? I'll tell her to switch the
order on the list. Let's see," he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling
as he searched his memory. "I'll tell her to read The Adventures of
Tom Sawyer---no, that's got a funeral scene and Muff Potter on trial.
How about Ivanhoe--? No. I've got it---Little Women---no, wait. Beth
dies. Harry, there aren't any good stories without tragedy!" Paris
grumbled. "Unless you want her to read Vulcan literature. I'm sure
Tuvok----"
"No, thanks," Kim said hastily.
Paris smiled smugly as the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge.
*************************
The Maquis had joined the Starfleet crew, but there was still a sense
of camaraderie from shared experiences that bonded them. Word quickly
spread among them that Malista was struggling somehow. Though she knew
them and they knew her from serving with them on the smaller ship, she
couldn't really say many of the Maquis were actually friends. But she
was one of them---so they silently closed ranks behind her.
Her fellow Maquis were accustomed to her silence and lack of social
skills, so she began to use some of them as shields. She didn't want
to walk the corridors alone. Someone might speak to her, and she
wouldn't know what to answer. Without a deliberate plan or a word
being spoken about the reasons why, she found herself sitting with
them in the messhall during her lunch break.
Or one of the Maquis was suddenly going the same direction whenever
she went from one place to another. She was escorted to her
destination---and they didn't expect conversation from her or ask
embarrassing questions. The Maquis had a tradition of accepting
others---no questions asked. It was as if the Maquis had designated
themselves her bodyguards and were standing between her and the
Starfleet crew.
Sometimes Malista felt like a Kalinthian Beetle---whose shell had been
ripped away, leaving the tender tissues exposed to danger. She didn't
know how to deal with this. And she had to deal with it alone. If she
told Harry or Tom---she didn't want to think about their reactions.
And if B'Elanna---no! She had caused quite enough trouble for the
three of them. She would have to deal with this herself. She wasn't a
child. It was time---and past time---for her to learn to handle her
own problems.
It might be easier if she could get a good night's sleep. Lately, that
had been impossible. Three or four hours of sleep a night seemed to be
all she could manage. She sighed tiredly and threw all her
concentration into her work. There was always something that needed to
be done to repair or maintain Voyager.
*********************
The chief engineer was afraid she was losing her memory. She'd been so
positive---Torres studied the computer screen with a scowl. She
scrolled back through the log of repair requests. She hadn't imagined
it. There it was---a request to check the environmental controls in
the airponics bay. And the slight malfunction in the Science Lab's
spectral analysis unit. And the need for adjustments to the gravity
controls of the ecosystem sphere needed for the Biology Department's
experiments. All three of the assignments were still listed as
unassigned and uncompleted.
Then why had the repair teams she sent out just reported that all
three assignments had been executed before they got there?
B'Elanna shook her head. She knew Engineering had been thrown into
turmoil with the problem of defective power couplings. She hadn't
thought she'd lost her grip on the reins to this extent.
Reaching down, she tapped a few keys and marked those repairs
completed. She checked the list and called her repair teams to give
them new assignments. One thing was for sure, there was always
something that needed to be repaired or maintained on this ship. She'd
just have to be more careful about logging them to avoid wasting time.
*********************
Harry had just finished his shift. He couldn't wait to get to Deck
Four. He hadn't seen Malis
ta all day. It was strange, but he missed
her. He'd seen her less than twenty-four hours ago. He'd walked her
home from Sandrine's and spent several long and pleasurable minutes
kissing her goodnight just inside the doorway of her cabin before
calling it a night. He shook his head. He couldn't believe how quickly
he'd adapted to having someone to---to be with. To care for. To love?
The thought occurred to him that with Libby, it had taken him over a
year to reach this level of comfort. Like a fond memory, he put Libby
from his mind. He'd finally managed to say goodbye to her. He wished
her well. But his future was here. On Voyager. With Malista Shadow. He
felt a wide smile breaking across his face as he stepped into the
turbolift. "Deck four."
It was uncommonly quiet. He became aware of others in the turbolift.
No one was talking. That struck Harry as odd. For some reason, he
subconsciously had the impression that there had been a conversation
in progress when he entered the lift.
Ensign Dharn, a Maquis from the Geology Dept. was staring at him.
Frowning and staring at him.
Kim raised his eyebrows. "Something wrong, Dharn?"
"What could be wrong, Kim?" There was a note in the other man's voice
that almost seemed surly.
"I don't know or I wouldn't have asked," Harry said shortly. The
turbolift arrived at Deck Four. "And right now, I don't care." He
stepped out, leaving Dharn and his annoying attitude behind. He'd
forgotten about the whole incident before he even reached Malista's
cabin.
He hit the door signal, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for
her to answer. He heard a faint response. "Come in."
The door slid open and as Harry stepped into her living area, he was
hit by the most amazing aroma---his mouth began to water reflexively.
"Malista?" he called. "What is that?"
"You're early. I haven't had time to change or put on makeup. Don't
look!" She appeared in the doorway to her sleeping area. She was
wearing black knee-length shorts and an emerald green tee-shirt that
matched her eyes. Her cheeks and chin were lightly dusted with a white
powdery substance. Her shoulder-length ebony hair was caught up in an
untidy ponytail. She looked about 18 years old.
"You look wonderful. You always do. Something smells good." Kim
sniffed the air again.
"I hope you're talking about the moussaka."
"The what?" Harry asked, smiling puzzledly.
"Moussaka," she replied, coming forward to kiss him quickly on the
lips.
He caught her chin and framed her face with his hands. "Moussaka?" he
repeated. He lightly brushed her cheekbones with his thumbs. "Does
that explain the flour on your face?"
"No," Malista smiled impishly. She turned her head from side to side,
kissing his palms. "The flour is because of the gingerbread I'm still
mixing. We're having that for dessert."
"Gingerbread? For me?" Harry was deeply touched. He'd told Malista
that one of his fondest memories of his grandmother had been making
gingerbread with her. He pulled Malista closer into a hug. Gingerbread
was one comfort food Neelix hadn't attempted---yet. Harry hated to
think how Neelix' version of gingerbread would taste.
For a brief moment, she rested her head against his shoulder. She
returned his hug, squeezing him tightly, almost desperately. 'As if
she doesn't want to let go,' he thought. He drew back and tried to
look into her eyes.
She evaded his glance and stepped back. "Come on, you can help me roll
out the gingerbread and cut them out."
"Them? Really? We're making gingerbread *men*?" Harry was distracted
for a moment. "Oh, wait, weren't we supposed to meet Tom and B'Elanna
in the messhall for dinner?"
She peered into a mirror and removed the last traces of flour. "We
didn't have firm plans, did we? I made more than enough moussaka. If
you like, you can invite them to join us. *If* you're willing to share
your gingerbread men with Tom. You know he has a sweet tooth," she
teased, meeting his eyes at last. Nothing but amusement and affection
showed in hers now.
Harry shook his head at her audacity in teasing him. She was opening
up to him---he could only think of the analogy of a rosebud in bloom.
She was blossoming, her petals unfolding as she learned to reach out
to him, to Tom, to B'Elanna. She had been closed off from everyone for
so long.
He set aside the little twinge of disquiet that made him think she
wasn't being entirely open with him and hit his commbadge. "Kim to
Paris."
"Tom, I know we didn't exactly have dinner plans----" Kim began.
"I thought we were meeting at the messhall?" Tom queried, his voice
muffled momentarily. It sounded like he was moving around as he was
speaking, his voice gaining and losing volume.
"Tom, where are you?"
"In my quarters. Changing clothes. Why?"
Kim exchanged smiling glances with Shadow. "Do you think you and
B'Elanna could bear to give up one of Neelix' meals? Malista has been
cooking---"
"Sure!" Paris interrupted rapidly. "I wouldn't want to hurt my
sister's feelings by turning down her invitation."
"Yeah, sure," Harry agreed. "So you'll bring B'Elanna?"
"Be there in fifteen minutes!"
"Don't you want to know what's on the menu?" Malista called out.
"Just promise me there's no leola root, Sis, and I'll be a happy man!"
Tom replied.
"See you in fifteen minutes, Tom!"
"Paris out."
********************
Later that evening, Tom and B'Elanna walked into Sandrine's arm in
arm. It had become a common sight. Chakotay waved them over to his
table.
Paris stifled a sigh. He liked the first officer. Okay, so he had
*grown* to like and respect the first officer, but there were
times---especially when he was with B'Elanna---that Paris didn't
particularly want to spend time with Chakotay.
Chakotay was alone. Paris seated B'Elanna and went to get their drinks
from the bar along with a refill for the commander. As he set the tray
on the table and pulled up a chair, Chakotay and B'Elanna were
discussing ship's gossip.
"I haven't heard anything," Torres was saying, "but I've been out of
the loop with supervising double shifts in Engineering for the last
few weeks."
Chakotay turned to Tom. "Have you noticed anything unusual, Tom?"
It still gave the pilot a slight start to hear the first officer call
him by his first name. "Not really. I did hear some gossip being
exchanged about someone 'sleeping her way to the top'---but then that
rumor has been around since the dawn of time."
The commander frowned. "Who were they talking about this time?"
Tom thought for a moment. "Sorry. I can't remember. I just heard it in
passing. I think I had the impression they meant Kes or B'Elanna---but
I don't know---hey, I didn't say it!" he added defensively as Torres
turne
d a scowl upon him. "Oh, yeah. They said something about the
Senior Staff. And I thought---maybe they didn't mean---I'm sorry. I
didn't really pay much attention. Gossips are NOT my favorite people."
B'Elanna slipped her hand into his. She understood that statement very
well. Tom Paris had been a favorite target of most of the gossips on
this ship from the beginning of his posting to Voyager. In fact, until
she had gotten to know him better herself, she had believed many of
the false rumors about him. Tom squeezed her hand gratefully, not
taking his eyes from Chakotay's.
Chakotay noticed the silent offer of support and its acceptance. He
felt it was a good sign. He sighed. "Crew evaluations and promotion
recommendations have been on everyone's minds lately. Maybe that's the
source for that rumor. It could have been about anyone."
"So what's got you worried?" Torres asked.
Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "Without being obvious about it, take a
look around this room."
Paris and Torres did exactly that, taking note of those present and
their activities. There was nothing unusual going on---a pool game, a
card game in one corner, most people sitting together as couples or
small groups, talking and drinking.