Trials Four: Shadow's Trials - Case Closed Part Three TerriTrek@aol.com See part one for Disclaimers, etc. ***************************** Malista awoke slowly, vaguely aware of an unusual feeling of safety, warmth, and comfort. A pleasant spicy scent nearby tickled at her nose. She smiled as she snuggled into the source of the warmth---then her whole body seemed to turn to stone. Her eyes flew open. Her nose was pressed up against a red tee-shirt. That was covering the muscled chest of Harry Kim. Awareness rushed at her like an incoming photon torpedo as she recalled the previous night's events. She didn't remember falling asleep. She certainly didn't remember getting into her bed, but that was undoubtedly where she was. Harry was sharing her bed?! Her face was pressed up against his chest, one arm around his waist, her hand clutching at his back, her other hand tucked under her cheek. One of his arms was draped over her back, holding her loosely against him. Their legs were entangled. They were both barefoot, but other than that, they were fully dressed. She held her breath. She had to get out of the bed. This was embarrassing. Maybe if she was careful, she could get up and get changed into her uniform before he woke up. As she moved, her glance drifted up. Too late. He was awake. He was lying on his side, his elbow propped on the bed, his chin cradled in his palm---and he was watching her with wide awake brown eyes. "Good morning." He moved his hand off her back and used it to brush her hair away from her face. His touch was disarmingly gentle. She blinked. "Good morning. Uh, Harry..." "You fell asleep." Her confusion and embarrassment were plainly written across her face. "I didn't want to wake you. I know you haven't been getting much sleep lately. So I carried you in here." She bit her lower lip, her green eyes anxious with unspoken questions. He pulled her lip free with his thumb. "Stop that. When I put you on the bed, you didn't seem to want to let go of me." He smiled at her fondly. "So I stayed. Just think of me as a teddy bear. Or a security blanket. How are you feeling this morning?" She thought about it. "Better. I feel better. I'm sorry---" With a flash of impatience, he laid a finger across her lips. "I'm really getting tired of listening to you asking forgiveness. Stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault. For example, those messages?" Her eyes dropped. "Malista, it's not your fault that some depraved dimwit is sending you that stuff. But I wish you'd told me. Or reported it to Security. Or both. I don't want there to be any secrets between us." He lifted her chin to meet her eyes. "If you have a problem, I want to know about it. I want to help you deal with it. And if I can't help you deal with it, the least I can do is---be supportive. Hold you. Comfort you. I told you---I love you." He'd thought the words so often, he didn't realize he'd never actually said them aloud until this moment. They both flinched as her alarm sounded, stating the time. They had to be on duty in less than thirty minutes. "Harry---" Her eyes filled with tears. "Harry, we don't have time for this discussion right now. Can we talk later?" He swallowed his disappointment. He'd thought that surely by now she would trust him enough to tell him what was wrong. "Sure. I'd better get to my quarters." They disentangled themselves, both feeling a bit awkward. She walked him to the door. "Harry? Thank you. For everything." He flashed her a grin. "You're welcome." *************************** At the morning staff meeting, the doctor had further test results to report. "It seems that my first report was---in error." He seemed reluctant to continue. "In what way, Doctor?" the captain probed. "In my original report, I stated that the only problem was a slight irritation of the optic nerve. In doing further scans, I have also noted that there is a pattern of stress along the neural pathways leading from the optic nerve. This pattern is most clearly seen in the six most affected, but is also present in others who were not affected at all. Ensign Kim, for example, who has dark eyes and showed no symptoms, nonetheless shows a minute degree of stress," the doctor concluded. "And the cause of this stress?" Chakotay asked. "The patterns seem to suggest that the probe was, in fact, trying to communicate. The light was the medium of the message. Unfortunately, we were not able to understand the message. It seems likely that the probe searched out the most compatible---" The doctor paused to search for an inoffensive word. "Conduits? Receivers---for the message. It was a visual rather than auditory message. The six who were rendered unconscious were evidently the most compatible receivers for the message of all those present on the ship." "Wait a minute, Doc!" Paris interrupted irritably. "Are you trying to say all those colored spots dancing in front of our eyes are some kind of writing or code? I didn't get anything from that probe except a major headache." The doctor's glare at the pilot expressed his exasperation. "I didn't say the message was successfully transmitted. I said it was an attempt. Your brain patterns may not be compatible with that of the race that is sending the message. You may not be able to comprehend the message at all." "Have you come any closer to identifying why those six were chosen?" Janeway inquired. She'd been pondering that herself. "Mr. Kim's theory was partially correct. It did have something to do with eye color. But, as you know, Captain, The Six are not the only crewmembers aboard with blue or green eyes. Some happened to be wearing protective lenses in the course of their work. That may have interfered with the selection process. Another factor seems to be the purity of the eye color at the time the probe was scanning and the lack of melanin in the iris. Many people with blue eyes, nevertheless have spots of brown or other shades of color in the iris," the doctor explained. Tom Paris was getting really annoyed with being one of a group that everyone kept referring to as The Six. It seemed depersonalizing somehow. "Doc, what are you saying? Someone scrambled my brain while trying to talk to me by flashing lights in my eyes?" "A rather non-technical assertion but essentially correct," the doctor replied. Tom rolled his eyes, but sank back into his chair massaging his forehead. "That's nice to know. But it would be more helpful if you could help me get rid of this---headache." The captain's concerned eyes examined him. The pilot's irascibility was out of character. "Doctor? Can you do something for him?" "He thinks it's psychosomatic," Tom muttered sourly, his frown deepening as the pain behind his eyes suddenly sharpened and intensified. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and massaged them. "I don't really have a headache---I just *think* I do. That's why I can't sleep either. And have weird dreams when I finally do get to sleep. It's all in my mind. What there is left of it!" "Based on further research, I am prepared to revise my diagnosis, if Mr. Paris will return to Sickbay for examination and treatment," the doctor stated. Tom stifled a moan. "Anything. Just get rid of these lousy spots while you're at it. They're very distracting." He lurched to his feet, holding his head. He paused for a moment as he waited for the dizziness to pass. "Mr. Paris, go to Sickbay. Mr. Kim, would you escort him, please?" the captain requested. When the door had slid closed behind the two men, Janeway turned her attention back to the EMH. "Doctor? You were saying the probe was an unsuccessful attempt to communicate?" "Yes. I would suggest that we devise some manner of communicating with these people before they make a second attempt. Their first try caused a small degree of damage to the neural pathways. I have been able to repair it and, in addition, I've developed a palliative to address the eye problems and the headaches. I have also devised a temporary measure which may provide some protection for those members of the crew who are particularly vulnerable to this form of attack. I will try the device on Mr. Paris. If it seems to be appropriate, I will issue the devices to each of the at risk crewmembers, beginning with The Six." "Thank you, Doctor," Janeway replied. "Is there anything else?" "In light of the continuing symptoms, I believe the probe may have merely been preparing The Six for receiving the message. The best explanation I can come up with is that the probe delivered some sort of virus through the optic pathways that is trying to rewrite the neural pathways to enable them to understand the message. They may try again," the doctor said somberly. "And if they do make another attempt at the same intensity level, the result may be permanent blindness, massive brain damage---or death." **************************** Tom leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder as they walked across the bridge to the turbolift under the watchful, speculative eyes of the relief bridge crew. Between the jiggling splotches of color before his eyes and the pain in his head, Paris was finding it hard to keep his balance. He leaned against the wall of the turbolift and closed his eyes, his hands never ceasing to massage his temples and forehead. "Deck Five." "Tom, I know this isn't a good time---" Harry began hesitantly. Paris made an effort and managed to squint one eye open at him. "What?" "It's Malista. Someone's been sending her these---messages on her terminal." "What kind of messages?" Harry's face twisted with distaste as he remembered the small portion he'd read before snapping off the monitor. "Filth. It's the worst stuff I've ever seen---and it's---it makes me sick to even think about it. Accusing her of all kinds of things. Sexual things. Talking about her body, nasty garbage---describing what they want to do to her---" The bitterness of bile was in his throat, making him want to gag. "Who---" "They were sent anonymously. She didn't report it. She's been deleting them. From something she said, I got the impression she's been getting them every night. Probably for weeks." Though nothing had been accomplished yet, Kim felt better for having shared this burden with his best friend. This was beyond his own experience, but perhaps Paris could help him deal with it. "Damn. That must be why she's been losing sleep." Tom put his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it. "That might explain a few things." "Has she said anything to you about this? Or given you any explanation for the amount of stress she seems to be carrying?" "No. For the same reason she didn't tell you. She wants to handle it." The turbolift door slid open on Deck Five. As they started down the hall, Tom continued, "The problem is that she isn't handling it. She's trying to avoid it, pretending it will go away. That's part of it." Harry frowned his puzzlement as they entered Sickbay. "Try not to worry about it, Harry. I'll try talking to her. Sometimes, it's easier to talk to someone who----" "Who's got some experience?" Kim said almost harshly as he eased Paris down on a biobed. Tom made an effort and captured his friend's gaze with blue-eyed intensity. "I was going to say, someone who's not as close, but experience may come into it, too. She knows your background. You're the one who's had a normal family and a normal childhood. She may not think you'll understand, but she does love you, Harry." "She's never said so," Kim said unhappily. "The closest she's come is the night we made up. Before we went to Sickbay, she said 'I *think* I'm in love with you.' She never said she IS in love with me. And I love her, Tom. I never thought I'd really love anyone after I realized that I'd never see Libby again. But I really love Malista. Why can't she see that? I even told her I loved her this morning. And she just looked at me like she was going to cry! I don't know if I'm pushing too hard or if she just doesn't love me. Maybe she's changed her mind, but she doesn't know how to tell me. I can't tell what she's thinking!" Tom sighed. Yet another problem to deal with. Communication skills were definitely underutilized on this ship. "It's hard for her to trust, Harry. If she says it out loud, it means it's true---and she's afraid *you* don't want to hear it. As for why she hasn't told you about the problems she's been having--- I'd be willing to bet she feels like a failure because she hasn't been able to solve them herself. She's pretty good about beating herself up for every perceived fault. She wants you to think the best of her. Hell, she doesn't think she's good enough for you. She all but came out and said so one evening when we were talking." "That's crazy," Kim protested. "I've *told* her---" Paris shook his head slowly from side to side, and immediately regretted it as the sparkles of light intensified. "Harry, Harry, Harry. Telling her isn't going to be enough. You've made a good start. Just by being you and being supportive, you've already helped her a lot. The Doc says its common for victims of sexual assault to feel like they're tainted in some way. Marked out as a victim. This business with obscene messages has probably reinforced that idea in her mind." "So what should I do?" "She needs a lot of practical demonstrations of how you feel about her. You may tell her she's wonderful a hundred times---but someone else has already told her a *thousand* times that she doesn't measure up. Negatives are so much easier to believe than positives. Trust me. On that subject, I do know what I'm talking about." He sank wearily and thankfully onto the relative comfort of the biobed as Kes came over and ran a scanner around his head. Kim wanted nothing more than to continue the discussion while Tom was open to talking about personal issues, but he was due back at the staff meeting and his friend was in pain. "I'm sorry I bothered you with this right now. I'll talk to you later, Tom. Feel better. And thanks!" He tried to smile, but failed utterly and trudged out of Sickbay as Tom lifted a hand in a careless, dismissive wave. The doctor came over with a dyspeptic expression and yet another scanner and hypospray. "Oh, joy! To be in Sickbay when the doctor is in bloom! Or do I mean with the blooming doctor?" Paris mumbled wearily. "Tom," Kes protested gently. "Close your eyes and stay still." "Sure. Why not? Hey, where's everyone else?" "What do you mean?" "The rest of The Six," Paris complained. "If I'm having a recurrence of symptoms, shouldn't they all be here too?" "No," the EMH replied. "The effect was not uniform. The others may arrive shortly as their own symptoms intensify. Perhaps I'll call them in after I finish your tests. It's not surprising that your symptoms are more severe. Your eyes contain the least amount of melanin of anyone on the ship." "Oh, goody," Tom exulted sarcastically. "I've set yet another record. Be sure to notify Starfleet Command. Send a copy of the report to the attention of Admiral Owen Paris. He likes to be advised about these things." The doctor nodded, missing or ignoring the sarcasm completely. "I'll be sure to make a note of it in your medical file---which, by the way, is becoming quite full. If you continue your frequent visits here, I may have to start a second folder for you, Tom." The helmsman surrendered to the inevitable and found himself drowsing off. Sleeping was better than being awake if you were going to be stuck in Sickbay. At least then you didn't have to hear the play by play as Dr. Frankenstein and Tinkerbell trifled with your body and mind as if they were toys. He really *hated* feeling out of control. He hated it even more when it was his own body that was out of his control. ***************************** By the time Harry Kim returned to the staff meeting, the topic of conversation had moved on to Tuvok's Security report. He slid into his seat as they were discussing the near confrontation between Maquis and Starfleet personnel in the holodeck the previous night. "The doctor came to the brig to treat a fractured bone in Crewman Gerron's hand and the dislocated jaw of Crewman Castelle," Tuvok noted. "Both crewmen declined to make a statement regarding the cause of the altercation." The captain turned to the first officer and raised an eyebrow. "Captain, as I reported to you last week, the level of tension has been rising steadily for some time. Last night, I had the opportunity to discuss the matter with reliable sources. The problem seems to stem from the sexual harassment of certain Maquis personnel, by certain Starfleet personnel," the commander said. He didn't look happy. Harry, unnoticed for the moment, flinched. He had a bad feeling about this. This might have something to do with the source of the obscene messages Malista had received, but he didn't want to mention it. It would be betraying a confidence. Wouldn't it? "Sexual harassment? On *my* ship? Do you have names to go along with these accusations?" Janeway's snapping eyes were cold steel gray. "No, Captain. I'm sorry. The only name I've confirmed is Crewman Paul Castelle. That stems from his behavior last night." Chakotay looked down at a padd that held his notes on the incident. "It seems that Mr. Castelle has been spreading all kinds of stories about his sexual prowess and how he has demonstrated it with the female Maquis crewmembers. He has also instigated some vicious and slanderous rumors about the sexual appetites of Maquis women. Last night, he was more overt in his bragging and made the mistake of doing it where one of his targets could hear it. Crewman Henley was playing pool when she overheard him making remarks of a---personal nature about Henley's anatomy and sexual interests and habits." Chakotay stopped to clear his throat. He hoped the captain wouldn't ask for specifics. His dark coloring nearly hid the hot flush of blood he already felt rushing up his neck to his cheeks as he recalled Castelle's exact statements as quoted by those present. "Overheard by whom? Were there any other witnesses? Or is it her word against his?" Janeway interrupted, citing a frequent problem in such cases. Chakotay took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He did not meet the eyes of the other officers. "Overheard by Henley and Gerron." "Not exactly impartial testimony," Janeway commented. "Castelle was talking to Crewman Molina, who has also given a statement that corroborates Henley's story," the commander continued. "Mr. Molina just happened to be seated at the bar next to Mr. Castelle and was the unwilling audience for Mr. Castelle's remarks. He was not involved in any way in Castelle's actions and, in fact, disapproved of them." "It seems we may have overestimated Mr. Castelle's intelligence," Janeway remarked dryly. "Or perhaps he underestimated the auditory acuity of Crewman Henley," Tuvok remarked. Janeway shot a sharp glance at him. If that remark had come from anyone else, she'd have thought it was a joke. Tuvok was just stating the facts. "Perhaps," she muttered. "What is going on? You say this is a pattern of behavior that Castelle has established before? Have there been any other complaints? Is there anyone else involved? And have all the female Maquis crewmembers been the objects of these---verbal attacks?" B'Elanna Torres spoke up. "I haven't, Captain. Or if I have been, I haven't heard anything about it. But I think Malista Shadow has been bothered. She's been upset and distracted for days---maybe longer." All eyes in the briefing room turned toward Harry Kim. He had time to brace himself for the impact of their gaze. He sat there stolidly trying to pretend he had nothing to contribute to the meeting, his face a blank mask. He wasn't as practiced at it as his friend, Tom Paris. Some of his anxiety leaked through his carefully managed expression. "Harry? Has Malista been harassed?" Janeway asked gently. "She hasn't filed a report." His carefully worded answer was precisely accurate. "That's not what I asked," the captain returned pointedly. No escape. If anything, his expression became even more deadpan as he tightened his jaw obstinately. "I am not personally aware of---" He couldn't say it. He couldn't look Captain Janeway in the eye and lie to her. He'd never been able to lie well. He cleared his throat. "Captain, I---" She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have put you on the spot. I'll discuss this with Crewman Shadow myself." The ensign wanted to protest, but swallowed the words with an effort. "Lieutenant Tuvok, if you'll continue to look into this matter, I'd like to know the extent of the problem. I'm sure Commander Chakotay will give you any assistance you require," stated the captain. The Vulcan nodded. "An investigation is already under way. My own sources have the name of another possible suspect and are interviewing possible witnesses to ascertain the degree of involvement of others." "Now, Harry," Janeway turned back to the Ops Officer. "We need to analyze the energy readings of those probes and find a way to block them. Last time, they evidently passed right through our shields and the hull without setting off the intruder alert warning. If we can't block them, I want to know when they're coming and where they originate. Then I want to start working on a way to modify the Universal Translator program to work on nonverbal languages, such as these light and color signals so we can communicate with those who sent the probes." "Yes, ma'am." It was an unconscious echo of Tom Paris. "I'll get to work on it right away." A few moments later, the meeting was dismissed and the officers scattered to their duty stations. On the way to the bridge, Torres found a moment to pull Kim aside. "Harry, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned Malista---" He shook his head. "You're her commanding officer. It's your duty to report something like that." "Was I right?" "Yes. But I don't want to talk about it. It's her story, not mine. If she wants you to know-- -as her superior or as her friend---it's her place to tell you." B'Elanna nodded. She hadn't seen Malista yet today. She still owed the younger woman an apology. That was the next item on her agenda. Before she reached the turbolift, Lieutenant Tuvok called her over to his station. "Lieutenant Torres, if I am going to investigate the possibility of a sexual harassment problem aboard this ship, it would be helpful to know where to begin. You mentioned that Crewman Shadow has been distracted and upset. Can you cite a particular instance?" Tuvok remarked as emotionlessly as if discussing weather conditions on Vulcan. Torres tried to pinpoint an incident. She wasn't good about noticing subtleties of behavior. Usually her mind was too engaged with technical or problem-solving matters to pay much attention, but on one occasion in particular, it had struck her that Malista had been uncomfortable with her duty assignment. So had Gerron. And the simple task had taken far longer than it should have to complete---or was there another reason that Shadow and Gerron had been long overdue in reporting back to Engineering? She nodded slowly as she considered her words. "If I were you, Tuvok, I think I'd start looking in the Biology Department. She was---very tense---when she returned from repairing the environmental controls there." The Vulcan raised one eyebrow. He knew that, Malista Shadow had seen two members of the staff of the Biology Department socially on separate occasions: Lt. Trent Salaka and Crewman Sven Haldersen. That raised the possibility that one or both of them could be a source of the problem, though the Security Officer had never had any indication that either was the type of man to force his attentions on an unwilling partner. "I will investigate that possibility, Lieutenant. Thank you." Torres continued on her way to Engineering. ***************************** As it turned out, B'Elanna didn't have a chance to apologize to Malista. By the time she reached Engineering, Crewman Shadow had been summoned to the captain's ready room and had left for the bridge. As Shadow crossed the bridge, her green eyes involuntarily slid toward the Operations station. Ensign Kim put as much encouragement and love as he could in the look he sent her. She appreciated it. Pausing for just a moment as she approached the door, she found herself smiling back at him. She didn't blame Harry for telling the captain about the messages on her terminal. That must be what this was about. If he'd told the captain, he'd done it out of concern for her. She'd expected a summons like this from the moment he'd found out. She braced herself. She was prepared for anything Janeway might say. Or so she thought. She hit the signal for admittance. "Come." The young woman swallowed hard, her smile disappearing as if it had never existed, and stepped into the room. Captain Janeway was sitting behind her desk, Commander Chakotay was seated to her right, and there was a vacant chair on the left. With a polite smile, Janeway gestured her toward the empty seat. "Please, sit down, Crewman Shadow." She sat as instructed, but didn't relax. She was poised on the edge of the seat, her spine rigid. Her hands clenched tightly on the arms of the chair. Her face was an icy, controlled mask, but her eyes had a glint in them that disturbed Chakotay. She looked like someone who was holding onto the tattered edges of her self-control---as if it were the difference between life and death. Janeway recognized that something was very wrong here. Before bringing up the suspected harassment, the captain decided to give the younger woman some positive feedback in an effort to ease the tension. "A few weeks ago, Commander Chakotay and I began crew evaluations and performance reviews." The statement confused Shadow. She frowned slightly as she made an effort to concentrate, trying to ignore both the pain in her head and the disconcerting sensation of sparkles of multicolored light randomly appearing and disappearing in her line of vision. "I'm sorry, Captain. What did you say?" The captain traded concerned glances with her first officer. She smiled gently and encouragingly at the girl. "Malista, your work since you've become a member of this crew has been exemplary. In fact, it was the excellence of your performance that led us to discover you were working two different jobs and two shifts. Both your supervisors recommended you for promotion." The green eyes rounded. Her mouth opened and closed twice before she choked out, "What?" Janeway leaned forward, hands clasped before her on her desk, and spoke very clearly. "I thought you should know that you have been recommended for promotion to Ensign." She waited for the idea to sink in, expecting at least a smile of pleasure from the young woman. She didn't get it. Malista Shadow surged to her feet, planted both fists on the captain's desk and shouted right in the captain's face. "You can't do that!!" Before the captain could do more than blink and recoil from the ferocity of her tone, Shadow pounded the desks with her fists. "You can't do that! You can't promote me!! I won't LET you!!" Her icy features were now a twisted mask of rage, flushed with the heat of her anger. Chakotay was on his feet, ready to intercede physically if necessary. His movement drew her attention. Shadow spun to face him, to plead with him. "You can't let her do this. I don't *want* a promotion. You can't let her, Chakotay! Please, you have to stop her! It will ruin everything! They'll think---he'll think---everyone will think everything they said was true! I don't want a promotion! She can't make me take one, can she?" The captain got slowly to her feet, staring as she tried to comprehend what had gone wrong and what Shadow was talking about. "Malista---" Chakotay began, touching her arm lightly. Her eyes were closed. Every muscle in her body seemed to be clenched in an effort to regain command of herself. The more she tried for control, the more it seemed to slip away. The very rigidity of her body made it easier to notice when she began to tremble. Her eyes opened and darted back to the other side of the desk. Her mouth dropped open as she suddenly heard what she'd said---and realized how she'd said it---and to whom. She'd yelled---at the captain! The captain!! Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in horror. "Oh, Zeus! Captain, I----" Words fled from her mind before they could be voiced. She bit down on her fist, hard enough to draw blood. Shaking and trembling, her knees gave way and she crumpled into the chair, drawing her legs up and tucking her head down until she was curled into the fetal position. She wasn't making a sound. Somehow that was more poignant than if she had been screaming or crying. The first officer reached out tentatively to touch her shoulder. She recoiled even more, if that was possible. He threw a helpless glance at Janeway. She mouthed, "Sickbay?" He nodded. "Malista?" No response. "Malista, we're sending you to Sickbay." Her body jerked, her head moved from side to side. "Not through the corridors or the bridge." Another shudder racked her. "We'll transport you." No response. Her breathing was irregular as she took in air in small frantic gasps. He activated his commbadge. "Chakotay to Sickbay." "Yes, Commander?" the doctor's cool voice replied. "We have a---medical emergency. You have an incoming patient. Crewman Shadow is---not well. Chakotay out." He cut off the communication before the doctor could ask any inappropriate questions within the range of his patient's hearing. The captain tapped her own commbadge. "Transporter room two, medical emergency. Beam Crewman Shadow to Sickbay." She disappeared in a sparkle of light. Chakotay and Janeway regarded each other with consternation. "I was trying to put her at ease," the captain said, settling herself into her chair, forcing herself to speak calmly, though she felt shaken. "I know." He sat down heavily and wiped a hand across his brow to remove the dew of perspiration. "What was that all about?" she asked. "Do you have any idea?" "She's been under a lot of pressure," the commander said hesitantly. "I think it was the accumulation of a lot of different things. Somehow, the idea of getting promoted---" He lifted his hand in a helpless gesture. "That was a full blown anxiety attack." "She seemed to just snap," Janeway concurred. "Do you think---will the doctor be able to help her?" "I don't know. If Paris is still in Sickbay, he may be able to help. I think it's just a symptom of emotional overload. Too many bad experiences and emotional experiences--- both good and bad---in too short a period of time. Our counseling sessions have been inadequate. She still refuses to open up to me completely. The Doctor and Tom and I talked about it yesterday," he informed her. "I just wish that probe hadn't chosen her as well. That can't have helped the situation. She's probably got the same health problems as Paris, but she wouldn't let anyone know about it. What should we tell Harry?" "Give me a moment," the captain replied. "I'll think of something." She sighed. "I hope." ******************************* The raised voice spilled through the doors of the ready room and onto the Bridge---not the words, the sound-proofing was too good for that. Nevertheless, Harry Kim recognized the shrill shouting as Malista's voice. Reflexively, he started to move around his Ops console. "Ensign Kim." It was Tuvok. Kim's eyes flew toward the Security Officer. The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Have you found a method of detecting the probe's approach?" With another uneasy glance toward the captain's private room, Kim returned his attention to the panel in front of him. "I think so. I've remodulated the sensors to alert us to any changes within the frequency range of the probe's energy signature. We should have a warning next time it approaches the ship." "At what distance?" Kim missed the question as sudden silence fell in the next room. Why would Malista be shouting? He'd never heard her shout---not once. What could the captain have said? How bad was the problem? Were the obscenities on her terminal the least of what Malista had been dealing with? Should he--- "Mr. Kim!" Tuvok didn't raise the volume of his voice, just the intensity. "At what distance will the probe be detectable?" His words snapped in Harry's ears, warning him to focus his attention where it belonged. Kim gathered his thoughts and referred to his padd. "Uh---" He was interrupted by the chirp of the commlink. "Janeway to Kim." "Kim here, Captain." "Please join me in my ready room." "Yes, Captain." With an alacrity born of apprehension, Kim was around the Ops station and halfway to the ready room doors before Ayala could replace him. As he stepped inside, his eyes searched for Malista Shadow. He'd watched her come in. She hadn't come out. He'd been too preoccupied to note that a transport had occurred. The captain and first officer met his eyes steadily. Before he could formulate a question, Chakotay answered him. "We sent her to Sickbay, Harry. She became---hysterical." He hesitated over the word, wondering if it truly conveyed an accurate representation of what had occurred. The young man gulped. "Why? Did you ask her about---" "We didn't get that far," the captain stated softly. "She was very tense when she came in. I attempted to give her a compliment to make her feel more comfortable. Let's say, she didn't react in the manner I expected. I told her she'd been recommended for promotion. She started screaming that she didn't *want* a promotion." Kim's face went totally blank as he tried to grasp the concept. "What? Why? Why would she---I don't understand." "That makes three of us, Mr. Kim," Chakotay said heavily. "Sit down, Harry. We need to talk." ******************************* Tom Paris had changed out of his uniform. Kes had suggested he make himself comfortable during the last round of tests. Since he was now officially on medical leave, he was wearing his favorite black jeans and a black tee-shirt. Smart woman, that Ocampan. She knew how much he hated Sickbay pajamas. Her wiliness had ensured his cooperation during the last three tests. The ones he'd been awake for. He hated tests. Paris had finally been dismissed and was about to return to his quarters to try to get some sleep when he heard Chakotay's message. He stayed there to await Malista's arrival. If Commander Chakotay hadn't identified the patient beaming in, the EMH wouldn't have recognized her immediately. She materialized curled tightly into a fetal position, head tucked down, hands now clasped behind her neck, face hidden between her arms and legs. When the transporter effect released her, she was lying on her side, unmoving on the floor, breathing shallowly and rapidly. The doctor reached for a hypospray. Paris grasped his wrist and silently shook his head. Chakotay had advised him to go with his instincts. 'Okay, then here we go,' he thought. 'Ready or not, here I come.' He took a deep breath and assumed a calm he didn't feel. Paris dropped down to sit cross-legged next to Shadow, not touching her, but sitting close enough to touch if it became necessary. In a cool, conversational voice, he said, "Malista, what the hell is going on here?" The EMH frowned at Paris' cavalier attitude and would have spoken his disapproval aloud but, from the response he received, it seemed that the pilot knew what he was doing. As she recognized his unruffled voice, Shadow's rigidity visibly lessened. Slowly, by degrees, she began to uncoil, stretching out on her side, her arms still wrapped around her head and covering her face. Her breath was still coming in short pants. "Sis, breathe like a normal person," Tom ordered in a bored tone. "You keep hyperventilating and you'll pass out and be at the Doc's mercy for *hours*." "Hmmph!" the doctor muttered, shooting an indignant glare at the pilot from under a furrowed brow. His justifiable resentment of the comment was somewhat mollified when Paris winked at him to indicate he wasn't serious. "If Malista is in need of assistance, she can have every confidence that I will provide it," the EMH stated clearly and firmly. There was slight easing in the tension of her body. The normalcy of the conversation, the lack of embarrassing questions, and the fact that the two men present were trusted friends were all factors in helping her to reassert her self-control at her own pace. Paris waited for another moment as her breathing evened out and became less labored. "Malista." This time he waited patiently for a reply. It was almost a full minute in coming. "What?" Her voice was muffled and shaky, but at least she had finally responded. "Let me give you some advice. If you want to clean the Sickbay floor, don't do it with your uniform," he said. "We have cleaning tools for that kind of thing." One hand came down to swat tiredly and feebly at his leg. "Oh, shut up, Tom." She left her hand resting on his knee. He dropped his hand over hers. Her eyes opened to slits, watching him, trying to gauge his reaction to her behavior. He gave her hand a squeeze and winked at her. "People are always telling me to shut up, Doc!" he complained loudly, looking up and signaling the EMH with his eyes that he should answer. "I wonder why, Mr. Paris!?" the doctor said. "It's a mystery to me." He was intrigued by the lieutenant's handling of the situation and was recording it for further study. It might be helpful in developing and improving his own bedside manner. "Some people just don't have a sincere appreciation for humor." Paris grimaced and got to his feet. He put his hands on his hips in his best Janeway impression and stared down at the young woman. "Sis, get up," he ordered. "If the Doc had a *real* emergency, they'd beam in on top of you. That could get embarrassing." He extended a hand in her direction. She took it and staggered to her feet with his help, her muscles aching and protesting their mistreatment in being locked in place so tightly and for so long. He slipped an arm around her waist and led her to a biobed. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up, then seated himself next to her. He slipped a brotherly arm around her shoulders, carefully refraining from making her feel constrained, but allowing her to feel connected to and supported by his presence. "Doc, are you going to run that scanny thing over her?" he asked in his most deliberately annoying nasal inflection. She winced and gently nudged him with her shoulder. She hated when he did that. That voice grated on her ears. He only used it when he wanted to annoy or tease her. "Scanny thing?" the doctor echoed scathingly. "If you are referring to my diagnostic scanner, then yes, I am going to perform a scan." He suited his actions to his words. He noted that Paris had subtly warned and relaxed his nervous patient and made it possible for the EMH to approach without alarming her unduly. He made a note to do a study comparing the lieutenant's unusual methods with those of professional counselors. There seemed to be some correlation, regardless of whether the young man's actions were the result of training or instinct. "I can predict what you'll find," Tom said smugly. "Headache, eye irritation, and a lack of sleep catching up with her. She's been riding on her emotions for too long. She needs rest and relaxation." She let her head fall back to rest on his shoulder, eyes closing. "Good diagnosis, *Doctor* Paris. What's your next trick?" "Well," he drawled, "I recommend the Doc give you some of that jungle juice he gave me. I was his test subject this morning and it worked on me. It lessens the headache. It doesn't get rid of the spots, but somehow they're less noticeable. Maybe the color is fading or they just aren't tap dancing any more. They're waltzing instead." The doctor silently nodded his agreement of the pilot's summary. Aloud he scoffed, "Jungle juice? I will have you know, Mr. Paris, that this elixir is concocted from several natural herbs and the juices of certain fruits that produce---" Paris waved him off. "Yeah. Sure, Doc. Jungle juice." Malista almost found the energy to laugh at the doctor's indignant expression. The EMH injected her with the hypospray. "Here. I want you to wear these. Hopefully they will protect your eyes from further damage, should the probe reappear." Paris and Shadow took the visor like objects from his hand. Paris unfolded the ear pieces and slipped the device on. They reminded him of the safety goggles worn when using superheated materials. "They're tinted. What are these things, Doc?" The holodoctor all but preened. "They are optical instruments with polarized lenses designed to protect the human eye from glare or radiation. I got the idea from our visit to Earth of 1996. I took the design from something called RayBans. They were very popular for protection against ultraviolet radiation before the advent of the controlled weather satellite programs in the 22nd century." Shadow reluctantly slid the glasses into place. "Everything looks----green." "That facilitates the filtering process," the doctor explained then moved away to give them some privacy. Mr. Paris seemed to be dealing with the crisis satisfactorily, but the doctor prepared a sedative hypospray and kept it close at hand. Better to err on the side of caution. Paris slid the glasses up and down his nose, finally leaving them in place. After a moment, he asked, "Feeling better?" She nodded. "Okay, so what happened, Sis?" She tensed. "Tell me," he insisted. "You know I'll find out anyway. Everyone tells me everything eventually. I have this power!" She turned her head away from him and mumbled something under her breath. "What?" He shook her shoulder. "Speak Standard, not Greek," he complained. She looked at him with the beginnings of a displeased frown. "I *was* speaking Standard." "Then speak it louder." Her eyes dropped again. "I said," she whispered, "I *yelled* at the captain." "What?" Paris couldn't believe his ears. If he'd been asked to predict what she was going to say---well, that certainly wouldn't have been on the list. A little more loudly, becoming defensive, she said, "I YELLED at the CAPTAIN!" "What did you yell?" he inquired politely. She stared at him. "Well, it makes a difference," he said offhandedly. "I mean if you called her names---like Ironpants Janeway or Killer Kathryn or the Bun of Steel---" "Tom!" He shrugged. "Okay. So you didn't call her names. What did you yell at her?" She bit her lower lip, caught herself, and stopped. "She told me I was up for promotion to Ensign. I told her I didn't want a promotion. Very loudly." "I wish I could have seen her face," Paris said wistfully. "And Chakotay's. I assume he was there? Do you think the security cams----" "Tom!" she said again. "I YELLED at the captain!" She couldn't believe he didn't grasp the seriousness of her offense. He raised his eyebrows. "So?" He looked only mildly interested. "Did she faint?" "What? No!" She tried to pull away from him. He refused to let her go. "Malista!" He waited till she stopped squirming and he had her full attention. "What do you think she's going to do? Space you? Trust me, the captain has been yelled at before. By the best of them, I'm sure. Including my own dear father, Admiral Paris. And believe me, he can tear a strip off you. Captain Janeway will *survive* being yelled at. You can apologize later. She's a reasonable woman. She'll forgive you. Right now, I want to know why. And why you turned into a basket case just because you lost your temper." "Basket case?" "Old Earth expression. Something to do with the guillotine, I think. When they lost their heads, people got carried off in a basket. Something like that. Stop trying to change the subject. Why would you get upset when you're offered a promotion? Most people would be glad for the recognition of their hard work. Why aren't you?" She didn't answer, refusing to look at him. His jaw tightened. Paris was not prepared to let her withdraw this time. Things had gone too far if she could lose control to the point of having an anxiety attack of the magnitude of the one he'd just witnessed. It was time to deal with this. He just prayed he would know what to say. "Fine. You don't want to talk to me. I'll get Harry." Her eyes flew to his, panicked. "No! You can't tell Harry!" "Why not? Give me a reason, Sis, or I'm calling him to come to Sickbay right now. You will talk to me---or you talk to him." His blue eye were determined. He meant exactly what he said. "Or you can go back and yell at the captain some more," he added provocatively. "I don't *want* a promotion," she said evenly. "I figured that out. Why?" She ducked her head and mumbled. "Damn it, Malista! Answer me!" Her body jerked and her eyes flew up to meet his. She'd never heard Tom sound so angry- --at least, not at her. "I said because everyone will think the rumors are true!" He sighed tiredly. "Which *rumors* are we talking about *this* time?" She didn't answer. Her eyes ran around Sickbay, pausing for just a moment on the entrance. He got the message. Anyone could come in. At any time. "Okay, fine," the lieutenant said. He turned to the EMH. "Doc, I think we're going to continue this little therapy session in a more private locale. Would you be willing to place Malista on medical leave for today as well?" "Of course," the hologram agreed. He gestured Paris closer with a beckoning finger and they stepped out of the young woman's earshot. "If it is your intention to provoke a reaction and allow Malista to vent her anger, I feel I should warn you that it may be hazardous." Paris' aristocratic features took on a haughty, reproachful air. "Malista will not hurt me." There was no sign of doubt in his azure eyes. "I'm taking her to the holodeck for some privacy. She may get angry. She may be furious. But she would never hurt me. And I *will* help her." "I will monitor your---conference from here, but I promise not to interfere unless necessary to ensure her safety or yours," the doctor stated. "Tom? I feel I should warn you. She has been repressing her emotions for some time. She may resent your part in leading her to release them and make you the object of her deep seated resentment and rage. You should also know that she may never forgive you for your part in this." The pilot's mouth twisted bitterly. "I know that, Doc. Sometimes you have to be willing to lose someone's love in order to do what's best for them. And I'm a gambler, remember? Or I used to be. I'd say the odds are about fifty-fifty, at this point. But even if * I * lose her, I'll make sure Harry won't. I'll take that deal. Would you notify the captain and the commander for me?" The EMH nodded. He waited until the duo had departed for the holodeck before he signaled the Bridge. ************** "Harry, it's obvious Malista is emotionally---overwrought." Chakotay chose his words carefully. "We would prefer to ask her about any harassment---" "I don't know that she would answer your questions, Commander," the ensign confided uneasily. His fear of betraying a confidence was overridden by his fear for Malista's mental and emotional health. "I found out by accident, last night that someone has been sending her---" He trailed off as he glanced at the captain and tried to think of how he could explain the contents of the messages and their impact on Shadow without embarrassing himself or his superior officers. "She's been getting obscene messages on her terminal. Tom and I figured out that she's probably been receiving them for weeks. That's why she hasn't been sleeping much." "Obscene?" The captain's tone asked for clarification. "How obscene? I mean, in what manner?" She cleared her throat and plowed on. "Harry, I'm sorry. Could you give us some idea of the---content? It's not necessary to, uh, give details. Just a general idea." Harry's face was flushed and hot, but he maintained control of his expression. "I only saw one. Malista didn't report them and has been deleting them as she got them. It was threatening. Sexually threatening. Crude comments about---her body and what they---he wanted to do to her. Not with her. *To* her." Kim had reached his limit. "I saved the one from last night. If you'd like to---" "Maybe later," Chakotay said. "Do you know if Malista has been bothered in any other way? Comments or unwelcome advances?" The young man looked miserable. "She won't talk to me. Or to Tom. I know something has been bothering her, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. She kept saying she wanted to handle her own problems. After I, uh, got so jealous for no reason before, I think she's afraid I won't believe her. Until I found the message, I didn't have any clue as to what was bothering her." The comm system signaled. "Please turn to your Emergency Holographic Channel." The captain hit the control and the doctor's unsmiling visage appeared on the viewscreen. "Yes, Doctor?" "I have placed Crewman Malista Shadow on medical leave. She will not be reporting for duty today." "How is she?" Harry blurted, throwing protocol out the airlock without a thought. "She is---recovering. Mr. Paris was able to calm her and bring her out of her self-induced anxiety attack. She was breathing normally when she left and her vital signs were nearing normal parameters," the EMH reported. "When she left? You dismissed her from Sickbay?" Janeway asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not exactly. I released her into Mr. Paris' care. He is going to attempt to persuade Malista to discuss her problems in a more private setting. He is confident that she will talk to him. He plans to insist on it. Vehemently, if necessary." "Doc, where---" Kim began. "Mr. Kim, I know you are concerned, but I do not think your presence would be helpful." The doctor tried his 'sympathetic smile'. It wasn't terribly successful, but it was improving with practice. "Malista seems reluctant to speak to anyone. It is Tom's intention to compel her to confide in him in order to give her the opportunity to verbalize the reasons for her emotional distress. He believes---" "Doctor," Chakotay interrupted, "I'll explain to Mr. Kim. Thank you." The doctor nodded his agreement and closed the communication channel. "Captain?" Janeway nodded toward her first officer, got to her feet, and moved toward the exit. "Take all the time you need, gentlemen." She returned to the bridge. After her departure, Kim waited impatiently for Chakotay to begin. Finally, he couldn't stand the silence. "Commander, what is going on? What's wrong with Malista? Why can't I go see her? She may need me." Chakotay was shaking his head before the ensign had finished his first sentence. He'd been trying to decide how much detail he should go into and wondering how to explain to the younger man what he, Tom, and the EMH had discussed. "I'm sorry, Harry. She wouldn't want you to see her right now. I'm sure." "Why not? I only want to help her! I love her!" His impassioned voice and expression were absolutely convincing. Chakotay sat forward, studying the young man carefully. "Have you told her that?" "Yes." "Harry, I don't want to intrude on your personal life---" "Commander, I don't think you have a choice. I want to know and I want to know now. What is going on?" ***************** Tom had chosen the holodeck program of Lake Como for several good reasons. It was a peaceful setting, but it was also a not-so-subtle reminder of the roots of the friendship between the two of them. It was here that he and Malista had first talked at length and made a start at confiding in each other. It was here that she had planned to commit suicide and it was here that he had stopped her, earning first her anger then, eventually, her gratitude. He led her to the picnic table and bench under the shade of the tree overlooking the lake. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the still waters near the lake shore and stole a quick moment to admire the look of the RayBans. They suited him. "Groovy," he said approvingly, with a fond smile in remembrance of Raine Robinson. While waiting for Tuvok to return with breakfast, she'd finally told him, much to his embarrassment, that the word was at least twenty years out of date by the time he'd used it in 1996. With a quick glance at Malista, he slipped off his pair, then removed hers, and set them on the picnic table. Tom wanted to be able to read the changes in her expression and her eyes were a dead giveaway of her feelings, at least to him. Plus, his own eyes were often his best means of communication. He wasn't willing to sacrifice that advantage for the possible protection the eyewear might provide in a situation that might not arise. She stood next to the bench and made an effort to relax. In the distance, on what appeared to be the horizon, sailboats glided to and fro with bright, colorful sails fully unfurled and making rainbow patterns against the purplish blue sky. Paris gave her a moment to contemplate the beauty of her surroundings before he broke the silence. "This is peaceful, isn't it?" "Yes. You were right about the doctor's 'jungle juice'. The headache is sort of blurred around the edges. It's not gone, but it's manageable. And the spots do seem duller. How strange. I wonder why----" "The privacy lock is activated. We're alone. Are you ready to talk now?" "About what?" she asked warily, as she turned to face him. She hoped if she forced him to define the limits of the conversation he might miss zeroing in on the source of her anxiety and she could divert him to a less threatening topic. It was a method that had served her well in the past. It clouded the issues and made direct lies unnecessary. He understood her better than she'd thought. He didn't fall for that tactic. It was probably one he'd used himself. The roguish pilot looked positively parental in demeanor as he drew himself up to his full height, folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her demandingly. "Make no mistake here, Malista. We *are* going to talk. No more evasions, half-truths, changing the subject, or telling me what you think I want to hear. You are going to tell me what has been making you tense and scared and robbing you of sleep. Then you and I will decide how to deal with it. Whatever it is." He paused. She stared up at him mutely, her eyes meeting his, then darting away. "Harry told me about the messages," he added. She gulped her dismay at this revelation, and dropped her eyes. Her knees gave way and she sank down onto the bench beside her. She'd hoped she'd have more time to come up with a story, an excuse, something. "Do you know who's sending the messages?" he asked gently, crouching next to her without touching her. She shook her head mutely, her eyes fixed on her clasped hands in her lap. "Did he---did he tell you what they said?" "No. Just that they were nasty. I don't have to know the details. I don't want to. What I do need to know is why you didn't report them to Security? Or tell Harry? Or me? Or B'Elanna? Or even Chakotay? It's not like we all haven't been asking you what was wrong. Why didn't you tell us, Malista?" he insisted. "I didn't want you to think---I thought maybe I---" Her hesitant words faltered. "You thought we'd blame you?" he said, disappointment coloring his pleasant tenor. "Tell me, Sis, did you ever reply to one of the messages?" "No." Her voice was very small. "Did you put a notice on the ship's bulletin board asking for a porno penpal?" he asked in the same matter-of-fact tone. "No! Tom!" She straightened in revulsion and tried to recoil from him, but he latched onto her wrist and held her in place. "Then you aren't to blame." "How can you know?" she cried, twisting her arm, trying to pull it out of his grasp. He refused to let her slip away from him. "No more hiding, Malista. I know you aren't to blame, because I know the kind of pervert who gets his thrills by assaulting and sickening someone with an anonymous attack like this. It's probably someone who was afraid to approach you directly with a proposition. Afraid of rejection, or afraid you'd have him thrown in the brig. Or maybe someone who just has a grudge against you for whatever sick reason in his own mind. Someone who knew or guessed that you wouldn't report it. Someone who knew it would get to you. I know *you*. I know you wouldn't knowingly encourage something like this. That's how I know it isn't your fault." She shook her head mulishly, miserably. "It has to be." "How could it be your fault some deviant decided to send that filth to you? You said you didn't reply or ask for it. Come on, Sis," he said, shaking her arm lightly when she failed to respond. "I can't wait to hear this one." "I must have done something. Said something. To someone. They wouldn't do something like this and keep it up, if they didn't think I wanted it. I *must* have done something." Paris almost growled under his breath in exasperation, but caught himself. That's what he got for hanging around with half-Klingons he supposed. "Malista, listen to me, it's not your fault. You don't *have* to do anything to encourage that type of mistreatment. *Except* to let it go on. And you did do that! That part of the blame is yours. You could have put a stop to this after the first one by reporting it. How long have the messages been coming to your terminal? One week? Two?" "Forty-two. I've gotten forty-two messages," she choked out. "Almost every night. At first they weren't too bad. Just kind of rude. But they kept getting worse." Now that she'd begun talking, she couldn't seem to stop. The feeling of relief was incredible as the pressure of keeping secrets eased as the words flowed out. "They got worse after Harry and I broke up. Then when Harry and I---after we got back together, they got even worse. I kept thinking they couldn't get any worse, but they did. More specific. More sadistic. I stopped reading them. I just deleted them right away. As soon as I saw what they were." She held herself with her free arm and began rocking back and forth as she spoke. Tom released his hold on her forearm, stood, and reseated himself on the bench behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her head back to lie on his shoulder, and started rocking along with her as she lay cradled against his chest. She absorbed his warmth, drawing strength from his figurative and literal support. Paris was doing the math in his head. The messages had started not long after Dishon had died. So this probably had nothing to do with him or a desire to hurt Harry Kim somehow. It had everything to do with persecuting Malista herself. He was sure Tuvok would find that interesting. After a few moments, the lieutenant decided it was time for the next step. "What else?" She stiffened in his arms, the rocking motion ceasing. "What?" "Sis, you're answering a question with a question again," he rebuked mildly, releasing his hold on her and turning her to face him. "What else has been going on? Computer messages wouldn't be enough to get you into this state of anxiety. So something else has been going on. You and Harry seem to be getting along. Is it B'Elanna? Are you having trouble working with her?" He fervently hoped for a negative answer, but made sure that hope didn't show in his demeanor. "No, of course not," she replied. "She's a good supervisor. She lets you know what's expected and demands your best performance. I don't have a problem with that." There was a hint of a proud smile as she added, "She says I do an excellent job. I'm good at repairs and she knows she can count on me. That's what she said and I believe her. She wouldn't tell me that if it wasn't true." "You're right there," Paris chuckled. "My B'Ella is not known for diplomacy in dealing with her staff. She doesn't suffer fools gladly. She told me she was glad you and Nicoletti have the good sense to fix what needed fixing and ask for help if you needed it. That seems to have been a problem with other members of the engineering staff?" Malista nodded, smiling slightly and remembering an incident---actually several incidents. Working in Engineering was never dull with its volatile Chief. Paris persisted in returning to the topic of conversation she didn't want to deal with. "So it's not Harry or B'Elanna. So that brings us back to my question: what else is going on?" Her face fell once more. "Tom, I can handle it---" "You're not handling it! You're avoiding it. It's not going to go away because you pretend it isn't there! Any more than those messages did. Tell me what's going on." No reply. Coaxingly, he tried once more. "Sis, I promise you I won't blame you. Tell me what's going on." There was still no verbal response, but this time she did succeed in pulling away from him. She got to her feet and walked down to the edge of the lake, rearranging the mud there with the toe of her boot. It gave her something other than Tom to focus on. Paris took a deep breath that almost ended in a gasp of surprise as he felt those 'instincts' Chakotay had spoken of kick in. He suddenly knew, without knowing how he knew, that this or something like it had happened to Malista Shadow before. He stopped about six feet behind her. He didn't want to invade her personal space again without her permission. That didn't seem to be working. It was up to her to make the next move. Before he could think logically and argue himself out of speaking, he said the first thing that came into mind. "Who didn't believe you last time? Who made you take the blame the last time?" Her head snapped up, she darted a quick, disbelieving glance at him, then refocused on the mud. "My father. My brothers." "Are we talking here about Huldon III?" he calmly queried. "Or before that." "Before that," she mumbled. "How long before?" He moved a step closer. "When I was thirteen," she whispered. He took another step closer so he could catch her words. His hands automatically lifted towards her, wanting to touch, to hold, to comfort. He forced them back down by his sides. He could try to persuade her with words, but he wouldn't use physical means of persuasion. It would make them both too uncomfortable. "You were---raped---at thirteen?" he croaked, somehow ashamed, but not surprised, that his voice broke in his horror at the thought. "No," she shot back, her voice gaining in volume, as if having made the decision to tell him had strengthened her in some manner. "Not---quite." Her gaze trailed away to the colorful sails on the boats on the holographic horizon. "I started a real growth spurt when I was twelve. I was growing taller very quickly. And I was getting---" She made a helpless gesture toward her breasts. "You were developing?" Tom offered. He detected a little gasp of surprised laughter. "Hey, I had older sisters. Granted, I didn't pay much attention, but even I remember all the angst they went through when they suddenly sprouted---Never mind. You were saying?" "Let's just say I was beginning to look very womanly. I probably looked older than my age because of it," Malista speculated, not sounding happy about the idea. "Any way, I grew very quickly and my coordination wasn't really keeping up. So my father gave me permission to take dancing lessons. I started walking into town once a week for lessons from a woman who worked with our circus in the sideshow sometimes. She was an exotic dancer, but she'd learned all kinds of dancing and gymnastics and she thought lessons might help me with coordination, flexibility. You know." "I bet you were a great dancer. You still are." Once or twice, Tom had come to the holodeck early and caught her dancing alone as her warm-up for their workouts, but she'd refused to share her dancing with anyone and stopped as soon as anyone arrived. She sent a half smile over her shoulder at him. "I was enthusiastic, at least. I loved it. I loved music. All kinds of music. Singing was wonderful, but I *loved* the dancing. All kinds of dancing. It was almost as good as flying. When I was dancing, I felt so free! I wanted to learn every dance Mariza knew. I told my father I wanted to be a dancer when I grew up." Her face saddened. "Let me guess," Tom said. "He said you couldn't. Why? Did he bother to give you a reason?" She nodded. "I wasn't good enough. I was too tall. I'd never make any money at it. All kinds of reasons. Well, I was a good student. Mariza taught me everything---ballroom dancing, jazz dancing, ballet, all kinds of dancing from many different worlds. She taught me some gymnastics routines as warm-up exercises. And all kinds of dances," she repeated. "Some were very athletic and acrobatic and others were very controlled and graceful. At the time, I just thought of the dances as---exercises. Fun exercises. It was a way to let me feel in control of my body, my muscles. I just threw myself into every dance, not thinking about what other people would think if they saw me." "Uh-oh. Do I take it she taught you some of her 'exotic' dances?" Tom already had a pretty good idea how her father would have reacted to that. Especially if Malista was wearing the appropriate costume for each dance. "Yes." A mischievous grin flashed toward him. "Did I mention Mariza was half Orion and half human?" The image that leapt to mind took Tom's breath away. "Oh, my." It was inadequate, but all he could manage. The temperature in the holodeck suddenly seemed much higher. He tugged at the v-neck of his black tee-shirt. "Yeah. That's what all the men thought. But at the time, I didn't think of the dances she taught me as being suggestive, or sexy. I mean, I was only thirteen. I hadn't even really noticed boys then. I'd had enough of the male of the species just dealing with my father and five older brothers. I was totally outnumbered after my mother died." She'd returned to drawing patterns in the mud with the toe of her boot. She took a deep breath. "But someone else saw me dancing. And it gave him ideas. He was a salesman visiting the colony. He was watching through the window of Mariza's studio. She caught him at it once and made him go away. Then a couple of days later, he followed me when I started home." Paris wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to close his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the expression of pain on her face. He did neither. He *really* didn't want to hear this. But she needed to tell it, probably the first time she'd ever told it. He clamped down on his feelings, keeping his neutral mask in place with an effort that bleached his knuckles white as his hands clenched into fists. "Looking back, he wasn't very bright about how he--- Maybe it was his first time to try something like that. Or he thought I wouldn't object. He waited till I got outside of town and then he approached me. I was so stupid!" Her voice broke on a sob. "He called out to me and asked me to stop. And I did! Can you believe I was so *stupid*?" Tom took another step closer. He was within arm's reach now, waiting for her to turn to him. If she would. He wanted to be there to catch her if she fell---figuratively or literally. But, at this moment, as she was lost in memories of the past, he had a hunch that his touch wouldn't be welcomed. It was up to her this time. *She* had to reach out to him. If she would. Or could. He would be there when she was ready. "He kept talking about how he was lost and needed directions, while I stood there like an idiot and let him get close to me. Then he grabbed me and dragged me behind some trees off to the side of the road. He tried to kiss me, and he started tearing at my clothes, and I couldn't breathe, and he knocked me d-d-down---" The tears were running freely down her cheeks as she stammered to a stop. She gulped. "Then the next thing I knew, my brother Giorgios was pulling him off me. He and Stephanos and Demetrios were going into town for some supplies when they heard me scream. Funny, I don't even remember screaming." She shrugged. "Demetrios held me and helped me cover myself with his jacket, while Stephanos and Giorgios beat the man---half to death. I was afraid they weren't going to stop. I thought they were going to kill him. Right there. They might have, but the constable of the village came and arrested the man. I was screaming and crying hysterically. My clothes were torn, my skin was scratched from his nails, my nose and mouth were bleeding. The boys were all cursing and shouting. The man was---there was blood all over- --" "Malista." The quiet voice called her back to the present. It was an effort for Paris to prevent the revulsion from showing in his voice. He didn't want her to think it was meant for her. "I don't even remember hearing about how he was punished. I didn't testify at the trial. No one would tell me anything. They didn't want to upset me." She threw off the memories as if shrugging a cape off her shoulders. "I used to laugh and smile at people all the time. I wasn't always a 'Stoneface'---an 'Ice Princess'. Until I learned what smiling at the wrong person could cost me." Tom grimaced. He hadn't realized she knew the names she was called behind her back. He had hoped she hadn't heard them and been hurt by them. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong." Her mouth twisted. "He said---I smiled at him. Demetrios told me. That man told the constable, that I smiled at him. That's why he--- After that, I never went anywhere without one or more of my brothers or my father. Never. And I never took another dancing lesson." "Your father blamed you?" She nodded as she raised her hands to wipe at the tears on her cheeks. "He said the dances were obscene. The studio shouldn't have had a window. That I must have done something to---to entice---to make the man think I would---wouldn't mind what he wanted to do to me." "And you believed him?" "Of course," she said, lifting a hand, palm upward. "He was my father. He wouldn't lie to me. He loved me. He wanted what was best for me." "No, he didn't," Paris contradicted. "He imprisoned you. How was that best for you?" "He wanted to keep me safe," she argued. "But he didn't teach you how to fight back? To protect yourself?" "No. He said that's what I have---had brothers for. And a husband when the time was right." She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "Little did he know, huh? That it was never going to come up? But he predicted it anyway! He said if I went with the Maquis that I'd regret it. That I'd be attacked again and my brothers wouldn't be there to help me. He said only sluts ran away from home. When they were in heat. I didn't know then what he meant, but I found out. Oh, did I find out." A sob tore its way free from her throat. Her hands flew to cover her mouth as if to suppress any others, prevent their escape. "It wasn't your fault!" Paris persisted. "I *must* have done something. I'm just so stupid---" "Stop that!" Paris snapped. "You are not stupid. Who told you that you're stupid?" She didn't answer. "Let me guess. Your father. Why? Did you make another career choice he didn't approve of?" "I wanted to be an acrobat or gymnast. He said I was too tall. Then I thought about being a doctor. He said I couldn't pass the entrance exams. That I wasn't smart enough." She still refused to look at him. "He was wrong. He lied to you. I've seen your test scores. The doctor showed me your records. Your intelligence level is above average. Borderline genius." There was no room for argument with the pilot's flat statement. "You're smart enough to do anything you want to do." "No, there must be a mistake. That couldn't be true. My father---" "He was wrong about a lot of things, Malista. He wanted you to stay home on the farm with him, right? So he would say anything it took to keep you there." She shook her head, fists clenching at her sides. "No. He wouldn't do that. He loved me. He wouldn't lie to me. He loved me!" "He manipulated you. He used your guilt and shame over being attacked to control you." Tom's voice remained level and unemotional. "Then when you finally rebelled against him and joined the Maquis, he disowned you. That's not love. That's control. You have a right to be angry with him. What he did was wrong." She began to tremble with the effort of staying on her feet. She spun to stare defiantly into his eyes, taking a step back to increase the distance between them and almost tumbling into the water. Paris tried to catch her, but she stumbled away from him, out of his reach. Her chin was quivering, her eyes full of tears that she refused to release. "Stop saying those things! You don't know what you're talking about! You're saying my father didn't love me! But he did! I know he did!" Tom Paris now had a new understanding of the word 'heartache'. His heart literally ached with sympathy for her pain. "I'm not saying he didn't love you, Sis. I'm saying he didn't know how. He loved the person he wanted you to be. But he didn't want you to grow up. He loved you, but *he* messed it up. His fault, not yours." "How would you know?" She was still resisting the truth, denying it, though she could see it now laid out before her as clearly as a starchart. She needed more from Tom Paris before she could allow herself to believe he spoke the truth. She needed some proof that he wasn't just stealing a trick from her book and telling her what she wanted to hear. "Because my father and your father probably have a lot in common," Tom replied sadly. It was so hard for him to talk about his father. He inhaled deeply, hoping he could get it out before his throat closed completely. "I could never please my father either. And it took me years to discover that it wasn't about *me*. I don't think I really accepted that until---until I wound up in the Delta Quadrant. With Captain Janeway's help and Harry's friendship and trust, I found out I wasn't the general screwup everyone expected me to be." He paused as he tried to measure just how much detail he needed to go into for her to understand what he meant. "My problems with my father were all about *his* expectations. It didn't matter what I did or how well I did it. He didn't want me, the real Tom Paris, as his son. He wanted to create me in his own image. He was so busy trying to shape and mold the son he wanted, he never got to know the son he actually had. And, who knows? He might have actually *liked* me, if he'd ever let me just BE me. Does that make sense?" He could detect the sympathy in her eyes. He'd reached her. Now if she would just apply what he'd said.... "Yes, Tom, it does." For the first time since they'd come to the holodeck, she moved toward him rather than away from him. She placed her hand on his, then looked away at the boats so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes as she continued. "My father wanted me to become the perfect farmer's wife. Especially after my mother died. I took over the household duties, even though I was terrible at them---except for cooking. I wanted to be out in the barn, fixing the machinery, repairing the equipment. I always was an engineering type." She paused and shrugged. "If I had gone into medicine, I probably would have worked in the technical end. You know, inventing or repairing equipment. I was always persistent and curious. I wanted to learn how to perform every act in the circus. In addition to performing on the trapeze and high wire, I apprenticed with a different act every season. My father didn't mind that. He said it kept me busy and out of mischief. But I also wanted to learn the technical side of farming, how to work on the machinery. So I made a deal. My youngest brothers, Androcles and Spiro were put in charge of repairs but they weren't good at it or very much interested either. My father told them if they would just apply themselves---" "That sounds familiar," Tom remarked. "That's what I heard every single grading period. No matter how good my grades were. If I could get a 95, why couldn't I get 100? If I got 100 in all but one subject, he only noticed the one I missed. Finally, I just gave up trying so hard. If I wasn't going to please him anyway, I decided I should have some fun along the way doing the things I was interested in." She smiled ruefully. "Yes. Your father does sound a lot like mine. He expected every one of his children to be the best at everything and he didn't accept excuses. He thought all we had to do was try harder and we should be able to anything. It seemed to work for him, but not for us." A reminiscent smile lit her usually solemn features. "Andy and Spiro were supposed to be doing a home schooling course on repairing and building farm equipment, but I took the lessons too. Andy used to let me work on the machines if father wasn't around. And in return, Andy helped me with the housework and Spiro did the gardening. Until papa found out. The whole family got into an uproar. Papa accused the three of us of conspiring behind his back. He said I wasn't acting like a real woman or I would leave men's work to the men. Spiro and Andy were upset because he accused them of acting like women and of spoiling me. Demetrios tried to calm everyone down, but then---That's when we got the message that Giorgios and Stephanos had been killed. And the next day, I ran away and joined the Maquis---" She sighed heavily. She burst into tears, turning to bury her head on his shoulder. He let her cry without interruption for as long as she needed. When the sobs began to subside, he pressed a handkerchief into her hand. "How do you feel?" She mopped her face as she considered her answer. She gave him a twisted smile. "Broken." "It's when you feel broken that you can clear away all the old rubble and begin to build again. You're not alone. We're all building a new life on Voyager, Sis. Some of us just had to clear away the ruins of our pasts before we could begin again." She hugged him tightly. He was beginning to feel like a teddy bear, by the time she sat back. This time her smile was more genuine, tinged with relief at having a huge burden removed from her soul by his intervention. For the first time in a long time, she felt a slight twinge of hope lighten her mood. She knew her recovery from trauma and anxiety wasn't over, but she'd made a beginning. And he was still there. She hadn't scared him away. And if Tom hadn't run, maybe Harry wouldn't either? Paris cleared his throat to regain her attention. "Malista, your father loved you, but he tried to make you fit into a box of his own design. When you didn't fit, he tried to force you to fit. You were smart enough to get out. At least it didn't take a major disaster like Caldik Prime to get you to go your own way. You've come so far. Don't let him push you back into that box after all this time." "I don't understand." "You *aren't* to blame for being attacked---not when you were thirteen. Not on Huldon III. And not now. Not on Voyager. So tell me about what else is going on." He turned his hand in hers to clasp her fingers lightly. "Then we'll see if we can put a stop to it." She raised her eyes and searched his face. Whatever she was looking for, she evidently found it and her expression softened with trust. "All right. Do you want to sit down?" "Only if we both promise to stay seated. This jumping up and down is making me motion sick," he whined. She smiled at that highly unlikely possibility. "Promise." When they were seated comfortably, she began. "The day after the night Harry and I made up---Full Moon Night-- -there were a lot of rumors flying around the ship. Everywhere I went people were asking me questions. Some of them weren't very nice about it." "I told you---" "I know," she interrupted. "Empty wagons rattle. I tried to ignore it, but I wasn't ready for that much public attention. It's strange to know that everyone is talking about you. But that wasn't the main thing. Some of the Starfleet crewmen---they started saying things." "Things like?" Tom asked, eyebrows at attention. "Things more direct than rumors or questions. Like did I think Harry could---do I have to get specific?" she asked plaintively. "How specific did *they* get?" inquired the pilot uncomfortably. "Very." "Then don't. Save the details for your complaint to Security." He made it sound like filing a report was a foregone conclusion. "Tom---" "Malista." His blue eyes were stern. This was not a negotiable point as far as he was concerned. "Go on. Was it just words?" "At first. They *looked* at me, too. I mean, more than just looking. Leering. Like they were imagining---" He held up a hand. "Yeah. I can imagine. Go on. What did you do about it?" "After a few days of me ignoring them, most of it stopped. Except for two men in particular. I tried to avoid them, but I couldn't always. Sometimes we'd share a turbolift, or I'd pass them in a corridor, and they'd say things under their breath to me. Ask me if I wanted to---call out to me---tell me they---I can't talk about this," she sighed defeatedly. "It's just too embarrassing." "I assume as time went on, they didn't give up. Did they touch you? Threaten you?" Paris' voice seemed deeper, angrier, colder. "The first few times *could* have been accidents. At least that's what I told myself. They'd brush up against me as they passed. A hand would graze my hip or my breast. There was nothing I could say without looking stupid. They'd just claim it was an accident and I'd look like an hysterical fool. That was about the extent of it, until---" She sighed heavily. She picked up the sunglasses from the table and began to play with them. It gave her something to do with her hands. He ducked his head and caught her eyes. "Come on, Sis. Tell me. It's good practice for when you tell it to Tuvok." This time she didn't let him get away with the implication. "Tom, I can't file a report." "Sis, you can't NOT file a report." He immediately frowned. "That doesn't sound right. You know what I mean. You tried ignoring it. They won't be ignored. You told them to take a flying leap at a warp coil, right?" "Not exactly," she admitted. "I told them to leave me alone, but they kept saying I was playing games. That a woman who looked like me---That I really wanted them. " "Oh," Paris nodded sagely. "A *real* pair of dimwits. 'No' means 'maybe' and 'maybe' means 'yes'. These dimwits have names?" "Why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously. "Not so I can beat them to death. Or even half to death. Though I'll admit, the idea has some merit," Tom answered, keeping his voice light, his face impassive. He should have known she could read him too well to be fooled. "Tom, this is one reason I didn't want to tell you---or Harry. I've had a taste of freedom now. I don't want to find myself caged again! Even for my own protection!" Tom eyed her speculatively. "Think about that, Sis. Do you really think that would happen? Knowing me? Knowing Harry?" Her voice faltered. "I don't know. It happened with my family. It happened with Niko. I don't want to have to go back to staying in my quarters every moment I'm not on duty, and being escorted everywhere when I'm out of my quarters." "Malista, you didn't need me or Harry to do that to you. You did it all by yourself." Tom watched the impact of his words strike her and realization dawned in her eyes to be replaced by something akin to horror. "Oh, Zeus. You're right. I did." She blinked back tears. "I did it to myself. The Maquis, especially Gerron, have been escorting me everywhere when I'm not with you or Harry. And I've hardly left my quarters at all for weeks. I am so---" "If you say stupid, I may hit you," Paris threatened mockingly. "One more time, Sis: You are NOT stupid. Don't say that again or I won't be held responsible for what I'll do. I understand why you reacted that way. You fell back into a safe pattern of behavior when you felt threatened. That's natural. You have a right to be angry at those men for making you feel threatened. Get angry with them. Not yourself. Harry and I will help you. One of us, or both of us if you want, will go with you to file a report. And we won't blame you. We want to help you, not make you feel guilty. Now, can we tackle one more topic?" She nodded slowly, unsure what he was going to bring up next, knowing only that it would make her uneasy to deal with it. "What's this all about?" His hand reached up to lightly touch the tightly twisted hair piled on top of her head. His finger stroked her cheek. "What do you mean?" She was genuinely puzzled. "Pulling your hair up into the Bun of Steel style that even Capt. Janeway abandoned. Frowning all the time like you just tasted Neelix's leola root stew. Giving up on wearing makeup during duty hours. Are you trying to look unattractive?" Paris inquired. She flushed with embarrassment. "Yes. I thought if I was doing something to attract attention, that maybe it would go away if----" "Did you take that Gawaine and the Loathely Lady story a bit too seriously? You want to look good for Harry---at night. But you want to look hideous---or as close as you can get-- -during the day when other people can see you? To keep you safe from their attentions?" "I guess that might be where I got the idea," she confessed reluctantly. "Being attractive hasn't exactly been a positive experience. I attract people I don't WANT to attract---except for Harry. I can't seem to stay invisible on this ship any more. I thought that if I made myself ugly, people would ignore me or leave me alone." "Did it work?" he scoffed. "Not very well," she conceded. "Never work," he commented lazily. "Even a blind man would find you attractive. Your voice is like warm honey. You have a sweet, gentle character. Your insides are as lovely as your outsides. And for those fortunate enough to see you, you are what my mom used to call 'beautiful to the bone'. The only way you're going to look unattractive enough to prevent anyone from wanting you is to disfigure yourself surgically or something drastic like that. I don't think the Doc would do it and I'm certain Harry wouldn't appreciate it. Your behavior lately has confused the hell out of him, you know. You've hurt him. You won't talk to him and he's afraid it's all his fault." "Nothing is *his* fault!" she stated indignantly. "Oh, please! Don't tell Harry that!" Paris groaned. "He's died twice and come back. You tell him *that* and he really will develop delusions of godhood!" Malista couldn't believe she could giggle at that jab. "Tom, you know what I mean." He sobered. "Yes, I do. But I also know that Harry loves you. He wants you to be healthy and happy and he's willing to help you in any way he can. You're being very cruel to keep shutting him out." Her jaw dropped as she was presented with an entirely new point of view. "I wasn't shutting him out!" "No, you were protecting him. Isn't that what you said you didn't want him to do to you? You didn't want to tell him what was going on because you thought he'd blame you, or smother you with protection. You didn't give him a chance. You just shut him out. You've really hurt him, Malista," he concluded solemnly. "He's afraid he's going to lose you. And you're important to him, whether you believe that or not." "Tom, I didn't know. I wasn't sure how he really felt. I didn't think that he--" She bit her lip. "You thought it was just hormones? Oh, come on, Malista! If it was hormones, he wouldn't still be waiting to---you know. He'd have taken you up on your offer to 'just do it' a long time ago. Harry is emotionally involved." Paris rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension building there and at the base of his skull. It was crucial that she understand this point. He spoke slowly and emphatically. "There is a difference between a healthy love and protectiveness and one that's carried to extremes the way your father and brothers did. Yes, Harry wants to protect you, but he is not such a control freak that he expects to wrap you up and store you in your quarters for safekeeping- --like Niko Dishon did. There's a healthy balance that can be found if you both work at it. But that means you have to talk to each other, be honest with each other, and work it out together. This business of shutting him out of parts of your life just isn't going to work. Especially not here on Voyager. The ship is too small." He glanced down at her. She was staring calmly and thoughtfully at her fingertips. If Tom believed her, didn't blame her, then it was likely that Harry would feel the same way. The two of them agreed more than they disagreed about anything important. Maybe she wouldn't lose him after all. Maybe there was a chance she could keep Harry a while longer. Maybe. "Malista?" She looked up at him and smiled. "I was just thinking I need to bake a lot of gingerbread men and baklava to soften Harry up for all the apologizing I need to do." "Oooh. Can I have the leftovers?" he teased boyishly, relieved to leave heavy emotionalism behind. "Yes. If there are any." Catching him by surprise, she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly once more. "Thank you, Big Brother. How did you ever get to be so wise?" He couldn't speak for a moment. He hugged her back, relaxing for the first time in---he checked his chronometer---forty-five minutes? They'd run the gamut of emotion in forty- five minutes? Wow. He cleared his throat. "You'd be surprised the things you learn in prison," he responded. She squeezed more tightly. "Don't feed *me* that line of felgercarb!" She giggled against his shoulder. "Acck! Sis, if you strangle me, I can't feed you anything," he protested automatically. She released him and sat back to study his face. "Tell me something. Why do you care so much? I'm not *really* your sister. You didn't have to get this---mixed up in this mess I call my life. Why?" "I told you I have two older sisters? Neither one of them is in Starfleet. They didn't have to fight family tradition because when I was born I became 'Owen Paris' son'---which meant that he didn't need to hope they would carry on the family name. Anyway, by the time I left for the Academy, they were both out of the house, going to school or working on their careers. I loved them, but I didn't get to spend a lot of time with them. I had hoped that when we were a little older," Tom stopped as his voice almost broke. He cleared his throat again. "I was kind of looking forward to being 'Uncle Tommy', you know? But I may never get that chance in the Alpha Quadrant." Her eyes were sad for him, and for herself. "You may never get that chance in the Delta Quadrant either, Tom." He shook a finger at her. "Never underestimate my best friend, Harry Kim. You may be in for a surprise or two. Sis? Harry said he told you he loves you. And you didn't answer. How *do* you feel about him? It's not just---hormones for you, is it?" He studied her expression carefully as the question sank in and she mulled it over before replying. "I feel---I guess I sort of feel like Oliver Twist," she mumbled wistfully. Anyone else would have asked what she meant, but Tom had recommended that she read the book. He knew intuitively exactly what she referred to. "You're afraid to ask for more? Afraid of getting your hand slapped away?" She nodded, her wide green eyes mirrored hope and apprehension. "I don't want to lose what we have. He may not want more. He may change his mind when he finds out about-- -" Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to still the trembling of her lips. Tom placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can never win big, if you don't risk anything. Trust yourself. Trust Harry. You've become a major factor in his happiness. Don't let your fears keep you from reaching out to him." His throat was closing up on him. "And have the right answer ready when he asks you to marry him!" "But I'm not---I'm not marriageable!" she blurted. "That's not your decision to make," Paris contradicted. "If someone asks you to marry him, then you're marriageable. I know. Harry hasn't asked. Yet. That doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it. He moves slowly sometimes, but when he makes a commitment, he's in it to stay. I don't know if he told you how we met?" She nodded. He elaborated nevertheless, unsure of just how much Harry had told her. "I rescued him from a Ferengi con artist. He decided I was his friend without knowing anything about me. Did you know he chose to be my friend in the teeth of the disapproval of the senior officers of this ship? They told him to stay away from me. I told him the same thing. He told me no one chose his friends for him. He's a lot smarter, stronger, and tougher than most people give him credit for. It's that boyish exterior that makes people underrate him, I think." "But why did you choose me?" "It wasn't because of the family resemblance," he joked, then quickly sobered as she stared at him wistfully. She really needed to know. "Because you looked like you could use a friend. Or even an older brother. And I needed a sister. I didn't know it at the time. But I did. And you're it, you lucky girl! Bet you didn't know what you were getting into either, huh?" "Tom," her voice was choked with tears. "Thank you. I still don't really understand why you picked me---" "Are you under the impression this has been a one way deal?" he asked indignantly. "That I've helped you, but you haven't done anything for me?" Her frown of puzzlement answered him in the affirmative. "Malista! You have got to stop overlooking your sterling qualities! Don't laugh. I'm being serious. You saved my life!" "That was sort of an accident." She shrugged. "I just grabbed you. *Anyone* would have done it. It was a reflex." "A reflex that saved my life. And no, I don't believe that just *anyone* would have made the effort. You could have used both hands and both legs to save yourself from being blown out the hull breach. No one would have blamed you or even known the difference." He waved an impatient hand to still her argument. "Never mind. Do you remember how we started? B'Elanna had dumped me. Harry had abandoned me---I know, he didn't want to be caught in the middle between Torres and me, but the effect was the same. I *felt* abandoned. Then I saw you sitting all alone in Sandrine's. You looked so---abandoned yourself." "I felt that way too," she said, sharing a sympathetic smile with him. "I thought, 'Well, Tom, here's something to keep you busy. A redemption project.' So I approached you. Partly it was the challenge. To see if I could get you to talk to me when you wouldn't talk to anyone else." "A redemption project? Oh, Tom, you didn't?!" "I told you. I didn't know I was looking for anything more than something to pass the time. A hobby of sorts. I certainly wasn't looking for someone who would sneak her way past my defenses and get me emotionally involved. Where was I? Then when I really needed to talk, you were there for me. More than once. The first time we came here to Lake Como. And what made it even better, everything I told you didn't come back in some distorted form from the rumor mill." "One thing I *can* do well is keep quiet," Malista commented wryly. "Oh, yeah!" Tom agreed with a grin. "Sometimes too quiet. Like not reporting these people who've been harassing you?" "Tom, I don't think I can do it. It's so embarrassing. I feel so st---dumb." She changed words hastily at his threatening frown. "I can see now that I shouldn't have tried to ignore it. I should have done something about it." "Sis, I'm not going to make the decision for you, but I don't think you have a choice any more. The sexual harassment issue affects everyone aboard. There was almost a fight in Sandrine's last night. Gerron and Castelle are in the brig. The Doc was telling me about it before you came to Sickbay. I assume Castelle is one of them? You don't want others to suffer the same abuse you've put up with. The captain certainly isn't going to let you pretend this is going away. Not when it's beginning to affect ship's morale." "And I have to go apologize to the captain." A shudder of dread ran through her at the thought. She knew it was ridiculous. She was at least a head taller than the older woman. Janeway wasn't going to hurt her. Then why did she feel so intimidated when those gray eyes fixed on her? "Which reminds me, why did you get so upset about being offered a promotion?" Tom asked oh-so-casually. "That was one of the things they kept saying. That I was after Harry or you or anyone who could get me a promotion." She frowned when he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Damn! You were the one they were talking about! I heard some rumor about someone supposedly sleeping her way to the top, but I thought they meant Kes or B'Elanna because they said something about the senior staff. Malista, that story has been circulated in every ship, on every world since the dawn of time. People who know anything won't believe it. Could you believe that tactic would work with Kathryn 'Call Me Captain' Janeway in charge?" She sent him a shame-faced smile. "No, I guess not. But other people might believe it. Oh, and I have to tell Harry everything before I talk to Tuvok. Do you think he'll forgive me? For not trusting him enough to tell him before?" Paris gave her his patented wide-eyed 'Are you joking?' look. It had the effect of making her wish she hadn't asked. He didn't answer her question directly. "I'll tell you what, Sis. I'll go with you to see the captain. I'm one of her favorites, you know." He smirked. "*Her* personal reclamation project." "Oh, you've heard that nickname, have you?" Malista began. She picked up her protective lenses and slid them up her nose as she smiled up at him then handed him his own. He put them on then let them slide down his nose so he could peer over them at her. "You know I think I could learn to like these things." The intruder alert sounded. Almost in the same moment, the bright light of the probe reappeared on the holodeck. Tom Paris and Malista Shadow didn't have time to react at all. They simply winked out of existence. ************************** Ensign Kim and Commander Chakotay were just resuming their stations on the bridge when the klaxon began to sound. Kim and Ayala worked in tandem, scanning the Ops station for input. "The probe is back, Captain!" Harry announced. Before Janeway could react, Ayala added. "It's gone. It just popped in then disappeared. It was within range of our sensors for less than 3.5 seconds." "That's too fast for another complete scan. What did it do?" Chakotay commented. "Harry," Janeway began. Before she could finish the thought, Harry was running a lifesigns scan. "Captain," he said heavily. "There are six lifesigns unaccounted for. Six crewmen are missing from the ship." He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing as Ayala took over and checked for more detailed information. Janeway didn't need to ask for the identities of the six. She knew. They all did. *************************** Tom's mind wavered slowly from unconsciousness to awareness. As his eyes finally opened, he saw that he was lying face down and on top of his right arm. He couldn't feel it at all. It was pinned between his body and the surface of the----bed? The numbness told him he must have been in this position for some time. This was not good. This was a bad thing. This was a very bad thing. With a groan in anticipation of pain, he allowed his body to flop backwards and cast his eyes up toward to see the ceiling of an unfamiliar room. There was a ceiling there, wasn't there? Didn't seem to be. Strange. He definitely wasn't outdoors. He felt the circulation beginning to return and became aware of sharp stabs and prickles of pain in his arm. "Owwwwwwww." It didn't help the pain, but the sound of his own voice reassured him somehow. He wasn't dreaming. Damn. This really, really didn't look good. His communicator was missing. His neck and back felt stiff. How long had he been lying there? Long enough to stiffen up this much? He tried to focus and concentrate. Something was different. He lay there for a moment and tried to assess his surroundings and his own physical condition. No spots! That was it. Even the Doc's jungle juice had only managed to make them fade, but hadn't gotten rid of them completely. For the first time in what seemed like forever, there were no colored spots dancing in front of his eyes. None at all. And his head didn't hurt. Much. Or at least not any more than the rest of his body. He felt as stiff and sore as if he'd been pummeled by an angry or excited Klingon. A feeling he was somewhat familiar with. Malista? Where was she? The last thing he remembered---He couldn't remember. No, wait. Malista was with him? If she wasn't here, then maybe she was safely on the ship? Maybe. But if this was because he was one of The Six? So was she. Or was he the only one---? He staggered to his feet, wincing yet waving his arm to speed the returning blood flow. He might need that arm. His whole body felt stiff, as if he'd stayed in one position for far too long. 'A hexagon shaped bed?' he mused. As he glanced around, he thought, 'Maybe some kind of decorating theme?' The room was hexagon shaped. Each side of the room rose smoothly and seamlessly from the floor to a height of approximately fifteen feet, then seemed to end without closure. High above the level of the caramel-colored walls, there seemed to be an opaque brown dome. A domed building? But the walls didn't go as high as the dome. In fact the distance to the dome from the wall was about another fifteen feet. It didn't make sense, but then nothing about this made sense anyway so Paris decided not to worry about it. He began a tour of inspection, not knowing what he might find, but having nothing better to do. Maybe he could find out something about this place. Thinking aloud, he muttered, "First figure out where you are. If you can't determine your location, try to understand what's going on. Order and simplification are the first steps towards the mastery of a subject---the actual enemy is the unknown. Thomas Mann." "Sheesh, those trainers at the Academy do know what they're talking about. What a surprise!" "Don't let the fear of the unknown scare you into inaction. Who said that one? Can't remember. Maybe it was my dad? Oh, that's good, Tom. How many more pithy proverbs can you recite? And why are you talking out loud to yourself? The Doc would love to make a note of that in my medical records. Add that to all the extensive notes on my performance at the Academy." But in a way, his experience in the classes, simulations, and field exercises at Starfleet Academy worked to his benefit in situations like this. He automatically fell back on his training and used it to help him feel in control---or at least, not totally out of control. Managed fear, if not conquered fear. His concern for Malista began to mount. If all The Six were indeed here, she was the only Maquis. The others all had Starfleet training. They were familiar with strategies for maintaining calm in facing a fear of the unknown. The Academy trained every recruit in the protocols of first contact situations. Malista had no such training or experience. She must be frightened out of her mind to find herself imprisoned by an unknown enemy. And alone. He jumped, startled as a section of the wall he was standing nearest suddenly moved. Though he hadn't seen any indication of openings, a panel slid down revealing a window of sorts between his room and the next. He stepped closer and peered through the transparent covering. The room was identical to this one. The only piece of furniture was a hexagon shaped bed approximately eight feet across in the center of the room. Sitting in the center of the bed, cross-legged and arms resting on bent knees was Megan Delaney. She wasn't in uniform. She must have been off duty. She was wearing loose slacks and a long sleeved blue tee- shirt. One sleeve was torn open as if ripped along the seam from her wrist to just above her swollen, empurpled elbow. She seemed to be meditating, her eyes closed. He knew she meditated when she was stressed and being kidnapped without warning was enough to stress anyone. He knew he felt stressed. Paris slapped at the window with his hand, trying to make a noise to get her attention. "Megan!" He thumped the wall with his fist. No response. Evidently, she couldn't hear him. Soundproofed? And one way glass? Well, her presence did give credence to his theory that he wasn't the only one brought here. Were the others here as well? The other four that made up The Six? Including Malista? He wondered why the panel had opened. Had he triggered it, by approaching the wall? He decided to test that idea and approached the next wall section. Again, a panel slid down. An identical room. This one was occupied by Janine Lamont. The petite blond was pacing in circles---or hexagons---around the bed. She seemed nervous, but alert. She was out of uniform as well, wearing a tank top and jogging shorts. She was shivering as her breath misted in the air before her. Her room must be significantly colder than his. Her arms were wrapped around her waist while her hands rubbed up and down trying to generate warmth. There was nothing he could do about it---for now. Paris moved to the next wall. Though he didn't notice a triggering device, the panel obediently slid down to reveal yet another identical room, this one occupied by Ethan Simms. The young ensign was seated on the bed, his left leg was turned at a peculiar angle, as if his leg was broken or damaged in some manner. His auburn curls showed signs of having been finger-combed repeatedly in agitation. He was out of uniform as well, wearing well-worn sweats and a tee-shirt damp with perspiration. He must have been working out in the gym, perhaps with Janine, when snatched from the ship. The young man's glazed eyes scanned right past Paris' position without a hint of recognition or focus. "Ethan!" Paris shouted, as he whammed a fist against the clear panel. The ensign had looked right at him, but apparently hadn't seen him at all. All of the rooms had to be sound- proofed, the glass one-way. Why? What was going on? How had Simms been injured? A mounting sense of dread began to tickle its way up his spine, raising the soft golden hairs on the back of his neck. So far all the others seemed to be hurt in some way. Everyone but him. He felt stiff and sore, but had no obvious injuries. The lieutenant moved restlessly to the next section. He still hadn't located Malista. The next panel slid away to reveal Sven Haldersen seated on the floor, leaning back against the bed. He was naked from the waist up and his boots were missing. His uniform trousers had been precisely sliced away just above his knees and his feet were a deep shade of blue- --from his ankles to the soles of his feet. There was a line of demarcation that seemed to indicate the coloring had been placed there deliberately. Tom stared, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. Haldersen didn't appear to be injured, but he wasn't moving. Sweat was pouring from his body in rivulets. While Janine's room was colder than normal, it appeared that Sven's was much warmer. From his point of view, Paris couldn't tell if the other man had other injuries or if he was even conscious. Shaking his head, the lieutenant gave up and moved to the next section. Nothing. He stepped back and forward again. Waved his arms trying to find a trigger. Nothing. There was no panel there? Or had he done something differently this time? He moved to the next section of the wall. A panel slid down. He moved in as close as possible. Finally. There she was. Malista was lying on her side on the bed. She was facing him, eyes closed. Unconscious? Asleep? But unlike the other rooms, there was someone else in there with her. One of their captors? The figure advancing toward Malista had its back to Paris. It was at least eight feet tall and was enveloped in some kind of shroud of dark brown material, like a hooded robe. What were they going to do to her? The pilot slammed his hand on the panel, hoping he could awaken Malista----warn her. He knew it was futile. But he had to try. "Malista!" he shouted. He even tried thinking loudly, hoping somehow that telepathy would kick in, though he'd never been telepathic before. "Damn it! Get away from her!" The figure stopped next to the bed. A slender, green, tentacle-like limb extended a four- fingered hand toward her. The young woman suddenly exploded into a flurry of motion. Her uppermost leg snapped out to kick and her booted foot sent the alien lurching backwards, nearly toppling it to the floor. Shadow did a rolling back flip off the bed, landing on her feet beside it on the opposite side from the alien. She moved to keep the bed between them as the hooded figure stumbled forward once more. Another hooded figure appeared behind her. Tom held his breath, willing her to turn around, to notice. She did, but it was too late. The second alien had wrapped a tentacle around her waist and was lifting her from the floor. It was his mistake that he didn't pin her arms or legs. She was struggling wildly---kicking, wriggling, hitting fiercely, gouging with her fingertips and nails. The alien's grasp on her faltered under the ferocity of her attack. She abruptly dipped her head and bit the tentacle that was holding her! The alien lost its grip and she squirmed free, slithering bonelessly out of its hold. She dodged around him and managed to get her back to the wall opposite Tom's position. She was cornered. The aliens on either side of her were moving towards her now. Her hand flashed down as she raised her right knee. She pulled a knife out of her boot! A big wicked-looking knife with an eight inch blade. The aliens hesitated. They must have recognized it as a weapon. Paris choked on his indrawn breath. "Damn! Where did that come from?" She was holding it as if she knew how to use it. He thought they'd taken that knife away from her after her suicide attempt. Evidently she'd gotten it back. But what was she doing with it in her boot? Did she carry it all the time? Now that was a scary thought for several reasons. More importantly, would she have the nerve to use it to defend herself? That question was answered immediately. The aliens halted their advance toward her and turned toward each other. From their attitude, they seemed to be conferring. Malista never took her eyes off them. Her features were contorted into a mask of resolute fury, almost as if she was daring them to get near her again. The aliens backed away from her and stepped apart, going to either side of the room, leaving her a clear pathway between them. They started toward her in a pincer movement, forcing her to move away from the wall to get away from them. Shadow watched them suspiciously, as did Paris. She moved to the center of the room and jumped up onto the hexagon-shaped bed, ready to move in any direction. The aliens kept coming, as if shepherding her in the direction they wanted her to go. Which seemed to be toward Paris' cell. The lieutenant heard a faint noise. The wall to his left, the one that hadn't had a viewing section, abruptly slid away, forming a portal between the two rooms. The aliens stopped moving. They seemed to be waiting for something. Paris stepped to the doorway. "Malista!" One tentacle came up slowly and gestured in the direction of Tom's position. They were telling her to join Tom? Now that was an order she could live with. Keeping a cautious eye on the aliens, she bounced off the bed and sprinted to the doorway. Before Paris could do more than blink, Shadow was across the room and had thrown her arms around him, her weight driving him back a step into the room. The door panel slid shut behind them. "Tom! Are you all right?" He fought back a wince as his sore muscles and stiff neck rebelled against being jostled by her embrace. He was devoutly grateful she had the presence of mind to keep the knife turned away from his body. She tucked her head into the curve of his neck. The young man dropped his gaze to the top of her head. Her arms were wrapped around him, her head resting on his chest. His arms encircled her and squeezed gently. "I'm fine. Are you okay?" "I'm much better now that I know you're all right. Oh, Tom!" She exhaled on a shaky sigh as she squeezed him a little more tightly. "Yeah, Sis, but if you break my ribs, B'Elanna's going to be really ticked at you!" he murmured, easing her away to arm's length so he could examine her. "She thinks they're *her* special target." "Are we the only ones? Or---" She lifted her knee and slid the knife back into its sheath in her boot. Tom's eyes followed her actions and he made a mental note to ask her about that later. She was carrying a knife? He hadn't expected that. Damn. He'd told the EMH that she wasn't dangerous. She must have been more frightened of her harassers than she had led him to believe. Tom shook his head in answer to her question. He stepped back, took her hand and turned them towards the other window panels. There were only smooth walls facing him on all sides once more. "Malista, I swear, there were windows here a minute ago. All six of us are here. I saw the others and they may have been injured. Are you sure you're all right?" She held up her left hand for his inspection. "Someone gave me an unscheduled manicure." The fingernail on her left index finger had been chopped off, almost to the tip of her finger. There was a hint of bleeding around the rough edges. "Your hair is falling down, Sis," Tom noted. Her bun of steel looked more like a disintegrating ponytail now. "And you're missing a big old swack of hair here, girl." He lifted a thick tress of the soft black curls in his hand. "A swack of hair?" she repeated scornfully, as she lifted her hand to check it out. "It's called a lock of hair, Tom. Or a tress. Not a 'swack'." About three inches was missing from the length of one section of her now unruly mane. She pulled the pins and ties from her hair, and finger-combed it as well as she could, trying to restore some semblance of order. She settled for trapping the long strands in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck and pinned the short strands out of her eyes. "Details, details. Why would someone want a fingernail and a swack---oh, all right!" He corrected himself as she gave him 'a look'. "A lock of hair?" She shrugged. She couldn't think of a good answer for that one. "Souvenirs?" If only The Six were taken, then Tom Paris was the senior officer present. Though he hadn't thought about it consciously, he'd already begun to take charge of the situation. He was responsible for his fellow crewmen and he wanted to check on 'his' people. Frustrated by his lack of information, Tom turned and strode toward the wall, hoping to trigger the panel once more. He stopped in his tracks at Shadow's horrified gasp. "Tom!" He spun on his heel, looking for a threat to her. "What?" She was staring wide-eyed at him. "Come sit on the bed," she directed. "Why?" "Just do it." She'd never been so bossy with him before. Something was wrong. And it had to do with him. He was sure he wasn't going to like this, but he obediently sat on the edge of the bed. She knelt next to him and slightly behind him. He felt her hands tugging at his collar, brushing his blond curls aside. He'd been meaning to get a haircut, but.... "Tom," she said in carefully measure tones. "You have a circular bruise on the back of your neck. Just at the base of your skull. It's a bright purplish blue and about an inch in diameter." "Can you tell what caused it?" He kept his own voice level with difficulty. He wished they had a mirror. He wanted to see for himself. It unnerved him to know that someone had been tampering with his body while he was unconscious. He should have suspected something of the sort when he'd seen the condition of his fellow prisoners. Her hand closed on his shoulder, simultaneously offering and seeking comfort. "If I had to guess, I would say someone took a sample. Possibly of spinal fluid?" "No wonder my neck is stiff," he commented, cautiously turning his head from side to side. "Tom, I want you to take your shirt off. I want to make sure this is all there is to find. You weren't aware of this?" "No," he muttered. "I didn't notice anything. I thought I was fine. Just sore from being in one position too long while I was unconscious." He tugged at the hem of his black tee- shirt, groaning as his aches and pains protested the movement. She helped him as much as she could, then checked his smoothly muscled back. "Tom, there are a series of---puncture marks up and down your spine and several bruises on your back." "So someone used me as a dart board while I was out? Can you tell if they were taking things out or putting things in?" Unsurprisingly, his attempt at humor fell flat. "No. But I don't like this," Malista said grimly. "You'll catch a chill. Here, put your shirt back on." She handed it to him and suddenly giggled. He stared at her in disbelief as he took the shirt from her hand. "What? What's so funny?" She ran teasing fingertips over the red gold curls that covered his muscled chest. He captured her hand, then released it as he pushed it away, admonishing, "That tickles." "I know it's silly, but it just popped into my head---" She giggled again as she helped him pull the shirt on so he wouldn't have to stress his sore muscles. "What?" he asked patiently. He braced himself for an awful pun. Malista was almost as bad as he was about cracking jokes when she was uncomfortable. "It just seems ironic that you're so---hairy. And Harry---isn't." Her voice spluttered with girlish giggles. "You little brat! I don't *believe* you. Bad jokes at a time like this?" He rolled his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck slightly and groaned. She grew serious immediately. "I'm sorry, Tom. Are you in pain? I wish I had a medkit," she remarked contritely. "There's no point in worrying. We can't worry about things we can't control," he said. "What I want to know is: what was done to the others? Wait! Let me see your neck!" She plopped down next to him on the bed and obligingly turned. He lifted her hair aside and peeked down the back of the collar of her uniform. "Nothing," he said on a relieved sigh. "I guess you were the swack of hair and fingernail samples and I was the spinal sample. Samples? This reminds me of something. I can't think of---" "Tom, to tell you the truth, I'm scared." She seemed slightly ashamed of the admission. "You didn't look too scared when you pulled that knife!" he replied with a proud grin. "I thought B'Ella said you wouldn't fight." She held up her hands, palms upward. "This isn't a simulation. I woke up and didn't know where I was or who they were. I pretended to be asleep for a while, hoping they'd leave me alone. I didn't know what had happened to you or if I was the only one here or not. But I couldn't just lie there when they started coming at me. I didn't know what they were going to do to me. Besides, George Natwick told me I needed to use my fear to give me strength. He said I had to turn the fear into anger and use it." Paris tilted his head to one side consideringly. "Natwick just may not be as big a nitwit as I thought." "He is not a nitwit. He's a very nice person, once you get to know him. He sort of reminds me of my brother Demetrios. Anyway, when I woke up there, in that cell or whatever, I was so afraid that I had to do something or go crazy. Then I remembered what George had said and began to deliberately make myself mad." "How did you do that?" Amusement shone through Tom's curious expression, but she didn't mind. She knew it sounded strange. "While I was lying there, pretending to be unconscious, I started listing all the reasons I was angry with whoever had done this." "For example?" "For example, how dare they kidnap us off our own ship? We didn't do anything to them." "You got that right!" Paris agreed, starting to feel a tingle of irritation himself at the thought. "And how it's all their fault that Harry is going to worry. About you. About me. About us. He's going to be so upset. And no one is allowed to upset Harry! Not if I have anything to say about it!" Her indignant tone struck Tom as being funny. Maybe he was more exhausted than he thought. He was getting loopy. He started to grin again. "That's right. You're the only one allowed to upset Harry. You're cute when you're mad, Sis." He chucked her chin with his index finger. "I'm not cute. Overgrown women are not cute," she muttered grumpily, pulling her face away from his hand. "Knock it off!" he growled irritably, gently grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. "What?" She pulled away from him again, not meeting his eyes. She recognized that tone of voice. She'd heard it from him before. "Stop making fun of yourself. You are NOT overgrown." He paused. "It's a matter of point of view. You and I are the right height. Everyone else is undergrown." "I can't *wait* to hear you tell B'Elanna that *she's* undergrown. Can I sell tickets?" Shadow commented dryly, touched nonetheless by his defense of her---even if he was defending her from herself. "B'Elanna is wonderful just the way she is. Practically perfect in every way," Tom hastened to say. "And you can tell her I said so. I just mean you shouldn't say demeaning things about yourself---and don't excuse it by saying you were only joking!" "You're right," Malista admitted. "It bothers Harry when I say negative things about me too. I guess it's a habit. I'll try to watch it. Tom?" "What?" "Do you think Harry will be worried? Really?" It was a small plea for reassurance. The lieutenant nodded decidedly. "Of course. I only hope you'll love him when he's bald. He's probably tearing his hair out as we speak. He wants you back in one piece. You concentrate on that idea. It's your *duty* to get back to Harry. He loves you and wants you and needs you---and these aliens have no right to make you or Harry unhappy. Get mad about that, will you?! I happen to know Harry had a special date planned for this evening. Don't tell him I told you! He's going to be really ticked at these aliens for spoiling his plans!" A tentative smile tugged at her lips, then disappeared. "What are we going to do now?" "Well, according to my training at the Academy, we assess our situation, gather intelligence, search for a means of escape, and wait for the opportunity to act." He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "And if there is no opportunity?" she asked. "Then we make one," he replied matter-of-factly. He was sure that he would find a chance. He was counting on it. He refused to even consider the possibility of a negative outcome. She was convinced. They settled down to wait, holding hands, each lost in thought. A bright light suddenly popped into existence in front of them. When the brightness faded, the hexagon shaped bed disappeared. Unprepared to have their seating yanked from under them, the two of them landed on the floor with thumps and groans of surprise. They looked around. The bed hadn't disappeared. They had. They were in another room. ************************* "Anything?" Captain Janeway asked. Tuvok glanced up. "We have not been able to trace the signal back to its source." "We just barely got the sensors to recognize its existence," Harry Kim added, a hint of his impatience and anxiety making itself heard. "Enough to trigger the intruder alert, but we didn't have time to lock on and get a directional fix." Janeway and Chakotay exchanged glances. It had been four hours since the crewmembers known as The Six had simultaneously vanished from their various locations around the ship. Their commbadges and the equipment they had been wearing or holding had been left behind so, wherever they were, The Six were unarmed and unequipped for an away mission. The only equipment that was known to have transported with them were the protective spectacles that they'd all picked up from Sickbay that morning. Harry Kim had been running diagnostics, tests, and simulations almost continually, aided and abetted in his endeavors by the Chief Engineer who was now fidgeting at his elbow. "Harry, it's time for you to take a break," the first officer said. "You and B'Elanna go get something to eat and try to take your mind off the problem. That may help you to think of something we're missing." Kim began to protest but subsided at the 'do I have to make it an order?' look from the captain. Torres acquiesced with a nod and looped her arm through his, towing him toward the turbolift with more force than was strictly necessary to overcome his reluctance. "Come on, Starfleet. You can work on that search you've been doing for the perfect love poem to recite to Malista." Harry flinched away from her in surprise. He didn't think she, or anyone else, knew about that. Since he'd found out how fond Malista was of poetry, he'd been trying to find a poem somewhere in the database that would express how he felt about her in a way she would find memorable and flattering. Just as they reached the turbolift, the lift doors opened, Jenny Delaney strode onto the bridge. "Captain, I need to talk to you. I think Megan is hurt." Kim and Torres spun on their heels and, without waiting for permission, followed the redhead back towards the captain's seat. ************************* Paris blinked at the sudden change in environment, startled to find himself dropping three feet from a sitting position to the floor without warning. The jarring impact rattled every sore muscle and bone in his body, causing him to clench his jaw to keep from shouting at the sudden pain. His second reaction was to feel pleased that, this time at least, the aliens hadn't separated him from Shadow when they were transported. He was still holding her hand when they stopped moving. The sounds of muffled curses, thumps, and heartfelt moans behind them signaled the arrival of the other four Voyager crewmen in a similar fashion. With a groan, Paris clambered to his feet then pulled Malista upright. "Are you all right?" they asked each other in unison. "I'm fine," they chorused. Reluctant smiles appeared. "We're beginning to sound like the Delaney twins," Shadow commented. "It's a sibling thing," Paris explained as he turned to assess the condition of his involuntary away team, relieved that he finally had an achievable goal to work toward. Without waiting for instructions, Malista immediately put her first aid training and natural protective instincts to use. She went towards the other women first, leaving the men to Paris. A quick assessing look showed that Lamont was shivering with cold and that seemed to be the extent of her problem. Malista quickly stripped off her jacket and draped it around the smaller woman's shoulders. The blond clutched it thankfully and worked at warming herself, blowing on her hands to try to return the circulation to her nearly frozen fingers. Shadow turned toward Delaney next, concerned with the apparent damage and bruising of her right elbow. Megan shook her head. "It's sore, but I'll live. Take care of the others first." Haldersen was on his feet---his bare blue feet. Though self-conscious about his unclothed state, he was seemingly uninjured and offered a supportive arm to the redhead, frowning uneasily as he took in the discoloration and swelling of her arm and its contrast with the pallor of her face. She leaned on him heavily as they followed Shadow to cluster around the only one of The Six who was not up and moving at the moment. Malista dropped to her knees next to Ensign Simms, whose more severe injury had apparently incapacitated him. Paris was kneeling on the other side of the young man. Janine Lamont seated herself behind Simms, waiting for a signal from Paris that would tell her how she could help. Ethan was lying curled on his side on the floor, obviously in agony. His left knee was cradled protectively in his hands. The drop when he'd been relocated to this room had aggravated the damage to his leg, sending shock waves of pain coursing through him. He'd managed not to scream aloud, but a steady litany of indistinguishable words and hisses of pain were escaping his compressed lips. Paris was patiently waiting for Simms to recover a measure of his composure. At a nod from the pilot, Shadow placed one gentle hand on the ensign's shoulder and waited for him to acknowledge her. She didn't want to startle him. Startling Security Officers often had unfortunate side effects for both parties. "Ethan?" she said quietly. His kelly green eyes were glazed as he gazed up at her, recognition dawning after a moment. "Malista?" He held his breath momentarily, exhaling shakily as he tried to relax taut muscles and screaming nerve ends. He accepted the gentle guidance of her hands and allowed her to turn him onto his back. "Yes. Tom and I want to check your knee. Do you know what happened?" She kept talking, trying to distract him. She handed Tom the knife from her boot. He slit the leg of the ensign's sweatpants from his ankle to halfway up his thigh, then handed the knife back to Malista who sheathed it. The young man's eyelids drooped wearily. "I'd hoped I was the only one. Is Janine---" Before he could finish the thought, Lamont scooted up behind him within range of his vision. Carefully lifting his head, she pillowed it on her lap. "Right here, darling. Just lie still and let us see what we can do about your leg." She placed one chilly hand on his overly warm forehead and the other on his cheek. He sighed, nestling into her palms as if the coolness brought some relief. He placed his left hand over hers to keep it in place. Janine exchanged a worried look with Malista. He was feverish. A high fever? Due to his injury? Or was there something else wrong with him? Tom examined the swollen, purple joint, trying not to induce more injury or pain with his inspection. He scowled. "I think your knee is dislocated. Do you know how it happened, Ethe?" "No," the young man hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to reassert some control over his voice and expression. He could feel his face flush even hotter with embarrassment at being the center of attention. "It was like this when I woke up in that room." A frown traced its way briefly across the lieutenant's forehead. "I think the swelling and pain are only going to get worse---unless I put the joint back in place." He met the younger man's eyes squarely. "I'll be honest with you, Ethan. I've got a field medic's training. I've studied what to do, but I've never actually done this before." Green eyes met blue. Ethan knew beyond a doubt that Paris would do his best. And he really didn't have a lot of options. "Do it, Lieutenant." Tom drew in a shaky breath, moved by the trust the Security Officer placed in him. "Okay. We don't have any anesthetics. No medkit. I'll try to get it done as quickly and painlessly as possible, but to tell you the truth---this is going to hurt like hell, Ethe. But when it's done, it should help relieve the swelling and lessen the pain until we can get you back to Sickbay and the Doc's tender mercies and sparkling personality." The auburn haired man nodded, his lips narrowing to a grim line as he bit down on his back teeth and braced himself. Paris encompassed their companions in his gaze. "Janine, you hold his head. Sven, can you kneel next to her? Put an arm across his shoulders and hold down his other leg. If he moves around, it may make it harder to do it right the first time. Malista, give Ethan your knife. He can bite down on the handle. You hold his hands." Shadow placed the hilt of the knife in Simms' mouth, smiling reassuringly at him as she took his hands in her own. "No, I'll hurt you," the ensign protested, noticing how slender and small her long fingers were compared to his own blunt digits. She considered his words for an instant. "All right. Hold my wrists and I'll hold yours. Don't worry, Ethan. I'm stronger than I look. Just pretend we're hanging from a trapeze. If you let go, I'll fall." She grasped his wrists and nodded encouragingly as he reluctantly wrapped his hands around her forearms. With Janine behind him, Ethan chose to focus on Malista's kind face to keep his mind off Paris and what he was going to do. He could almost feel a wave of warmth and compassion coming toward him from the light in her eyes. "Ready?" Tom managed to keep the nervousness from showing in his voice. He was silently praying for the courage to do this and the wisdom and skill to do it right. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before Ethan could be treated in Voyager's Sickbay. They couldn't afford to mess this up. It would cost Simms too much in terms of suffering. Receiving nods from all his assistants, Paris placed his hands firmly on the ensign's leg. "On the count of three. One. Two. Three." With a yank and a twist, the joint popped back into place with an audible crackle that made those who heard it wince in commiseration. Ethan's body spasmed and he screamed at the brief jolt of agony, the sound muffled by the knife hilt clenched between his teeth. Mercifully, he passed out. Janine whimpered sympathetically and stroked his face caressingly. Megan patted her shoulder. "He'll be all right. He's a strong man. You made a good choice," Delaney said, a hint of envy peeking through her words. Tom, who was almost as pale as Simms at this point, took the opportunity to check the knee again. He nodded, sighing his relief as his twanging nerves eased their hold on his own breathing. "It worked. It's back in place." He smiled over the young man's head at Janine Lamont. Tears were streaming from her grateful eyes as she smiled weakly in return. She leaned over and kissed Ethan's forehead. Shadow smiled at Paris and lightly pushed his shoulder in sisterly affection. "Too bad Tuvok isn't here. He could have given Ethan a Vulcan neck pinch to put him out." She glanced up. "Megan, let Tom check your elbow. You may have the same type of problem as Ethan." Delaney obediently moved toward Paris who got to his feet. He took her wrist gently and pushed the ripped sleeve of her shirt away from the swollen elbow. "How the hell did this happen?" Sven Haldersen cleared his throat. "I believe our captors might have been testing the range of the joints. Possibly studying how they work." "What?" Janine asked, numbly. "Why would they do that?" "You always study the anatomy of the----animals you capture for study," Haldersen, the biologist, said reluctantly. "It's standard procedure." ************************ The meeting had been relocated to the briefing room. "All right, Lieutenant Delaney. Let's hear it. What do you mean Megan is hurt? How do you know?" Captain Janeway inquired. "It's not something we talk about much. People tend to think it's---spooky," the redhead replied. "And there are enough speculative rumors about us and our love lives. We don't need to make it worse. Megan and I are identical twins. We're connected." "Are you referring to telepathy in some form?" Tuvok asked. Jenny considered that. "No, nothing that clear cut. It's more like empathy. It only really kicks in when one of us is injured or in danger. When we were stationed on different ships during our Academy apprenticeships, I was hurt in a training accident. Megan knew it right away. I was incapacitated for two weeks. So was Megan. We figured out that at the moment I was hurt, Megan collapsed. The doctors attributed it to psychic trauma. Somehow we shared the injury. It's one reason there was no protest about keeping us assigned to the same ship. It was added on a confidential basis to our personal medical histories." Kathryn Janeway was fascinated by the idea, her scientific curiosity aroused, but didn't allow herself to be sidetracked. Not now. "Jenny, how much can you tell us about Megan's situation right now? Can you tell us anything about the others?" Jenny shook her head, frustration etched across her delicate features as she tossed her red hair over her shoulder. "For the first couple of hours, I wasn't getting anything. I would guess that she wasn't awake. A little while ago, I started getting---twinges." She cradled her right elbow in her left palm. "I think her arm is hurt. Her elbow. I can't tell anything about anyone else. But I do know, she's nervous, but she's not seriously afraid." "And you think that means what exactly?" Chakotay asked. "I think if she were alone, she would be much more anxious," Jenny added. "I think she's scared, but she has it under control." "Maybe all six of them are together?" Janeway speculated. "Why take them? Is it because we failed to correctly understand and interpret the message they were sending? Does anyone have an idea where to look for them?" "We've scanned all the planets in this system three times without finding any life signs," Kim reminded them all unnecessarily. "And we haven't detected any traces of a power signature that would indicate a ship nearby." "Perhaps the aliens are shielded from our sensors," Tuvok said. Janeway was frowning thoughtfully, trying to remember something that had been teasing at her mind since the morning briefing. "B'Elanna, Tom mentioned something about having strange dreams. Did he tell you anything about them? Perhaps part of the message did get through, though he may not have recognized it." B'Elanna was keeping her emotions reined in, but her patience was eroding rapidly. "He mentioned at breakfast that he was dreaming about the spots dancing in front of his eyes. He kept kidding around about it. He talked about naming them, silly stuff like that. Strange shapes, weird colors. That's all I can remember." She abruptly slammed her fist on the table, her frustration demanding a physical release. She sat and glowered at her knuckles as if they offended her by not making more of an impact. Harry covered her fist with his hand and squeezed. "Captain, Malista was talking in her sleep last night..." He blushed at the sudden startled looks directed his way. "She fell asleep while we were talking," he explained hastily. "Go on, Harry," Janeway said with an admonitory glance at the others who quickly took their eyes off the embarrassed ensign. "What did she say?" "She muttered the word 'dome'. Or 'home'? No, I'm sure it was 'dome'," Kim nodded decisively. "What if the aliens are shielded from our sensors by some kind of dome? Like a domed city?" "Why would they live under a dome?" Chakotay asked. "Which planet has the kind of atmospheric conditions that would make a dome necessary?" Tuvok raised one eyebrow. "The answer to that question would, of necessity, be speculative in nature since we have no description of the nature of the inhabitants." The First Officer frowned impatiently at the Vulcan. "Let's assume for the moment that part of the message they intended to send was their location. That would be a reasonable, *logical* assumption. If they did use the word 'dome' or the image of a domed city was somehow conveyed to Malista, which planet would be the most likely place to begin our search?" Tuvok sighed. Janeway got the feeling he was humoring them as he replied, "Given those parameters, unsubstantiated as they are, the fourth planet would seem to be the most logical location. Our sensors detected seismic disturbances which lead to quakes and eruptions that frequently pollute the atmosphere." "Thank you, Tuvok!" Kim said enthusiastically, jumping to his feet, prepared to return to Ops to continue the search. The captain's raised eyebrows halted him. "I haven't given the order yet, Mr. Kim," she reprimanded mildly. "Though I appreciate your fervor. Dismissed." They all got to their feet and started moving towards the exit. With a loud gasp, Jenny Delaney grabbed her elbow and screamed. "Megan!" She fainted and sprawled across the table before anyone could reach her. Commander Chakotay slapped his commbadge. "Transporter Room 2. Emergency transport. Lock on Lt. Jenny Delaney and transport her to Sickbay." ************************ "Well, at least we're moving up in the world," Paris commented sarcastically. "This room is about four times larger than the ones we occupied before." After the immediate need to treat the injured had been dealt with, Paris and Haldersen had explored the limits of their new cage and returned to join the others. The larger room they had been transported into seemed to be a common area. It was mostly empty space with a hard metallic floor, but there were a couple of benches along one wall to form a sitting area. Two other walls were long, blank expanses, while the fourth wall of the room contained open, doorless entries to three smaller rooms that contained hexagon-shaped beds. All their poking, prodding, inspecting, and wall thumping had failed to uncover any kind of door mechanism that they could use to provide a means of escape. The Six were still sitting, lying, or standing in the center of the common room, lacking the will, energy, or motivation to move. They found they were reluctant to get too far from each other. 'Better to hang together than to hang separately,' Paris thought, trying to think of any possible course of action. Helplessness didn't sit well with the lieutenant. He kept one eye on Malista while he was thinking. Though outwardly calm, he could tell she was almost vibrating with nervous energy. Sitting idle and waiting for their captors to take action was making her anxious. Ethan Simms opened groggy eyes, blinked at what he saw directly in his line of sight, and moaned, "Am I seeing things or does someone have blue feet?" Sven Haldersen stepped back to give Ethan a better, less close-up look at him. "That would be me. Yes. My feet are blue. And my boots are missing. They probably took some kind of casts to study the bone structure and the casting material left some residual color." Janine Lamont helped Simms struggle to a sitting position, encouraging him to continue leaning on her as a back rest. "I don't think we have one complete uniform among the six of us," Paris commented ruefully and shook his head. He plucked at his black tee-shirt as he surveyed the others. Simms was wearing a sweatshirt, his sweatpants slit to accommodate the bandages on his still swollen knee. Haldersen was wearing what was left of his uniform trousers and was shirtless and shoeless. Delaney was in thin slacks and a torn and tattered tee-shirt, the long sleeve split to above her swollen elbow. Lamont, who was wearing skimpy jogging shorts and a tank top, had finally warmed up thanks to the gift of Malista's jacket which was much too long on her. It practically formed a mini-dress on the much shorter woman and the sleeves had been rolled up four times to allow her to use her hands. Paris shook his head again as he studied his involuntary 'away team'. "We're all out of uniform. And Malista, the only one who WAS in uniform is reduced to her tank top and raggedy shorts. Good thing Chakotay isn't here. We'd all be on report." Paris almost smiled as he continued, "What a motley crew!" Shadow's uniform had fallen victim to the needs of the others. She'd used her knife to slice the legs off her trousers just above the knees in order to form bandages to support Ethan's knee and to make bandages and a sling for Megan's arm. Her turtleneck had gone for the same purpose, forming padding to cushion the neck strap of the sling. "What's motley?" Megan asked, wincing as Malista helped her slip her injured arm into the sling. "An incongruous mixture," Shadow replied absent-mindedly as she finished tying off the sling's ends into a knot at the base of the other woman's neck. "What's incongruous?" "Lacking in harmony. Not in agreement---oh, you!" Malista frowned, her eyes narrowing at her friend suspiciously as she caught the twinkle in the blue eyes. She realized her friend was trying to distract her from the worried thoughts chasing around in her head. "Stop playing dumb with me. You're not my type anyway." Delaney grinned in acknowledgment of the hit. As taught by the Delaney twins, Shadow's flirting lessons had included the oldest one in the book---playing dumb. It might be an old, even ancient technique, but it still worked in the short term---at least with some men. "Well, I have to agree with Tom on this one," Lamont said. "We do look odd." Shadow moved restlessly. Now that there were no needs to be met, nothing to be accomplished, the young woman began to tense. The lack of activity was quickly beginning to wear on her nerves. Unthinkingly, she began to move around the room, not going too far from the group, but distancing herself slightly. Pacing wasn't enough. She needed something more strenuous. She began to do some of the stretching exercises she usually utilized before a work-out. They always relaxed her mentally as well as physically. After a few preliminary moves, she stretched her hands high above her head as if reaching for the dome high above them, then slowly bent at the waist until her palms rested flat on the floor in front of her. One leg at a time, she brought her feet up until they were straight above her as she held a handstand. After a moment, she completed the movement by gradually bringing her feet down past her head, forming her back into a U-shape before uncurling into a vertical position and stretching once more. "Very nice, Sis," Tom Paris remarked. He was amused to see the mutual blushing going on when Malista became aware of Sven's admiring gaze and when Sven realized he'd been caught staring his appreciation of her lithe figure. Shadow quickly came to hover next to Paris, using him as a shield between herself and the eyes of the others. "I was never that limber in my life," Janine commented enviously. "Oh, I don't know," Simms began with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. "Ethan!" Janine's scandalized exclamation brought a halt to whatever the young man had planned to say. He gave her a penitent look, widening his green eyes. "What?" He could tell she was frightened, not only for herself, but for him. Diverting her attention also took his mind off his own problem. She shook a finger at him threateningly. "Watch it!" He caught her hand and kissed it. "I'd rather watch you." "Does anyone know how long we've been here?" Megan Delaney asked. Sven Haldersen's stomach suddenly growled---loudly. There was a general chorus of snickers or chuckles. The big Swede had the reputation for having an appetite that was as predictable as a heartbeat. It was said that Neelix could set the messhall chronometer by the rumblings of Sven's stomach. He needed to be fed promptly or there were dire consequences for those who had to deal with him. "I didn't have breakfast," Haldersen said sheepishly. "I think it's been at least four hours. I'm overdue for some food." "You could use some water," Janine whispered to Simms. He still felt hot to her touch as she stroked his face. He murmured quiet reassurances for her ears alone. Tom looked down at Malista who was trying once more to become invisible by standing half behind and half beside him. Her arms were wrapped around herself as if she was self- conscious about the scantiness of what was left of her uniform. "What are you doing, Sis?" She refused to meet his eyes, just shrugged and stepped a little further behind him. He turned and faced her, one hand fondly grasping her shoulder. "What?" he asked. She shook her head as she bit her lip. "Is this because we were looking at you when you were stretching?" She shrugged again, with pretended indifference. "Or because of the way we were looking at you?" he probed. She shrugged again and started to move away from him, though there was really no place to go. "Or more especially, the way Sven was looking at you?" he added sharply, suddenly suspicious. A red tide of color again swept up her neck and into her cheeks. Unwillingly, she nodded. She was unprepared for Tom's reaction. In less than a moment, Tom's usual fluid grace disappeared, his body tautening like a bowstring. His blue eyes, without warning, became opaque, a cold cadet blue, as he shot a glare of resolute menace in Haldersen's direction. "Is he one of the men who---" His usual pleasant tenor was almost a snarl. "Tom, no!" Malista put a restraining hand on his rigid forearm. The amiable Haldersen, catching the baleful glower on the lieutenant's face, reflexively took a step back. He'd never thought of the pilot as intimidating before but, at this moment, Paris' expression made it clear that he could be a dangerous enemy. The unexpectedness of the transition just made it all the more threatening. Sven didn't know what he'd done to make the taller man angry, but whatever it was---he flashed a glance at Malista. He'd known that Paris was protective of Shadow, but this seemed like a more intense reaction than his own behavior warranted. It was just a look, after all. He hoped she could convince her 'brother' that no offense had been intended when he'd stared at her. Though a large man and trained in self-defense, Sven was a scientist, not a fighter. Shadow shook his arm until Paris took his eyes off the other man and met her own. "Tom, Sven is *not* one of them. Stop it." As a precaution, she reversed their positions, quickly moving between Paris and Haldersen and blocking him with her body from moving toward the other man. Angry or not, Malista couldn't make herself believe that Tom Paris would ever hurt her. The lieutenant took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the fury drain out of him like a slow air leak in a pressure suit. He absentmindedly sent an apologetic smile towards Haldersen then focused on Shadow's face once more. Shadow seemed to have calmed Paris down for now, but Haldersen planned to keep an eye on the lieutenant anyway. The Swede shrugged off his unease and engaged Megan Delaney in conversation, hoping to take her mind off her worry and the pain of her injured elbow. Megan was quite willing to resume the flirtation they had begun on the ship some weeks ago and cooperated enthusiastically. "So Haldersen isn't involved?" Paris asked intently, trying to make sure she wasn't just pacifying him. Malista watched, concerned, as the flush of rage ebbed from Paris' face, leaving him somewhat paler than normal. B'Elanna had tried to tell her how frightening and implacable Tom could look when he lost his temper---and Malista hadn't quite believed her. She had thought Torres was exaggerating wildly. Now she knew it hadn't been B'Elanna's imagination. And his ferocity was all the more stunning because of the swiftness of its onset. Shadow wanted nothing more at this moment than to mollify him. The abrupt change from easy-going charm to icy cold rage almost frightened her with its intensity. Even if that rage was on her behalf. "No, Tom," she said in as soothing a tone as she could manage. She stroked his forearm rhythmically, having noticed that touch was important in reassuring the older man. "I promise you. Sven is a nice man. He's more interested in Megan and Jenny than in me. In fact, I was just thinking that the way Sven was looking at me..." "What about it?" His eyes were warm blue pools as he encouraged her to follow her line of thought. He could tell that she'd been alarmed by his outburst. He drew in a slow breath and tried to reassure her with a smile. In the aftermath of that abrupt surge of temper, his exhaustion was beginning to manifest itself in drooping eyelids. "It was different. I mean he was looking---but he wasn't looking the way the others do. Sven was looking at me more the way Harry used to. You know, before he knew me very well. I mean, before Harry and I, uh..." She could feel herself pinkening and winced in anticipation of his next teasing remark. He surprised her. "That's because it was a look of admiration, not lust. You *can* have one without the other. Of course, sometimes admiration leads to lust." "So you're saying I shouldn't worry so much about people looking at me?" He frowned at her impatiently. "From what you told me, those who have been harassing you have done more than look. Who are they, Sis?" "Tom, it really doesn't matter right now," she protested. "Is Ethan one of them?" he rapped out, shooting a glance toward the security officer. "No!" The look she gave him spoke her incredulity at the question more plainly than words could have. "Why would you even ask?" He lifted his palms upward. "Hey, if you won't tell me, I'll just keep guessing. And I already owe Sven an apology for suspecting him. Maybe you haven't been paying attention, but this kind of thing has been happening all over the ship, Sis. The kind of people who would treat you like this only flourish in the dark. They won't stop unless there are consequences for their actions. The Maquis have been trying to watch out for you, but since you wouldn't tell them WHO to watch out for, they began suspecting all the Starfleet men. And the 'Fleeters who don't know what's going on resent being treated with suspicion. I don't blame them. Even Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay have noticed that this whole situation is getting out of hand. You're going to have to make an official report to Security when we get back. Practice on me. Who are the two who have been making your life hell?" She narrowed her eyes at him, then abruptly decided to surrender since he couldn't do anything---precipitous at the moment. "All right. If you just have to know right this minute, the two major troublemakers were Paul Castelle and Laro Longoria. There were a couple of others, but those two just kept it up long after the others stopped." Paris drew in a deep, satisfied breath. "I should have guessed. At least about Longoria. He and Niko had a fight not long after the Maquis came aboard. Niko really kicked his---let him have it. They both wound up pulling extra duty time and losing their replicator privileges, but I heard that Longoria started it. And Dishon came out on top as far as the amount of damage inflicted. Longoria underestimated him because he was smaller. Niko had one wicked right!" Malista's eyes widened in astonishment. "I didn't know anything about that." "Yeah, well, Niko kept you pretty much out of the loop, didn't he?" Tom retorted with a disapproving frown. "Which made it harder for you to know who to trust." Shadow nodded uneasily. "He didn't want me to worry. I knew Longoria didn't like him. Laro, uh, tried to talk to me when we first came aboard Voyager and Niko told him to leave me alone. But then I didn't hear anything else about it and Longoria never bothered me again so I didn't think about it. I never knew it had ever gone so far as--- I wish I had known." "Well, we'll settle this once and for all when we get back to the ship. For now, I still owe Sven an apology, or at least an explanation." Tom took her arm and they rejoined the other four in the center of the room. "Did you hear that?" Simms asked. "I thought I heard something. The floor seems to be vibrating. I think someone's coming." One of the blank walls parted, forming an entranceway. Four of the towering aliens glided into the room and approached The Voyager Six. Simms struggled to get to his feet, not wanting to confront 'the enemy' while lying helplessly on the floor. Janine Lamont and Megan Delaney helped him up and supported him until he got his balance on his good leg. Malista Shadow stood behind Tom Paris and Sven Haldersen who'd placed themselves between the aliens and the other four. "Everyone stay calm. No overt hostilities. Maybe we can establish communication," Tom said quietly. "Keep your hands at your sides. No threatening moves." "Yeah, like we have anything to threaten them with," Delaney muttered sarcastically. The four aliens stopped about ten feet in front of the group of humans who had instinctively arranged themselves in a loosely triangular formation with their weak and injured protected by the fittest among them. The aliens seemed to be communicating with each other, though there was no sound at all, at least not within the range of human hearing. They were dressed in long, flowing brownish robes with hoods that hung over their faces---or where their faces would be if they could be seen. Minute sparkles of light in various colors could be seen flashing from beneath the hoods. Were the colors the alien version of speech? One alien stepped forward, slowly raising its tentacle-like arms. It seemed to be trying to shoo the humans toward the three smaller rooms. The other three aliens followed. Two of them were carrying what looked like metal sticks. 'Weapons?' Tom thought. The sticks were approximately a meter in length with no visible controls, but they seemed menacing and familiar in some way. "Let's play along for now," Lieutenant Paris ordered, drawing himself up to his full height. Being tall for a human, he'd never really felt as short as he did at this moment, looking up at the much taller abductors. Without disengaging his inspection of the aliens, he asked over his shoulder, "Ethan, can you walk?" "Yes, sir," Simms replied. "No problem." He was exaggerating. There was definitely a problem but Lamont provided a shoulder for him to lean on as a crutch and Delaney slipped her good arm around his waist to help him balance as he hobbled along and The Six retreated before the alien advance. They stopped directly before the doorways to the smaller rooms. "Now what?" Haldersen asked. "It's their move," Paris replied calmly. One of the aliens moved to the forefront and lifted a tentacle slowly toward Haldersen. The four-fingered hand slipped around the human's wrist and pulled him towards the smaller room on the left. Haldersen allowed himself to be guided to the door but didn't enter. He was released with a gesture that seemed to indicate he was to remain there. The same alien reversed course and extended a tentacle toward Janine Lamont. Ethan Simms tried to push her behind him, but was easily brushed aside. As he toppled off balance, Megan Delaney caught him and took over as his living crutch, steadying him. "Ethan, it's all right. I don't think they're going to hurt us," Janine said, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. The alien led her to stand next to Haldersen. When she was in place, the alien returned to the group and seemed to be conferring with the others. "Telepathy?" Haldersen speculated. "Could that be how they're communicating? Or sound beyond our range of hearing?" "What about the flashing lights?" Lamont responded. "It could be a signaling system. Do you think it's a natural phosphorescence? Or is it artificial?" "It's nice that you guys are trying to analyze this, but I'd really rather just get out of here," Delaney mumbled plaintively. "I'm with you there, but if we can understand how they communicate, maybe we can talk to them," Simms said. "Reason with them." The alien came forward and latched onto Malista's wrist. She was drawn toward the group of aliens. From their behavior, she was the current object under discussion. An alien's slender finger brushed lightly over her hair. She stiffened in resistance, but fixed her eyes on Tom Paris and refused to give in to her fear and scream or try to fight them. One of their other captors gestured toward Simms and Delaney, then toward Paris and finally toward Shadow. Another alien reached out and grasped Malista's other arm. It was beginning to look like a tug of war was going to ensue with Shadow as the rope. Bracing herself, she cast a nervous glance towards the humans. "Tom? Do you have any idea what's going on?" Before he could formulate a satisfactory answer, one of the aliens seemed to win the argument. He herded Malista over to stand next to Ethan Simms and pushed Megan Delaney aside. Another alien came forward and pulled at Janine Lamont, trying to move her toward Paris. They seemed to be moving the humans around like living game pieces. "Sven, you have any theories about this?" the pilot asked. "You're the biologist. If this was your experiment, what would be the point here?" Sven scowled his puzzlement for an instant, then his face cleared as he came up with a theory. "They're trying to pair us off. That's why the smaller rooms. I think Malista is giving them a problem. If color is of major significance in their culture, they may think our coloring has something to do with our gender or mating rituals." "What?" Megan exclaimed. "Our coloring?" Sven nodded. "Look how they matched us up. Megan and Ethan, the two redheads. Janine and I are both blondes. But so is Paris. Malista is the problem. She's the only brunette. I think now they're trying to figure out if eye color takes precedence over hair color. If so, then Malista would go with Ethan since they both have green eyes. The rest of us have blue eyes so they might want to pair us off by matching the shades of color of our eyes. In that case----" "They're trying to pair us off for MATING purposes?" Megan exclaimed. "Do they plan to keep us here permanently? What is this? Some kind of a zoo?" The humans exchanged looks of varying degrees of distress and dismay. "How can we let them know we aren't going to cooperate?" Paris asked, a muscle beginning to jump in his clenched jaw. "What kind of social structure can we demonstrate that they would understand?" Haldersen was at a loss for words. "I don't know. I'm just speculating. We don't know anything about this species. There are so many types---" The silent argument among their captors came to an end. The aliens, ignoring the other five, began to move back towards the entrance. Dragging a reluctant but passive Shadow with them. Frantic green eyes sought for a cue from Tom Paris. "They're not taking her," he muttered under his breath. He stepped forward, rushing to intercept them. "Hold it!" he shouted. The aliens didn't react to the sound of his voice, but noticed his approach and stopped moving when he pushed between them to snatch Malista out of their grasp. Paris pushed Shadow behind him, using his body as a shield, putting himself between her and their captors. He urged her with hand gestures to move away, out of reach. She lingered just behind him, hoping to intercede if the aliens moved against him. She didn't want to be the cause of another death, especially not Tom Paris'. She'd go with them if that was the only way to keep Tom safe. Haldersen was not far behind Paris in reaching the aliens. Simms was half-limping, half- hopping to join the group. Delaney and Lamont hovered behind Simms, ready to catch him if he lost his balance. They were all ready to fight if need be. All the humans were waiting for a reaction to Tom's actions. The aliens holding the metal sticks stepped forward and tried to nudge him out of their path to Shadow. He didn't budge. He put up his chin defiantly as he threw back his shoulders and snapped to attention. Though her stone face was firmly in place, Malista was trembling from head to foot as she clutched at Paris' shoulder. "Tom, maybe they just want to do some more tests. Maybe I should just go with them. They haven't really hurt any of us yet." "No." It was a flat refusal. No room for argument or debate. "I am not going to let them use MY away team as test subjects. If they want to take someone, they can take me. I'm the Senior Officer here." The aliens seemed to be conferring again. Paris didn't move, but kept his eyes fixed on them. If they understood body language, he wanted them to understand he was defying them. Denying them this. He would not let them take one of his away team. He didn't know if he could live with it. He still had nightmares about losing Pete Durst to the Vidiians. "Tom, I don't want you to get hurt trying to protect me," she began in a tremulous voice. She wasn't doing well in hiding her fear. "We don't have weapons. Don't provoke them." "I'm not. But you are not going anywhere with them. I'm not letting them separate us again. Not if I can help it. We're in this together. Step back. Slowly. Go rejoin the others." Ethan Simms touched her arm, trying to persuade her to move further from the alien group. She couldn't seem to move at all. She hesitated, then finally took a step which left her halfway between Paris and Simms. The conference among their captors reached a conclusion. The armed aliens stepped forward again, one of them lowering the metal stick at Paris. He watched its approach impassively, wondering what sort of weapon it was. And why it looked familiar to him. In the instant that the tip of the pole touched him, a jolt of energy ran through him. His whole body spasmed and convulsed. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the floor with a cry of pain, losing consciousness instantly. He lay still, unmoving, so pale the faint red gold freckles that dusted his skin were for once easily visible. A bluish tinge surrounded his lips. "Tom!" Malista tore herself free of Ethan's restraining hand and threw herself down beside the pilot's body. "He's not breathing!" Hot green eyes stabbed at Simms. "Ethan, can you do CPR?" He nodded. It was part of the standard training for Security Officers. "Then get down here. You do the heart massage if it's necessary. I'll get his breathing going again." Fervently praying all the while, she started moving Tom's head into position, tilting it back, clearing his airway. Simms hesitated, gazing at the aliens. At the moment they didn't appear to pose a threat. They seemed to be watching the actions of the humans without attempting to interfere. "Now, Ethan!" Shadow commanded. She took a deep breath and blew air into Paris' lungs. His chest rose slightly. "Check his heart!" Haldersen helped Simms get down on the floor. He wound up in an awkward position, with his bad leg trailing out behind him as he knelt on his good knee. He got his hands in position and monitored Paris' heartbeat. "It was erratic, but now it's stabilizing." Haldersen positioned himself between the trio and the aliens. He didn't know how much good he could do, but he felt he had to do something. Maybe he could slow them down. Janine and Megan stepped forward to watch the resuscitation efforts, unable to bear the suspense of watching from the relative safety of the back of the room. The group heard a wheezing cough. Malista sat back on her heels watching as Tom's chest rose and fell of its own volition once more. His eyes opened, searching for hers immediately. His attempt to sit up met with resistance as Shadow held his shoulders down. "Give yourself a minute to recover," she ordered. "Yes, ma'am." It was a weak echo of the impudent scoundrel's form of address to the captain. Shadow bit her lip, caught unprepared for the sob of relief that surged through her. Haldersen snapped his fingers to get the attention of the humans. The aliens were withdrawing, leaving the humans alone once more. "Well, I guess we showed them," Tom joked faintly, his voice rasping uncertainly. "Shut up, Tom," Malista whispered. "Sven, you and Ethan help me get him to his feet. We can make him more comfortable on one of the beds." She was hanging onto her self- control by a thin thread. Any minute now she was going to start screaming and once she started she might not be able to stop. Haldersen helped Ethan up, then the two of them reached down for Paris' outstretched hands. The lieutenant submitted to being hauled to his feet and half-carried and half- dragged into one of the smaller chambers by Haldersen and Shadow, Ethan limping along behind with the help of Delaney and Lamont. Truthfully, Paris felt weak and dizzy and probably couldn't have made it on his own. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the alien poking at him with that stick---painstick. That's what it reminded him of. One of those Klingon painsticks. Longer and with more punch to it, but the same type of weapon. He glanced up as he was deposited on the hexagon-shaped bed. "Everyone stay together. Come on in to this room. I don't want to take a chance on any of us getting separated from the group again if we can avoid it." He took a deep breath and exhaled it on a low moan. "Owww. My headache is definitely back. I do not recommend that you try that yourselves, boys and girls." The away team crowded into the smaller room, taking comfort in the physical nearness of the others. Malista sat next to Tom on the bed and compulsively checked his pulse once more. He met her concerned eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I'm okay, Sis. Just tired." She shook her head mutely, lips pressed tightly together. She refused to meet his eyes. "What happened?" Tom asked. "Why did they give up and leave?" She shrugged. Her hands went to his shoulders and tightened on them convulsively. Megan Delaney stepped nearer the bed and answered his first question. "You tried to keep them from taking Malista and they hit you with one of those sticks. Some kind of energy weapon. You dropped like a meteorite and stopped breathing. Your little sister here saved your life." Unspeakably moved but trying not to let it show, Tom brought his long fingers up to stroke Malista's cheek. "Thanks, Sis. I guess it's a good thing you started taking lessons with the Doc, huh?" The kind words and gentle touch were the proverbial last straw. Silent tears began to trickle down Malista's face and she flung herself face down on his chest, snuggling into the crook of his neck and releasing her fear and relief with mute trembling. The other four crew members moved away slightly to give the twosome as much privacy as possible under the circumstances. Tom sighed and patted her back gently. His little sister really was having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. On top of a lousy month or two. He just wished he could do something about it. When the shaking eventually stopped, he tugged lightly on her ponytail. "Okay. That's enough. Come on, Sis. My shirt's getting soggy. Next time, you get to make Harry's shirt all wet. And no wiping your nose on my sleeve either." Her choked laugh as she sat up preceded a swipe at his upper arm. "Don't you EVER do that again!" she commanded. "I don't suppose you have a handkerchief?" "Nope. Sorry. Left the last one on the holodeck, I think. I wasn't a Boy Scout. Never prepared," Tom quipped, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheek with his thumbs as his fingers framed her face. A large hand dangled a white handkerchief in front of her tearstained face. She traced the hand visually back to its source, Sven Haldersen. "Thanks." She took the offering and tried to scrub away all traces of her emotional outburst. At least this time she hadn't burst into loud, noisy sobs. She felt slightly ashamed of her lack of control. All the others seemed so calm. They were taking everything in stride. Why couldn't she? The big Swede shrugged. "They took my shirt, but they left me my pants---and my pockets. I always carry a handkerchief. I *was* a Boy Scout," he boasted as he smiled and winked encouragingly. "Eagle Scout, Troop 410, New Sweden Division." Chuckling and shaking his head, the lieutenant dragged himself up to a sitting position and crossed his legs. He grabbed Malista and hauled her up to sit beside him. It didn't take much persuasion. She slipped her fingers around his wrist, reassured to feel the strong pulse beating there. "Okay, team," Paris announced. "Everyone on the bed. It's time for a staff meeting." Megan eyed him disbelievingly even as they moved to comply. "I've heard of informal command styles, but really!" "Come on, Delaney. We need to talk and we might as well be comfortable while we do it. I'm not suggesting an orgy. Though the aliens might find that interesting to observe, come to think of it." That remark provoked rueful smiles and broke the tension, just as he intended. Shrugging, Megan squeezed into place between Haldersen and Simms. There was barely enough room for all six to sit on the bed's surface. "Okay, Lieutenant. What's the plan?" "First of all, let's discuss what we know or think we know about our enemy," Paris proposed. "Did anyone get a good look at one of them?" "Those hoods or robes or whatever pretty much cover them from head to toe---so to speak," Lamont commented. "They're really tall and seem to like hexagons," Simms reported, feeling a little foolish for stating the obvious. "That's it?" Paris said. "That's all we know?" "They have four fingers on their hands, arms like tentacles, skin that's sort of scaly, and they don't taste very good?" Malista offered. Four sets of eyes stared at her. Paris grinned. "I bit one," she explained in a very small voice. "What did they taste like?" Paris inquired curiously. "And, please, don't say like chicken--- " Her only response was to elbow his ribs. "Ow. Okay. Sven, when we were discussing Ethan's and Megan's injuries, you said something about the aliens were probably testing the range limits of the joints. That scientists always study the anatomy of the animals that they capture. Is that what you think is going on here?" Haldersen nodded hesitantly. "It's just a guess. But it would fit in with our standard procedures. The kind of tests we would run on non sentient life forms. Or on life forms we aren't certain are sentient." "Like trying to understand our social setup by pairing us off?" Lamont pondered. "I wonder what conclusions they've come to. And why did they stop and just leave us alone? I thought they were going to drag Malista off somewhere. What would be the purpose of that?" Haldersen was uncomfortably aware that everyone was looking at him. "I'm no expert. I don't know anything about these aliens either..." "You're the closest we have to an expert and if you're right and we're the subjects of a study, maybe you can help us predict their next move. Or figure out their conclusions and what they'll do about them." Paris smiled at him calmly. "Don't worry, Sven. We're not expecting a miracle from you, just an idea of what to expect. So, elucidate. If you were in charge of this experiment, what would your conclusions be so far?" Haldersen rubbed his chin as he thought for a few moments. "This is like building a house of cards on a very shaky table, but let's give it a try. Okay, let's suppose that the probe was meant to look for intelligent life forms. It came across Voyager and we somehow triggered its programming. It selected our crew for testing and the six of us as the test subjects." "Why?" Megan interrupted. "Oh, I know we decided it had to do with eye color, but what does that mean? Why would they be looking for color?" "Maybe color is more important in their culture than it is in ours," Malista whispered in Tom's ear. He pulled slightly away from her and squeezed her hand. "Don't tell me. Tell everyone. This is a staff meeting. We need to brainstorm our ideas. We may hit on something important." Shadow cleared her throat. "I was just thinking that maybe color is more important to them than to us. With some species color has a great deal of significance. I mean, like birds or insects or---" "Insects!" Haldersen said, snapping into alertness. "The hexagon shape. It's found in some hive building societies." "You think they're insects?" Simms asked dubiously. "Of a sort. That might explain a few other things. If it's a hive society, they might have a form of telepathy or a non-audible language. Like bees on earth that perform a dance to give instructions to tell the others where to find food sources," Haldersen concluded. "How does that help us?" Delaney demanded. "For one thing, in a hive society there is only one leadership. We don't have to worry about factions," Simms mentioned. "They're all working toward the same goal." Paris nodded. "Yeah. That might be important later. If we get around to negotiations. Now to get back to our situation. If you were running the tests, what conclusions do you think you'd have reached based on the tests we know about?" Haldersen scratched his head. "Well, we don't really know what was done while we were unconscious, but I would imagine it was a superficial physical evaluation. They probably looked us over, took some samples..." "Like my hair and fingernail," Malista supplied. "And they took samples from Tom. He has a whole series of puncture marks on his back. Janine was exposed to cold. Ethan and Megan had their joints tested. Sven's feet were turned blue by whatever they did to him and he was exposed to high temperatures." "It looks like they spread the testing out among the six of us. So they wouldn't use up one of their test subjects?" Megan speculated. "That makes sense. At first we were separated. Trying to see if we would try to escape. Probably looking for signs of intelligent behavior. An indication that we knew we were captives," the Swede theorized. "I saw you. All of you. A viewport opened to each room and I reacted to seeing you. Malista responded kind of violently when they went back for a second sample or whatever it was they intended. That's when she bit one of them," Tom explained with a sly grin. "He didn't get out of the way fast enough. That's when they sent her to me. Maybe they were hoping I could make her behave? Or they just wanted to see what we'd do?" "Your reactions must be the reason they put us all in here together. To study our interactions. Trying to determine our social structure," Haldersen muttered, thinking aloud. "They must have us under observation. When we were brought together, our first reaction was to take care of each other, though we don't have the equipment to demonstrate our medical technology." "What would that tell them? I mean, what would that mean to them?" Lamont asked, then answered her own question. "Compassion can be considered a trait associated with sentient behavior, but in and of itself, it doesn't necessarily denote sentience. I mean there are lots of non-sentient animals that demonstrate nurturing behavior." "And what about when they tried to pair us off?" Ethan chimed in. "We resisted their attempts to order our pairing. What conclusion would they draw from that?" "Don't look at me!" Haldersen protested. "I don't know. They're just as alien to me as they are to all of you." He stumbled to his feet and moved across the room to stand near the doorway, gazing out into the larger room. It was obvious the mild-mannered scientist felt out of his depth on this unexpected and involuntary away mission. To everyone's surprise, it was Malista Shadow who made the first effort to soothe his agitation, perhaps because she felt as out of place among this team as he did at this moment. Her shyness and self-consciousness forgotten to meet another's need, she left her place by Tom's side and with great temerity laid a comforting hand on Haldersen's arm. "It's all right, Sven. We don't expect you to have all the answers. We're just brainstorming, like Tom said. You've already helped a lot. You were the one who figured out why they had such a hard time knowing what to do with me. You really do seem to have some insight into what they're doing." Megan Delaney joined the two of them, insinuating a flirtatious and somewhat proprietary arm around his waist. "Yeah, honey. We're in this together. Come on. Sit down and enlighten us some more. Sometimes I wish I'd paid more attention to classes outside my specialty," she confided, batting her eyes flirtatiously at the biologist. "But then, if I had, I wouldn't have an excuse to pick the brains of handsome men." Flattered and calmed by the attention of two lovely ladies, the big blond returned to the circle. Malista slipped back into place at Paris' shoulder, accepting his nod of approval with a swift smile. "What I don't understand," Ethan complained, "is why after almost killing the lieutenant, they just went off and left us like that. They didn't even make another attempt to take Malista or any of us with them. What was the point of dragging Malista away, if they weren't really going to take her?" Lamont interlaced her fingers through his as she spoke thoughtfully. "I think they were going to take her. Maybe to study her more carefully to see how she fit in. She's the obviously different one in the group---I'm sorry, Malista. I don't mean--" "It's okay," Shadow replied. "I know what you mean. If they've figured out our genders, they know I'm different from the other females. You and Megan are both much shorter than I am, which makes me different from you two. If they're going by coloring, I'm the only brunette, which is different from all of you. Of the six of us, my skin is the darkest. You're all very fair. My eyes are a darker green than Ethan's. If color is really a matter of importance to them, I may seem to be an aberration. Maybe they don't have my kind of color combinations here." "What kinds of social structure are there? What do they think we have? Based on what they've seen of us so far?" Delaney asked. "A hive?" "Why do you say that, Malista?" Paris said. "Well, there's a tendency to think others organize themselves the way you do." "I don't think so," Lamont murmured. "That might have been their original impression of Voyager. That it was a hive traveling through space. But our behavior hasn't really been hive-like. And in hives, there's a great uniformity of appearance. Those in the same job function or social class tend to look alike. For example the Hamidions on Vualkar Five." It was a classic Academy textbook example. Everyone but a bewildered Malista nodded agreement with the ensign's assessment. Reminded once more of her lack of Academy training and education, Shadow sank back next to Paris and allowing the others to guide the conversation, her eyes darting from speaker to speaker. "We acted as a team, not individually," Haldersen said. "We sought to protect the weakest among us instead of turning on each other. We didn't pair off and go our own route. I'd say we demonstrated to any observers that we have at least a tribe-like mentality." "If they think we're non-sentient animals, how would they interpret that sort of behavior?" Simms asked. Lamont and Haldersen arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously. "A pride," they chorused. "Megan, have you and Jenny been giving lessons in choral speaking? Or is it just the latest fashion?" Tom asked with a sardonic smile. He looked to Shadow to share his amusement, but noticed she had withdrawn into impassivity. Seeking to regain her attention, he seized her hand and used her forefinger to point to Haldersen. "Elucidate, sir. A pride?" The scientist brightened, his enthusiasm for his subject growing as he spoke. "Yes. That would fit with what they've been able to observe of our human interaction. A pride of lions for example is a group of animals that live and cooperate together. Usually there is a single leader, but every animal has its own station within the group. There's generally a whole hierarchical structure. Alpha Male, Alpha Female, Beta Male, Beta Female, and so forth. Roles, responsibilities, and privileges within the group are determined by the station occupied. " "So you think they're trying to figure out our roles?" Simms asked. "Studying how we behave in a crisis situation? What's next? A maze?" "It wouldn't surprise me," Lamont commented. She smiled at Ethan as he frowned his dismay at her remark. "It's a common way of evaluating intelligence." "So what are our roles?" Paris asked. "Have we given them enough information in the short time we've been here for them to figure it out? And once they figure it out? What's next?" "I think it's pretty clear they know now that Tom is the Alpha Male, the leader of our pride," Sven clarified for Malista's benefit, bestowing a kind smile in her direction. If anything, she shrank further away from the group, tucking herself behind Tom's shoulder. Haldersen's next remark brought her upright and back into the conversation immediately. "And, of course, Malista is demonstrably the Alpha Female, the female leader of the pride, if you will." "Me?" Her voice didn't quite squeak. "A leader? How do you figure that?" "Oh, I agree with him," Ensign Lamont concurred. "In fact, I think that's why they didn't continue with their attempt to separate you from the group. Somehow they must have decided early on that Tom was the leader. Maybe because he was on the bridge the first time they found him. Or for whatever reason, they decided he was a leader. That's probably why he was allowed to see the rest of the group in their separate cells. They were testing his reaction to the stimuli of seeing others of his kind. No one else had that opportunity. I didn't know any of you were here with me until we all found ourselves in the same room." "But why would they think that I'm the female leader? I haven't done anything---" She wasn't sure whether to be amused or appalled at the idea. "Except save my life!" Paris reproved. "And you ordered Ethan to help you," Megan added. "The minute Tom went down, you took charge. They would take that as meaning you outranked the other males." "And Tom said you reacted violently when they came after you," Janine noted. "After all, you did bite one of them." She still seemed torn between shock and amusement. The ensign didn't think that course of action would have occurred to her. Biting wasn't a typical tactic in Starfleet training exercises. At least, not for humans. "That may be why they didn't take her after all," Ethan announced abruptly as the idea popped into his head. To his chagrin, five blank gazes turned in his direction so he continued. "Well, they were going to take her to see where she fit in---and when the lieutenant stepped in and defended her, they probably assumed she was his. I mean, that she belonged to him. That she was his mate. His pair. Whatever." His words fumbled to a halt in confusion and dismay over his lack of tact. Damn. He wished Mikel Hudson was here. His partner was much smoother in crisis situations. And didn't blush as readily. "I think Ethan is right," Janine agreed, smiling at him with approval and respect. "He and I are obviously a pair. We can't keep our hands off each other. They must have decided that Tom and Malista are a matched set, leaving Megan paired with Sven, So now they know how to pair us off and there was no reason to take Malista." Tom and Malista swapped discomfited glances. "We don't need to share that conclusion with B'Elanna Torres or Harry Kim, however," Delaney wisecracked. "Okay, fine. So we're paired off. Are they waiting for us to settle into our cage and set up housekeeping? Now what?" "What would be the next step in their experiments?" mused Paris. "Further behavioral studies?" Lamont suggested. "How we react to various stimuli?" Malista's attention had wandered as she concentrated on an idea of her own. "Tom, didn't you say we needed to gather intelligence?" Her eyes drifted down from her regard of the top of the wall on one side of the room to gaze at him thoughtfully. "We can't do that from here, can we?" Paris frowned suspiciously. Just from the innocent tone of her voice and the deliberate rounding of her eyes in a persuasive plea, he knew she was going to make a suggestion she knew he wouldn't like. "Yes. That's SOP." He explained the term as she raised an eyebrow. "Standard Operating Procedure. But we haven't been able to find a way to get out of here either. Why? What do you have in mind?" She smiled at him ingenuously and tilted her head back, her eyes going to the top of the wall once more. The other five followed her line of sight, trying to identify the object of her observation. ****************** "I think we've got it, Captain," Harry Kim asserted quietly, trying not shout in his enthusiasm. "The fourth planet, the largest continent. The sensors show a dead spot that could very well be a domed city." "Or it could be a naturally occurring sensory blind spot," Tuvok commented. "Caused by interference----" "It's more likely to be artificial!" Kim flashed back, then bit down on his impatience with the Vulcan's pedantic attitude. Tuvok just raised a supercilious eyebrow at the human's emotionalism. It was left to the captain to question the Ops Officer's conclusion. "Why do you believe it to be artificial in nature, Mr. Kim?" "Because," Kim said, making no effort to distill the weary sense of triumph from his voice, "the dead zone is perfectly hexagonal in shape." Janeway nodded with a kindly smile. "Very good, Ensign. That isn't likely to be a natural occurrence. Now, let's see if we can find a way to punch through that interference so we can get a lock on our crewmembers." Lieutenant Torres joined Harry Kim at the Ops station and peered over his shoulder as he worked. Fortunately, it didn't seem to distract him. It might be hazardous to someone's health or ego to suggest that the Chief Engineer could be more useful elsewhere. The captain wisely decided not to make that suggestion. She'd found it was always better to have potential problems where you could keep an eye on them. Especially when the problem was a volatile half Klingon. ************ Four of The Six were watching the confrontation as if in the audience of a particularly competitive hoverball match. Not that the other two seemed to remember or care about their presence or opinions at this moment. Malista Shadow was so excited and agitated she was practically bouncing as she marched rapidly from the wall to the bed and back again as if she couldn't possibly stand still. "Tom! We all noticed that the dome doesn't touch the top of the wall. There's a clearance of at least fifteen feet! And the wall is wide enough to make it possible, even easy. The partition has to be at least four inches thick! I saw it when I ran between the two rooms!" On the other hand, Tom Paris, standing next to the bed with his arms tightly folded across his chest, was as immovable as a solid deuterium security barricade. "You are NOT going to try it!" "Well, what do you have in mind? Doing nothing? You said yourself we need to gather information and we're not going to find out anything sitting here in this---this cell!" The atypically belligerent tone only seemed to reinforce his stubborn refusal to give any consideration to her idea. She turned on her sisterly coaxing tone. "Tom, it's wider than the tight rope in the circus program. I can do this. I know I can. I'll be careful." "You just don't get it, do you? Harry is my best friend. I am NOT going back to Voyager and have to tell him I let you get yourself killed." He took a step forward, trying to edge past her. "I'll do it myself." "The hell you will!" Malista shouted. She body-blocked him with her shoulder. Unprepared for her reaction, he bounced back and stumbled to regain his footing. Her hands shot out to clutch his upper arms to steady him and to command his attention. But she'd made her point. He hadn't fully recovered from the effects of being shocked by the alien weapon. And whatever other tests had been performed on his unconscious body. Tom couldn't have been more astonished by her response than if she'd pulled a bat'leth out of her bra and threatened him with it. He'd expected a verbal response, but certainly not a physical one from his typically timid adopted sister. Simms struggled to his feet and urged Lamont to help him move around the bed, drawing nearer to the quarreling duo. If this disagreement was going to disintegrate into a physical confrontation..... "Excuse me?" Both Paris and Shadow turned, relocating their glares from each other to Janine Lamont. "What?" they said in unison, in exactly the same impatient tone. As soon as they heard and became aware of their brusqueness, they each winced. Malista gestured toward Tom. He could field this one since he wasn't ready to listen to reason. She plopped down on the bed gracelessly, looking for all the world like a sulky four year old as she crossed her arms and frowned ferociously. "Sorry, Janine," Tom apologized. "What did you want to say?" Clutching Ethan's arm just a little more tightly, more for her support than his, the petite blonde cleared her throat as she gazed up at the taller man. "I was just wondering if it might help if we clarified one point." She hesitated, not wishing to bring anyone's wrath down on her head. Simms gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "Like what?" the lieutenant said with exaggerated patience and a glare in Shadow's direction. When had his little sister turned into such a---such a * woman*? Stubborn, pig- headed....Did she have Klingon blood as well? "What would be the purpose of Malista---or anyone---breaking out of the cell?" Lamont asked timorously. Both parties fixed an aggravated stare in her direction. "Reconnaissance," Simms supplied, unasked. "An exploration of the area to gather information." "Information like what?" Delaney demanded. "How big our cage is? I think Tom's right. It would just be taking a foolish chance. What would it accomplish?" Hurt by the contempt she thought she heard in her friend's voice, the usually placid and conciliatory Shadow stung back waspishly. "I might be able to find a way out of here. Would you rather just sit around and wait to see what tests those aliens will think up next? The next one may be more unpleasant than just twisting your elbow!" The redhead's temper flared to meet the brunette's. "And you might just get yourself killed- --or provoke them into killing us if they think we're animals that aren't trainable or won't stay in captivity." "Do you want to live in captivity? I don't. Been there and done that and don't want to do it again," Shadow snarled, almost under her breath. Lost in her own thoughts, she dropped her gaze to her knotted fingers and tried to muster the best arguments for her proposed course of action. Taking a deep breath, Paris stepped between the two women and reclaimed the attention of the group. "Hey, let's all take a step back and calm down here. No need to get stressed out. Janine raised a valid point. We need to analyze our options. What can we realistically hope to gain if we send out a scout? Malista---or anyone else," he added emphatically, letting her and the others know that the issue of who would be going was far from settled. If anyone went at all. "I might be able to find our communicators. Or tricorders. I MIGHT be able to find a weapon----" Shadow began, in not quite a shout. She didn't know why she was so angry or exactly who she was angry with, but she couldn't seem to keep her emotions in check right now. Her dispassionate mask had disappeared, at least for the time being. "Malista makes a good point," Simms said placatingly. "If we could locate our equipment, especially the communicators, it might help Voyager find us. If they're within range. At least, it would give them a signal to lock onto when they get into range." The Greek woman smiled her appreciation at him and turned it into a triumphant 'so there' smirk as she shifted her attention back to Paris. She resisted the strong temptation to stick out her tongue at him. "We don't know what happened to our equipment," Delaney pointed out. "If we could find it, it might be useless. They probably disassembled it for study." For some reason Haldersen flinched at that comment, but didn't speak. He was a scientist. He'd never sought command and had no desire to take a leadership role. His function was to provide information, but he'd wait until he was asked to even do that. Especially if the information was something he and they would rather not know or think about. "Maybe there is a way out of this place," Simms said. "Shouldn't we at least try to find out? We don't know what kinds of information we might be able to find." "It would help if we could find a way to communicate with them," Delaney sighed. "We can't convince them we're sentient, if we can't communicate. Can we?" Paris was growing more frustrated by the moment. He wanted to take action. Some kind of action. His lack of options was irritating and the responsibility for the well-being of his crewmates weighed on him like a targ's tritanium training collar. Protocol and all his training demanded that he accept that responsibility. He was the ranking officer. The final decision on any course of action would be made by him. So he intended to get all the input he could before making any decision of any sort. No rushing into action without thinking of the possible consequences. "What other purpose would it serve to separate the group by sending someone out, or up, to look around?" he repeated. Just then Sven Haldersen's stomach rumbled again. Loudly. The tension in the room eased slightly as The Six shared a laugh even as the Swede ducked his head in embarrassment. "Our scout could look for food, since our captors haven't thought of it," Megan teased, patting Sven's stomach, then her own. "Lots of food." "And water," Lamont added, pressing the back of her hand to Ethan's forehead once more. He still felt feverish and dehydrated to her touch. "Ethan needs water now and the rest of us will be needing it soon." "I could use some right now myself," Megan complained, licking parched lips. Paris tugged on his ear and began pacing in figure eights in the small floor space available to him. "That is something to consider. We have no idea if or when our captors will get around to taking care of our basic needs. We all know that Voyager is looking for us, and Captain Janeway doesn't give up easily, but we don't know how long we may be here." Haldersen raised a hand and waited till Paris nodded before offering, "I just realized that there might be another benefit to an escape attempt. The aliens might interpret it as a sign of sentience. Of course, since we don't know how they measure---" Paris nodded once, sharply. "All right. We seem to have come to an agreement. We do need to send someone to reconnoiter. But I think it should be me." His eyes fell on Shadow. She had always deferred to him in the past. He wasn't really expecting an argument. But from her expression, it looked like he was going to get one. The other four figuratively and literally stepped back. This seemed to be a 'family matter'. As a rule, outsiders trying to interfere would just catch trouble from both sides. Striving for a reasonable, rational approach, Shadow forced her voice to remain level and emotionless as she stared up at him. "Tom, that wall is only about four inches thick. It will take a very good sense of balance to walk along it. Ethan and Megan are injured. Janine and Sven are in good shape but don't have any training for this kind of physical activity. So. It comes down to the two of us." She got to her feet and stood in front of him, meeting his eyes squarely. "I walked the high wire in the circus off and on from the time I was four. As part of my regular daily exercise program, I still practice on a balance beam. While you do have some experience on the trapeze, you don't have any experience at all in walking a tight rope. In addition to that, you're not well." His jaw clenched as his face set in stubborn lines of resistance. "Malista, I have good coordination. I'm in good physical condition..." "Not right now, you aren't. Tom, did you ever wonder why I chose Harry to be the catcher in our trapeze act and why I never would let you do it?" "What has that got to do with anything?" he protested, bewildered by the apparent non sequitur. "Harry is a steady, careful man. He isn't a thrill seeker. He's just as happy being a catcher as he would be as a flyer. He doesn't have that drive, that NEED to be the one taking the risks," Malista declared. "You do. I do. I have to fly. I can be a catcher for a short time, but all the time I'll miss the flying. The soaring, the danger, the thrill of doing something others find difficult or impossible." "What does any of that have to do with this decision?" Paris had an inkling where this was heading, but he was going to force her to say it. To his face. "I knew Harry could take the responsibility of being the catcher. He's a detail person. He checks the equipment himself and watches out for everyone else and he does everything he can to make sure he's ready to do his job. He thrives on having people depend on him. Lending support so others can fly is just another way of letting Harry shine at what he does best. I didn't ask you to be the catcher because I knew..." She paused, hesitated, her eyes darting to the others as if not sure she should continue. Tom nodded, giving her the go ahead. "I knew you wouldn't want to be responsible for the safety of the flyers." "I can take responsibility," he stated deliberately, daring her to contradict him. Her lips trembled as she tried a weak smile. It would be so much easier to just drop the subject right now. To let him have his way. She didn't want to hurt him, but she didn't see any way to make her point that didn't involve pain for him. For both of them. But this was too important to just surrender and retreat, even to win or keep his approval. "I know you can. If you have to. But if you don't have to, when the choice is yours, then you avoid it." She hoped he would accept that statement and leave it at that. He did not. His smart ass facade dropped back in place with the ease of long practice. He crossed his arms loosely, his posture loosened. This was the Tom Paris who'd first come aboard Voyager---defensive, smirking, pretending to cool indifference to everyone's opinion--- shutting everyone out, not allowing anyone to get close enough to hurt him. That Tom Paris had never made an appearance to Shadow before. She was surprised how much it hurt to see him turning that cool, derisive grin on her. "Come on, Crewman Shadow," Paris drawled, using the formality to drive a wedge between them, an attempt to make it seem the discussion was a professional disagreement. Nothing personal. "Let's get to the point. Regardless of what you may have *heard*, I am not a coward. I have accepted the responsibility for the safety and welfare of our away team. I'm not going to hide here and send you out to do something that I can do myself. I'm the Senior Officer here. I outrank you---and everyone else in this room. And as the commanding officer of this away team, I've decided that I will be the one to try an escape." Malista stiffened her resolve and threw back her shoulders as she stared into his emotionally shuttered eyes. "You want to go yourself, not because you're the best qualified, or the one with the best chance of success, but for selfish reasons. Do you really want me to elaborate, *Lieutenant*?" Her eyes darted to the side, to indicate the other four who were listening and watching every nuance of the exchange between the two whose 'family relationship' was approaching the verge of collapse. The muscle jumping in his jaw was the only indication of tension in the loose-limbed, carelessly graceful posture of the pilot. One hand waved carelessly in the direction of their audience. "Go ahead. Say what you like. Voyager is a small ship, as you know. Nothing remains a secret for long. This concerns all of us. You think I have some kind of a hidden agenda here? Or are you accusing me of being on some kind of power trip?" "You'd rather risk your own life than be responsible for sending someone else into danger." The blunt, honest, hurtful words were flung out into the open and lay there in the utter silence like a gauntlet hurled to the ground at his feet. Silence reigned. It almost seemed as if no one dared to breathe as they waited for Tom Paris to respond to Malista's accusation. Pain-filled green eyes met pain-filled blue eyes. Neither spoke. At last, Malista broke away from the confrontation by lowering her gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry, T-T-Lieutenant," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have said that. You're right. It is your decision..." She wrapped her arms around herself, her face crumpling as she fought off the encroaching tears. She took two steps back and stood there wishing fervently for the gift of invisibility. Or for the ability to travel back in time and stop this before it ever started. She dropped her head, unable to face him, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt for her betrayal of his trust. Paris stood rigidly frozen in place, expressionless, as he tried to absorb the blow and deal with the consequences. He looked at the other four. "Anyone else want to comment?" he said dryly, his tone edged in bitterness. Not one of them would meet his eyes. They looked at each other, the walls, the floor... anywhere but at him. Janine made a move towards Malista, but Ethan restrained her and shook his head. Megan and Sven exchanged glances. Megan rested her forehead on Sven's chest, and cradled her injured arm between them, seeking warmth and aching with compassion for her friend---for both her friends. Eyes closed, Lt. Thomas Eugene Paris wrestled with his demons in a mute match that lasted only moments, though it felt like hours to him. In that short space of time, he thought of every Starfleet regulation or protocol, every slick argument, every reply, every rationale, that he could offer to refute Shadow's simple statement. Every lie he could tell himself---so he wouldn't have to confront the truth. So he wouldn't have to admit that she was right. Maybe he wasn't a coward in the traditional sense of the word. But in this instance, he was. He *was* a coward. He would rather take his own chances with injury or death than to have to live with the possible consequences of assigning someone else to do the exact same thing. Especially if the someone was the friend he called his little sister. Or B'Elanna. Or Harry. Or Janeway. Or Chakotay.... As the list grew longer, Paris threw on the emergency brake and halted his train of thought. 'Hell, Tom,' he thought. 'Why don't you just own up to it? You could live the rest of your life quite happily if you were never in command again. Of an away team or of the ship. You don't want to be responsible for *anyone* else getting hurt. Not after Caldik Prime. Not after Pete Durst.' He opened his eyes and found Malista Shadow, still hunched into herself, head bowed as if baring her neck for an executioner's ax. And he was the one she was expecting to pass judgment and carry out the sentence. She stood alone and isolated from the others by her own choice. She hadn't tried to enlist support from the other members of the team. She would see that as disloyalty to him. She wouldn't try to undermine Paris' authority. She'd appealed to his reason instead. And he'd figuratively slapped her down and rejected her---as if her opinion had no value. Or worse, as if she had no right to offer an opinion in the first place. He'd treated her exactly the same way she'd been treated her whole life. By her family. And by Niko Dishon. He'd expended a great deal of time, energy, and heartache in trying to build up that young woman's self-esteem and self-confidence. She'd trusted him and needed him and helped him in ways no one else ever had. And now, when she finally had the courage to stand up for what she believed, in an effort to help him and the rest of their team, to stand up and defy HIM, one of the most important people in her life---Was he really willing to negate all that? To tell her that she had misjudged him? That she didn't understand him as well as she thought she did? That she actually WASN'T the best qualified for the possibly dangerous assignment? Was he so worried about facing his own fears that he would let them defeat him? Or was it that he was too worried about what the others would think of him? Couldn't he admit it when he was wrong? Couldn't he admit his weakness and need for help? Couldn't he back down from an untenable position without regard for his own pride? Couldn't he apologize when he knew he was wrong? A spark of recognition flamed up in his mind and seared him to his very soul. 'Oh, God!' he thought. 'In spite of myself, have I become my father?' He shuddered. And took a step forward. Then another. And another. Until he was standing directly in front of Malista Shadow with no more than a few inches separating their bodies. She stiffened at his approach but didn't move, either away or towards him. He wouldn't touch her without her permission. He'd forfeited that right, that privilege, when he'd shoved her away by calling her 'Crewman Shadow' in that disgustingly distant manner. "Malista?" His voice sounded rusty, as if from disuse, but the tone said this wasn't a reprimand. As if her head was almost too heavy for her neck to bear its weight, she gradually lifted her chin to fix her gaze on his chest. Then, slowly, her green eyes cautiously, warily slid up to his face. He winced as he read the fear in them. Fear of being ridiculed? Fear of being belittled? Fear of rejection? Fear of him. He felt about half an inch tall at that moment, but the next move was most definitely his. He cleared his throat. "You're right." He met her eyes, trying to let his regret show, making an effort to let go of his mask. He hadn't dared to hope for the immediate forgiveness that lit the green eyes as her lips widened in a soft smile. She shouldn't make it this easy on him. But he'd discuss that with her in more detail later. When they got back to Voyager. "I'm sorry, Malista. You're right. I am taking this personally. And that's not what a commanding officer is supposed to do." He encompassed the others with a swift look. "She's right. I hate the idea of letting someone else run the risk, but Malista is the best qualified. As Milton said, 'They also serve who only stand and wait'," he quoted. "I guess that will be our part of this mission. So let's decide how we're going to do this." All six drew closer together, relieved at the easing of the tension between Paris and Shadow and glad to have some kind of goal to work toward. The idleness of captivity was quickly becoming boring as well as stressful. Without looking directly at him, Malista unobtrusively slipped her hand into Tom's and curled her fingers shyly around his. Swallowing hard and gazing steadily at the Security Officer, her 'brother' tightened his grasp comfortingly. Apology accepted. Ethan Simms had been studying the problem since Malista had mentioned the possibility of going over the wall. Or rather onto the wall. "Has it occurred to anyone else that the empty space we're seeing between the dome overhead and the top of the wall just might not be so empty?" "What do you mean?" Sven asked. "I've been thinking that there might be an energy field, some kind of force field there," the young man ruminated. "We should test for that before Malista tries to climb on top of the wall." "Good idea, Ethan. Before Malista makes this attempt, we're going to take every precaution. Now what else do we need to plan for?" The lieutenant asked, calling the meeting to order as his troops settled back into sitting positions on the bed. *************** All attempts to communicate had been ignored. It was impossible to tell if the message had been received at all. If the hails had been received, they were being ignored. Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres were trying every possible method to get the sensors to punch through the interference that kept them from scanning inside the domed city on the planet below. Another try. Another failure. The ensign plunged the fingers of both hands into his thick, inky hair and tugged at it. "Argh. Nothing is working!" The exasperated exclamation was carefully contained. Harry didn't want to chance drawing the captain's attention again. She might try to relieve him of duty. "How long has it been?" Only B'Elanna Torres heard him. She shared his feelings. "Stop clock-watching, Starfleet. Now we've got to figure out why we can't get a reading. There are no thoron particles in the atmosphere. We're not reading any other materials that are interfering with the sensor--- -" "How can you be so calm?" Kim hissed. "Anything could have happened---" "And my worrying about it isn't going to accomplish a damned thing," Torres snapped. She wanted to scream from frustration herself, but was trying to funnel all her energy into finding a solution. She took a deep, calming breath. "Harry, you know Tom will take care of Malista. To the best of his ability." "I'm not just worried about Malista! I'm not that selfish. Who will take care of Tom?" Harry muttered. "I know he thinks he can handle anything, but there are some things that--- " "I don't want to think about it!" B'Elanna announced, a little more loudly than she'd intended. Not only was Tuvok looking their way, but she'd drawn Chakotay's attention as well. She frowned almost insubordinately at the two senior officers until they turned back to their own duties. Lowering her voice once more, she continued, "Harry, all we can do is try to find a way to help them. Now, what exactly happens when we use the sensors on that dome? Are the readings not making sense? Or is that the sensors can't get through?" With an effort, Kim focused once more on the control panel readings. "No. It's more like the sensor beams are reflected back." "What about passive sensors?" "I thought about that an hour ago," he said impatiently. "They bounce off too." "Bounce off? Reflected?" Torres repeated. She clutched his upper arm between both her hands and squeezed tightly in her excitement. "Harry! If you want to prevent bounce back, what do you do?" "What? What are you talking about?" "You change the angle! If you change the angle of approach, you might prevent the reflection. The dome is deflecting the sensors. If we change the angle...." Two voices raised simultaneously. "Captain!" ********************* There was no force field between the top of the wall and the domed roof of the---building? This had been determined by the simple measure of throwing Ethan Simms' left boot over the wall. It passed over without any noticeable interference or reaction on the part of their hosts. The next obstacle was to get Malista to the top edge, approximately fifteen feet above the floor. Even standing on Tom's shoulders, she would be three to four feet short of her goal. They shoved the bed against the wall. Tom stood atop the bed and looked at Ethan. Simms estimated the distance and shook his head once more. "Not enough. You need at least another two feet." "I could jump," Malista volunteered. She sat down on the edge of the bed to remove her own boots since it would be easier to get a sure foothold in her bare feet. She took the knife and its sheath from her boot and tucked it into her waistband. "No," Tom vetoed. "You might lose your balance and fall." Sven Haldersen stepped forward. "If I get on my hands and knees and Lt. Paris stands on my back, then Malista climbs on his shoulders----would that be enough, Ethan?" Simms estimated the measurements with a quick look and nodded. "That would do it." Paris jumped off the bed to let Haldersen get into place. Tom hesitated, pulled Malista in for a quick hug, then frowned down at her warningly. "Last minute instructions, Sis. If anything goes wrong, forget the whole thing. Come back here. If you get caught, surrender. I don't think they'll hurt you if you don't put up a fight. Don't use that knife on anyone. Use it as a tool to open doors or whatever if you need to. I think if you don't hurt them, they'll just bring you right back to your cage. That's what they do with zoo animals anyway. Remember, your job is to gather information. Not to start a fight." Her smile was brave, but her eyes betrayed her misgivings. "I'll do my best, Tom." He forced a smile of his own. "I know you will. Be careful!" He waggled an admonitory finger in her face. She made a snapping motion as if she was going to bite him. "Yes, big brother. Now can I get on with it?" She was bouncing on her toes with nervous energy. Megan came forward and gave her a one-armed hug. "Good luck." Under her breath, Malista whispered, "Megan, if anything should happen---" "It won't," Delaney said adamantly, as if her insistence could insure a positive outcome. "But if---tell Harry I love him. And help B'Elanna take care of Tom," Shadow begged. "Of course." The redhead smiled and stepped back, her mind boggling at the image that last request had brought to her mind. Her friend Malista was still very naive in some ways. Torres accepting HER help in dealing with Tom Paris? Not bloody likely. Not in this century. Or the next. "Okay," Paris said. He took his position standing squarely on Haldersen's back. Ethan on one side and Lamont on the other, helped Malista balance as she climbed onto the bed, then with Tom's help up to his shoulders. From there it was an easy reach to pull herself up to the top of the wall. Paris climbed off the other man's back and jumped off the bed, craning his neck up to watch her. He was poised to try to catch her if she fell. He only hoped that if she fell, she would fall in the right direction. Towards him. Shadow was taking her time, balancing herself carefully on the partition. She looked down at the others. "Hey, it's wider than I thought. About five inches." "What can you see?" Haldersen asked, getting to his feet and joining the Malista watchers. "There are lots of rooms, but from here I can't see down inside them. I'm going to start walking in this direction and see what's there," she announced. She took the first step and frowned down at the group when both Janine and Megan groaned aloud. "I hate heights," Megan moaned, frowning up at her friend. "Be careful!" The Greek woman wrinkled her nose at the redhead. "Oh, it's plenty wide. Don't worry so much." "Five inches isn't that wide!" Lamont protested as she cringed at the thought of risking a bad fall by trying to balance on a strip five inches wide. "Sure, it is." To prove her point, Malista quickly did a forward flip, landing with perfect accuracy in the center of the partition. It might have scored a ten in a gymnastics competition, but it only served to make her audience more anxious, the opposite of the effect she intended. With a gulp, Paris managed a weak smile. "Show off. Don't get too cocky, woman. Remember what happened to Icarus? Get to work. Don't forget, if you run into any problem, either come back here or give up. If they point one of those sticks at you, do what they want. There's nothing to be gained from trying to fight them directly." "Yes, Tom," she said indulgently. "I know. 'To withdraw is not to run away, and to stay is no wise action, when there's more reason to fear than to hope.' I remember. I will be careful, I promise." "Oh, great, now she's quoting Cervantes," Paris grumbled. "I knew I should have left him off that reading list. He's going to fill her head with all kinds of fantastic ideas." "Hey, if you can quote Milton, I can quote Cervantes," Malista teased as she began her journey. "Who?" Delaney asked, bemused. "Miguel Cervantes. Don Quixote. The Man of La Mancha in the musical version," Paris replied, his eyes fixed on Shadow as she walked along the partition until she disappeared from sight "I really should read more than starcharts, I guess," Megan sighed. "Maybe I'll borrow Malista's reading list when we get back to Voyager." A few minutes later, the five humans suddenly found themselves staggering as the room shook. "It's some kind of seismic tremor!" Simms shouted, grabbing Lamont protectively and pulling her to the side of the room near the doorway. As quickly as it had begun, it was over. "Malista!" Megan exclaimed. "Could she keep her balance through that?" Paris turned stricken eyes towards the top of the wall. "Malista!" he shouted. She should still be in hearing range, shouldn't she? There was no response. The humans traded glances. "We should give her some time," Lamont suggested. "Maybe she'd already found out where they're keeping our equipment. She may not have even been on the wall." That argument was weak and she knew it, but she couldn't help trying to keep positive thoughts going. Paris flashed a grim glance at the petite blonde. Without a word, he began to pace, silently counting the seconds with each measured tread. He would give her an hour. No, thirty minutes. No, make it an hour. Then he was going after her. He could rationalize it as a rescue mission. Or as a second patrol going out since the first failed to report in. But the truth was simple enough: there was no way he could or would stay here or leave the planet without knowing for certain what had happened to Malista Shadow. He knew, as surely as he knew his eyes were blue, that he could not live with uncertainty about her fate. And he couldn't bear to think he had neglected any slim possibility of helping her. ************ "Captain, we're reading seismic activity on the planet's surface again," Chakotay announced as he peered at the console between their command chairs. Janeway quickly returned to her seat. She'd found herself hovering over Pablo Bateheart, the pilot in Tom's absence, as he made the course corrections necessary to bring the ship's sensors to a different angle. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she told herself. She just would have been more at ease if Tom Paris had been at the helm during the tricky maneuver of attempting to enter the planet's turbulent atmosphere. "Incoming," Chakotay announced. "All hands brace for impact." The entire ship shimmied as Bateheart fought for control as the ship was hit by a shock wave. Janeway lurched to his side and anchored herself to the back of his chair with one hand as she assisted him with helm control with the other as Voyager rode out the shock wave. With its passing, alarms made themselves heard as those on the bridge regained their footing and busily got to work at their assigned stations. "Damage reports are coming in from all over the ship," Kim noted. "No casualties or serious injuries. Minor damage to the starboard shields which took the brunt of the shock wave." B'Elanna Torres was quickly and methodically reviewing engineering systems from her station. "Inertial dampers are off-line. Guidance control is off-line." Janeway acknowledged the information with a nod. "What was that?" "Evidently when they have seismic activity, it has very serious consequences," Chakotay mused wryly. "According to my readings, on this occasion the planet's crust ruptured simultaneously in two locations and emitted powerful discharges of detritus, gases, and thermal energy," Tuvok stated. "The resulting conflagration propelled debris into the atmosphere with a high magnitude of force, which in turn was responsible for----" "You mean two volcanoes erupted at the same time and the gases and shock wave pushed the ship out of the atmosphere?" Chakotay interrupted. The stoic Vulcan's demeanor did not betray any hint of annoyance or amusement. "That is what I said, Commander." Turning her back to the Vulcan, Janeway rolled her eyes, then fixed them on her first officer. "Have you been taking smart mouth lessons from Tom Paris, Commander?" she murmured as she resettled in her chair. Chakotay's dimpled flashed briefly in her direction though he kept his eyes on his monitor. "Captain, we will discuss that remark at a later date," he murmured. "The force of this seismic quake was much more severe than the one we monitored an hour ago. About twice as powerful." Janeway let that one go. "Mr. Kim? What's the condition of the dome? Can you tell from your readings if this quake had any affect on the city?" Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of bright light and spun toward its source even as the intruder alert sounded once more. Standing between the conn station and the forward viewscreen were four astonished, bedraggled human beings. Four of Voyager's six missing crewmembers. ***************** Megan Delaney had been watching Tom Paris pace for almost an hour. There wasn't much else to do for entertainment. And she was puzzled and slightly put out. At one time, she'd thought she knew him pretty well. They'd dated, flirted, even necked on occasion. The relationship hadn't gone any further because Tom had constantly backed away with a laugh, a smile, a flirtatious remark. Now she was beginning to think she'd never scratched the surface. Never understood him at all. He'd never allowed her to see him the way she'd seen him in these circumstances. Vulnerable. Angry. Emotionally involved. Every few minutes, Paris would stop for a moment, listen intently, then begin his march once more. Megan didn't think he was aware that he was muttering under his breath, a continuous flow of numbers. She thought he might be counting his steps though it seemed like an exercise in futility to her. Still watching the pilot, she stepped nearer to the bed where Ethan Simms and Janine Lamont were seated. "What do you think we should do, Ethan?" Delaney whispered. "I'm getting worried about him. If Malista doesn't show up soon---" She left the rest of that thought unspoken. She was trying to starve her imagination, which insisted on feeding her gruesome mental pictures of her friend being tortured in the name of science by some alien, and therefore, scary race. "That's it!" Paris announced emphatically. He spun on his heel and faced his team. "By my count, it's been almost an hour since she left. If she didn't run into trouble, she'd have reported back by now." "So what do you---" Simms didn't get the question half out of his mouth before Paris pounced. "I'm going after her." He paused, waiting for the arguments. The other four looked at each other and back at him. Their tired expressions told him nothing. "What?" he exploded impatiently. "What do you want us to say, Tom?" Megan asked, her blue eyes searching his. The tall blond man combed his fingers agitatedly through his hair. "I don't know. I know I have a responsibility to you, to all of you, but I---" "We won't be any better or worse off with you here," Lamont commented matter-of-factly. "Janine is right," Simms agreed. "We can't escape. We can't communicate or negotiate with our captors. We're obviously outclassed in terms of technology. We're going to be stuck here until Voyager finds us and rescues us---or until we find a way out for ourselves." The ensign smacked his good knee with his fist. "Damn it, if my leg wasn't so- --I feel so useless." "Join the club," Delaney muttered unsympathetically. "Go, Tom. It may not help, but it couldn't hurt either." "I just wish I could predict what the aliens will do," Haldersen grumbled. "If we only had more information." "That's what Malista and I are looking for," Tom averred, his firm jaw setting in determination. "Now all I have to do is get to the top of the wall." "Maybe if I keep my bad knee up, I can kneel on all fours, I mean threes," Simms quipped lightly, "then Sven can stand on my back and you can climb onto his shoulders. That ought to give you enough height to reach the top." Lamont made a movement of protest, quickly halted as he shook his head. "I'll be careful." Megan sighed. "I suppose Janine and I can try to steady you and Sven." The plan was implemented within moments. Tom made it to the top of the wall, pulled himself up and rose to a standing position. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Take care of each other." 'This isn't as easy as Malista made it look,' Tom thought as he began carefully placing one foot in front of the other, holding his arms straight out from his shoulders to assist him in balancing. He was glad to be doing something. Anything was better than sitting and waiting. No matter what Milton said. "Do you feel that?" Janine asked, darting a look at the floor. Not waiting for an answer, she shouted a warning. "Lieutenant, there's going to be another----" Another tremor hit. As the world shook, Tom lost his balance. He toppled down, caught the top of the wall with one hand and went crashing into the wall with one side of his body as he scrambled frantically for a better hold. Hanging there, struggling to gain some purchase for his feet in order to brace himself, he caught a flash of the bright white light that always seemed to precede the alien transport or probe. It was coming from the room he'd just left. "Oh, great. Now what?" he complained, rolling his eyes skyward. "Is this a test?" He received no immediate audible answer from a Higher Power. All he could do was hold on for dear life until the quaking stopped. When the world had steadied itself once more, he made a great effort and pulled himself back atop the wall. It was much harder this time around. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and sore. But he wasn't ready to give up yet. The infamous Paris stubbornness was occasionally good for something. Once he had precariously regained his footing, he made his way back to the cell. The room was empty. The rest of the away team had vanished just as suddenly as they'd arrived. "Well, that simplifies things, Tommy boy," he mused aloud. "Either the aliens took them to another location for testing or they've been moved to another, more secure cell because the aliens did catch Malista running around." He carefully shook himself and stretched, trying to loosen tightening muscles which aggravated the stiffness in his back and neck. "Whichever the scenario, I can't do anything for them. So that leaves---looking for Malista. Which is what I wanted to do anyway. And stop talking to yourself, Paris. If the aliens are listening, they'll think you're certifiable. And if you don't get out of here soon, you will be." Turning back in the direction in which Malista had gone, Tom began to retrace his steps. He was hardly aware that he had replaced talking to himself with humming. If he had noticed, it might have amused him to recognize that the tune he was humming was "The Impossible Dream". ******************* A quick visit to Sickbay had restored the four crewmembers to good health. The doctor had been impressed by Ensign Simms' account of Paris' first aid treatment of the injured. It seems the lieutenant had paid more attention to the doctor's lectures than he had believed. While being treated and waiting for treatment, Neelix had managed to fill one of the doctor's prescriptions by providing liquid and solid refreshments to the four who were mildly dehydrated and, in Sven's case, severely undernourished---for Sven. Properly dressed in fresh uniforms, the four joined the senior staff in the briefing room to give a complete report. Before the newcomers had settled into place, B'Elanna Torres burst out, "What happened to Tom?" Harry Kim darted out a hand and snagged her arm, pulling her back into her chair as she started to her feet. "Lieutenant." With one word, Janeway reasserted her authority and regained the attention of everyone in the room. "We have not forgotten that we still have two crewmembers missing. I'd like to hear an account of your experiences. Would you like to begin, Mr. Simms?" She chose the Security Officer because he was trained to prioritize and would get right to the most important information. Within thirty minutes the staff had been brought up to date on what had occurred on the planet's surface, including Haldersen's theories concerning the nature of the testing the away team had been subjected to. The discussion of the confrontation with the aliens captured everyone's interest. "When they tried to separate Malista from the group, Tom interfered---" Simms explained. "Of course, he did," Torres muttered, shaking her head. "And they killed him," Megan Delaney declared. Before the Chief Engineer could react with more than a searing glance, the redhead quickly continued, "But fortunately, Malista got him breathing again." With a reproving glance at Delaney for her typical lack of tact, Lamont continued, "He was fine when we last saw them. They both were. The aliens decided not to take Malista after all. We decided---" She faltered to a halt as she remembered that she certainly didn't want to be the one to deliver an unexpurgated report of the away team's speculations concerning the reasons the aliens had decided against separating Paris and Shadow. Torres' control over her emotions was already tenuous, at best, and Janine didn't want to upset Harry Kim further. "We decided it was time to stop being so passive and do some recon," Simms supplied. "Malista thought she could walk along the top of the wall and gather information. Uh, after some, uh, discussion, the lieutenant agreed---" As Simms continued, Torres and Kim exchanged glances. Something else had happened and the Security Officer was dancing around the point, either because it was a personal matter or to spare someone's feelings. It didn't matter right at this moment. But the two of them were going to know everything that went on down there. They'd just wait and ask Tom and Malista. They wouldn't accept the idea of any other possible outcome. Having wordlessly settled that issue to their mutual satisfaction, Torres and Kim returned their attention to the away team's report. "---and the last we saw of Lt. Paris, he was walking along the top of the wall. That's when the tremor hit and we were suddenly back on the ship," Simms concluded. "So you have no idea where the two of them are? You never succeeded in communicating with the aliens to any extent?" Janeway mused. Chakotay frowned thoughtfully. "I don't understand why they sent you back at all. If they were going to send you back, why now? Maybe when we took the ship into their atmosphere, they decided to get rid of us by returning you." "But why would they send back these four and keep Malista and Tom?" Harry Kim complained. "If they finished their testing and came to some conclusion as to our sentience or non-sentience, you'd think they'd return ALL the specimens they took. Not just some of them." "Maybe because they weren't in the same room with the others?" Neelix suggested hopefully. "When they find them, the aliens may send Tom and Malista back as well." The captain turned thoughtful gray eyes upon the scientist. She had the impression that he was holding back. "Is there something more, Mr. Haldersen?" The big blond scientist flinched visibly. "It would be purely speculation, Captain." She waved a hand at him, encouraging him to continue. "That's all right. You seem to have done well so far. If this were your experiment, why would you return some, but not all, of your test subjects?" He darted a quick glance around the room, his eyes barely skimming each face before dropping them to fixate on the table directly in front of him. "It would probably depend on if they concluded that we are sentient. If the aliens concluded that we are sentient, they would probably return ALL the specimens. At least, that's what ethical Federation scientists would do. However, if they decided that we are not, that we are, in fact, non- sentient animals of some type...." He stopped to take a sip of water from the glass in his hand. "If they concluded that Voyager's crew are non-sentient animals...." Janeway prodded. "Then they would probably free the specimens they no longer needed. If there was no interest in long term study. Or if they were afraid of disrupting our ecosystem by removing too many of its inhabitants," Haldersen explained. "But why would they keep two?" Torres exploded. "For mating purposes?" Megan Delaney squeaked spontaneously, then almost melted from the heat of the glare the Chief Engineer sent scorching her way. "Sorry." Megan clasped her hands in her lap and mentally took a vow of silence. It was safer. "Not likely," Chakotay stated. "If they were interested in mating or breeding humans in captivity, they would have kept all six. Just for the safety in numbers. You can't always guarantee a viable match so you would want a larger herd---never mind. Just say that's not the reason that comes to my mind." "Nor mine," Janeway agreed grimly. "Would you like to say it, Mr. Haldersen, or shall I?" "What?" Neelix asked innocently. "Why would they keep Tom and Malista?" Haldersen clenched his big fists. Still without looking up, he went on in an even, pedantic tone. "The final step in testing non-sentients is often---a male and female pair would provide all the information needed to understand the anatomical structure and the function of the---" He hesitated once more. "Dissection. The final step in this sort of experiment usually involves dissection." The stillness in the room was broken only by the sound of breathing. ***************** After almost falling four times, Tom Paris had decided to settle for crawling along the top of the wall rather than walking. It was a little slower going, but he felt more comfortable and less likely to take a header. Malista was definitely better at this than he was. Most of the rooms near their former cell seemed to be labs of some sort. Paris peered down from his lofty perch into the fifteenth room that he'd checked out. And that's where he found her. She was leaning against the wall he was standing atop and watching a cluster of aliens who stood about twenty feet in front of her. There were twelve aliens in the room, these much smaller, maybe half the size of the others they'd seen. They were wrapped from head (?) to toe (?) to tentacle (?) in the same enveloping brown robes which totally concealed their physical form from view. These smaller aliens didn't appear threatening. If anything, their body language gave Paris the impression that they were a little intimidated by her as they studied Malista curiously. It seemed to be a question of who was watching whom. Malista was staring back at them with equal intensity. No one was moving or making a sound. As she heard Tom's approaching hum, she cast her gaze upward and smiled with relief before snapping wary eyes back to the aliens. "Malista? Are you okay?" Tom inquired as he slowly lowered himself to a sitting position on the wall. "I'm fine," she said a little too brightly. "I---uh---jumped down into this room during the first quake and I've been here ever since. They haven't done anything except watch me. And I didn't know what to do either. I thought they would sound an alarm, arrest me or--- or do something!" Paris jumped down, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, letting his legs bend to absorb some of the shock of impact. It didn't help. The jarring still sent a ribbon of pain winding up his spine and neck and he couldn't stop a hiss of pain from escaping his clenched lips. Shadow's hand shot out to steady him and drew him close to her side. "Are you okay?" Looping his arm around her shoulders, Tom turned stern blue eyes on her. "Don't ever scare me like that again, Sis. You cost me some years off my life that I can't afford to lose. Hey, look at that!" She followed his stare. What had caught Tom's eye, however, was that the aliens had paired off and, in perfect imitation of the humans, now had their arms---or what passed for arms---around each other. "Monkey see, monkey do?" Tom mused aloud. "What?" Malista whispered. "What do monkeys have to do with anything? These aliens don't resemble any primate I've ever seen!" "Do you have to be so literal? That's Harry's influence. Got to be. Never mind that now. Look at them. They're copying us." "So?" "So...." Tom hesitated. "Maybe we can communicate? What's that thing over there?" With his free hand he gestured toward the only piece of equipment in the room, a large square console against the wall to their left. He was slightly amused to note that the aliens copied that gesture as well. "I don't know, but when I first got here there was a light display emanating from it. It was throwing a pattern of multicolored spots on the opposite wall. And there was a rattling noise. It just kind of died down a few minutes ago," Shadow replied. "Tom, what are we doing?" she hissed as he led her into a sidewise sliding motion, taking a slow, step by step approach to moving them closer to the equipment. The aliens mirrored their every move, always carefully maintaining the same safe distance out of reach of the two humans. "We're going to find out what that is," Paris said, smiling with practiced ease. He didn't know if the aliens understood human expressions, but his charm and handsome features had helped him in too many situations to ignore their existence and possibly positive influence. "We don't have a tricorder. We don't know what it is. What are we going to do?" Shadow insisted, slightly calmer now that her 'big brother' was close at hand. They stopped next to the equipment and studied it for a few moments. "It has buttons," Paris stated. "Lots of buttons. And a dial." "Well, that's certainly informative," she commented. He waggled a red-gold eyebrow at her. "So let's push some buttons!" "Tom!" She wasn't sure if he was serious. "You don't know what it will do! That could be dangerous!" "Hey, if it was dangerous, would they let us get near it?" he asked reasonably, turning his charming smile on her. It was Smile Number Five on B'Elanna's scale---wicked and inviting its target to join him in mischief. "I think there's a flaw in that logic somewhere," she protested quietly. She sighed again. She had no more resistance to that smile than B'Elanna Torres or Harry Kim. "But damned if I know where. Okay. Which buttons?" Paris shrugged. The aliens all shrugged. At least he thought they did. Smaller motions were more difficult to detect under those voluminous robes. He began pushing buttons at random. Malista did the same. They stopped abruptly when the panel began to make clicking noises and a stream of colored flashes of lights began to appear on the opposite wall. The little aliens turned sideways so they could keep both the lights and the humans in view. "So what is this? Is this all it does? It doesn't seem to operate anything else?" Malista asked, frowning her puzzlement as she studied the flashing lights. There were approximately twelve different colors of spots and short rays of light bouncing on the blank wall opposite the machine. Tom's eyes suddenly widened. "We talked about the flashing lights being their language, right?" She nodded. "Now listen to the clicks." She frowned more deeply, then shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, Tom. I just don't understand what you're getting at. The lights seem to be just a random manifestation of some sort of---" Tom held up his free hand to stop her. His motion was echoed by the aliens. "Man, this is getting spooky," he whispered, disconcerted by the duplication of his every move. "But listen to the clicks. They aren't random. There's a rhythm. Da-di-da-da-da. Di da dum dum da." Her eyebrows flew up almost to her hairline. "Listen, Malista," Tom insisted. He began to snap his fingers to the beat he was hearing in the clicks. She nodded slowly, with dawning comprehension. "So are the clicks the language? Or is it the flashing lights?" Paris narrowed his eyes. "It's not just a click. Can't you feel the vibration? It's almost like the clicks are reverberating through the walls...like a speaker system?" "What are you saying, Tom? You think this device is---" He grinned broadly. "I think it's a music box." "You mean a piano?" She eyed him dubiously. He shook his head. "No, a music box. The old ones used to have a key to wind the mechanism, but with the newer ones you just flick a switch and it plays music." She smiled weakly as if willing to humor him. "Okay. And you think this is their version of a music box?" "Sure. Don't you get it? Doesn't the beat sound familiar? You've heard it before. At Sandrine's. I've played it on the piano. That's The Pakled Polka." "What?!" Her voice was a squeak of disbelief. **************** "How are the repairs going, B'Elanna?" Chakotay asked, striding into Engineering. In answer, Torres tilted her head back and bellowed, "Carey! How are you coming with the inertial dampers?" Joe Carey's curly head emerged from behind a large console on the upper level. "Systems will be restored in thirty minutes, Lieutenant," he replied, not at all disconcerted by his chief's unorthodox manner of communication. "Make it fifteen!" "I canna change the laws of physics," Carey muttered in a perfect imitation of Starfleet's most famous engineer, as he sank back down out of sight to return to work. "WHAT?!" It was a mild roar---for the Chief Engineer. His head popped back up. "I'm doing my best, Lieutenant, but if it isn't done right, it will just have to be done again! Which will make for a very short trip." His expression was perfectly deadpan. Torres started to reply sarcastically, but felt a hand on her arm and instead looked at Chakotay. "Let him work," the first officer said quietly. "We can't make another pass at that dome until we get those inertial dampers online!" she retorted. "I've almost got guidance control working to optimum efficiency---not that you're going to get that with Bateheart at the helm!" she added scathingly. Her eyes turned upward towards Carey's position once more. "Yelling at your subordinates isn't going to speed repairs. You're slowing them down by interrupting," the commander reasoned. "I know it's hard to wait----" She'd been doing so well at first. But now she wasn't on the bridge trying to keep Harry Kim from worrying himself into uselessness and had time to focus on her own fears. Mentioning guidance control had brought Tom Paris forcefully to mind. "What if Haldersen is right?" The words erupted from her as if they could no longer be contained. "What if those aliens are---" "You don't know that!" Chakotay interrupted sharply. "Don't let your imagination take wings, B'Elanna. Remember, Tom Paris evidently has more lives than the proverbial cat! How many times have we written him off as lost? And he's always come back---usually with a smart ass comment to make about how long it took us to come to his rescue." Torres clenched her fists and struck out at the nearest bulkhead. Even Klingon strength didn't---quite---make a dent. "I hate waiting!" she seethed through gritted teeth. ***************** As tired, thirsty and hungry as they were, The Pakled Polka's rapid rhythm quickly took its toll on the humans. The aliens didn't seem to be the least bit fatigued but faithfully imitated every move. Or did their best at any rate. An awkward best. Tom Paris returned to the 'music box' and pushed a few more buttons. He was rewarded by a change in the pattern of the lights flashing. He turned the only dial on the console and the tempo of the clicks modified as well. "What does that sound like?" Malista licked dry lips, trying to catch her breath. "Like your imagination is running away with you?" "Come on! Just listen to the rhythm of the sounds and use your own imagination to fill in the blanks where the musical notes ought to go." He couldn't believe she couldn't hear it as easily as he did. Harry would have. "One-two-three, one-two-three---a waltz?" she ventured. "Yeah," Paris agreed and reached for his partner once more. He began to hum the tune to "Ten Minutes Ago", the waltz from the Rodgers and Hammerstein version of Cinderella that the Delaney twins were so eager to perform. "Tom, what's the use? What are we trying to accomplish? Teaching the aliens to dance?" Though protesting, she began to waltz with him. Well matched in height, they danced gracefully together as the aliens clumsily tried to follow their movements. "We're trying to communicate," the lieutenant replied. "Remember, Sven said some insects dance to communicate. Maybe these little guys will get the idea that we are intelligent, sentient beings. Dancing is an art form in almost every culture the Federation has ever contacted. Of course, there's such a wide variety of styles..." "I don't think they're very good at waltzing," Malista stated, as the aliens stumbled around in a clumsy repetition of the human's movements. "They don't seem too coordinated to me." Paris suddenly stopped and slapped a palm to his forehead. "Damn! Of course not! Their anatomy isn't the same as ours. Think about it. From what little we've seen, their bodies seem to be less---less rigid. Their skeletal structure isn't like ours. They may be invertebrates." He left Malista standing alone in the center of the room, surrounded by the alien pairs, as he ran back to the machine. Panicked for a moment, she froze in place, following him only with her eyes. "Tom! What are you doing?" She took a deep breath and comforted herself as she noticed the aliens didn't make an aggressive move. They seemed to be waiting for the humans' next motion. Paris was pushing buttons and fiddling with every control. "I'm trying to find some kind of music that you can dance to. That slinky stuff you warm up with. Or the jazzy stuff you play when you do your gymnastics workout." "The interpretive---" Shadow spluttered. "Tom---" In her exasperation with her companion, she forgot her own self-consciousness and their watching audience. Malista stalked toward the man, intent on demanding some kind of explanation. He must have hit the right combination for he spun on his heel to face her with a triumphant grin. "Listen to that!" "What? It's just clicking!" She raised her voice in exasperation. He exhaled noisily as he frowned his disapproval and aggravation at her lack of cooperation and imagination. "Listen. You can hear the music if you try!" She folded her arms across her chest and scowled back at him. "All I hear is a clicking, rattling noise. That is NOT music and I can't dance to that. And what's the point anyway?" "Interpretive dance, not just a pattern like the Romulan Rumba or a Saturn Spin! A repetitive pattern could be misinterpreted as just rote behavior. If you could dance something that would demonstrate creativity, illustrate the way our bodies move, express some feeling---it might get our message across!" In his unbridled enthusiasm at finally having a working plan in mind, he surged forward and grasped her upper arms, lightly shaking her. He was slightly disconcerted to notice out of the corner of his eye that the little aliens were continuing to mock his every movement but kept his attention on his 'little sister'. "What message?" she sighed tiredly, leaning forward to rest her head on his shoulder. Putting one hand around her to rest on her waist, he used the other hand to tip her chin up. For a brief moment, he really looked at her. Her eyes were dull, her skin dry, her lips beginning to chap and crack from dehydration. He probably looked just as bad, if not worse. He would guess they'd been without food or water for at least eight hours by now. If not longer. And to top it off, Malista had already had a roller coaster of a day emotionally and physically before being taken prisoner. It was no wonder she was ready to lie down and quit in her weariness. But Tom wasn't ready to let her. He said the magic word. "Harry." A spark of interest and hope widened her eyes as she studied him. "Harry is waiting for you. Malista, I think we have a chance at this. And if it doesn't work---" She raised her eyebrows at him. "If it doesn't work?" That scapegrace grin was back, though he was worn out himself. "Then we can have fun dancing to the music. And we aren't any worse off than we were back in that cell. These little guys seem to find us entertaining. Who knows? Maybe they'll send us on the road--- we'll do dancing exhibitions all over the planet---play only the best clubs! Be the idols of millions!" A wide grin started to spread across her face. "You, Tom Paris, are positively, absolutely, unmistakably a certified lunatic." He tilted his head to one side. "Yeah. So?" Her lips trembled. She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him against her in a tight hug. "And I love you." She held the embrace for a warm, sustaining moment, then took a step back, pressing a quick, dry kiss on his cheek. "I just wish I wasn't so thirsty." "Yeah, I know what you---whoa! Look at that!" Her head snapped up to follow his gaze. Two of the small aliens had left the group and were standing next to a wall. A panel suddenly slid open. The aliens brought out a tray that had twelve bottles on it. The necks of the bottles were long and thin, no more than a centimeter in diameter. The alien bearing the tray walked straight to the humans and offered the tray to them. "Serving your guests first, huh? Well, you have better manners than the big guys around here." Tom gingerly took two bottles off the tray, handing one to Malista, then holding up the one in his hand to inspect it. It was made of a flexible plastic of some kind and was filled with a thick liquid. It wasn't water, but it was liquid. Tom raised an eyebrow at Malista. She smiled halfheartedly. Ten of the other aliens took the remaining bottles from the tray and held them waist high in front of them. It was so quick, the humans almost missed it. Something that resembled a straw darted out of the area of the robe where they presumed the aliens' faces to be. The snout, or whatever it was, disappeared down the neck of the bottle and sucked the liquid up in a matter of milliseconds. "You think we should drink it?" Malista asked wistfully, eyeing the bottle. She sniffed at its contents. "It smells sweet." "Let me try it first." He raised the bottle and tilted it over his waiting mouth. Nothing. Malista frowned. "Maybe you have to squeeze it?" With a slight shrug, Paris did just that. A thick glop of the orange-brown liquid plopped out and splattered into his mouth. And onto his chin. And onto his chest. Shadow giggled. Paris glared at her. Totally unrepentant, she asked, "What does it taste like? Or did you get enough in your mouth to be able to tell?" Using his fingertips to collect the errant drops, he scraped them off in his mouth and smacked his lips. "Thirst quenching but rather sweet. A saucy little vintage with a fruity bouquet---" "Oh, stop!" She aimed a lazy swat at his arm. "Stop making fun of Trent." The urbane Lt. Salaka fancied himself as quite a connoisseur of fine liqueurs and wines. Tom was doing a perfect impression of one of his commentaries. "What does it taste like? Are you feeling okay?" "Sweet. Fruity. Sort of like those fruit nectars Neelix concocts. Go ahead. Try it." Paris watched in great disappointment as she tilted her head back, aligned the mouth of the bottle with her own, and squeezed gently as if milking the plastic container. The liquid flowed in a thick but steady stream right between her lips. She stopped, swallowed, and smiled smugly. "It is good." "Why are you so good at that?" Paris prodded suspiciously. Her smile widened. "These bottles remind me of the wineskins my uncles and father used. Old Greek tradition. Just keep the pressure steady and it smoothes the flow." "How did they know we were thirsty?" Tom asked abruptly. "What?" "They've never seen humans before so they don't know how we're supposed to look, so they couldn't know we look thirsty. But they knew we were thirsty and did something about it! How did they know?" "Maybe they were just thirsty?" she ventured. Paris turned a skeptical eye on their hosts. "Maybe. Or maybe they're doing a better job of learning our language than we are of learning theirs." He tilted the bottle and took another drink. More of the liquid made it into his mouth this time. He felt a sudden surge of energy. "Hey, this stuff is good. I feel better already." "Maybe it's like a protein drink---high in nutrients. It really is thirst quenching," Shadow commented. She drank some more then set the bottle down on top of the music box as it stopped playing. They both stared at it for a moment. "Is it getting warmer in here?" Paris asked suddenly. Malista grinned at him. "I don't know. But I tell you one thing. I feel a lot better. I'm ready to dance. Let's go." She tugged the knife out of her waistband and put it down atop the console, next to their drinks and out of reach of the aliens. "This might get in the way." "Yeah," Tom replied, nodding happily. "Let's crank up this music box and see what we can find." "I don't care what you find on there. I want you to sing." "Sing? Why?" Tom stepped back towards the machine, ready to fiddle with the controls. "If I'm going to dance---you're going to sing!" "Sing!!?" "Hey, that stuff sounds like clicks to me," she remonstrated. "If it sounds like music to you, then you can sing it. Or hum, whistle, or scat it!" "Oooookay," Tom drawled, listening to the 'music' and trying frantically to match it up with a song he knew the lyrics to or the songs he could at least make the sounds of the instruments to provide more music than just the clicking rhythm. Unnoticed, the aliens had formed a circle around the humans, waiting patiently for their next move. Paris knew, if he could get the right kind of music going, she would quickly become one with it. She'd told him that music always seemed to exhilarate and energize her, setting her spirit free in ways that she would normally never express. That's what Harry should do to loosen her up. Take her dancing. He'd suggest that if---when they got back to the ship. "You may have to get really creative. I don't know how to select the kind of music you want. I've seen you dance in your warm-ups. Just do whatever feels right." "Whenever you start singing." She stretched and waited for her cue. "Any requests?" he teased. "How about something that starts slow and builds? Something slinky." Tom's eyebrows flew up. "Slinky? Oooookay. I can do slinky." "How about that song Sue Nicoletti played on her oboe at the last concert? That classical thing." As she spoke, Shadow moved to the center of the room and began to stretch. The circle of aliens surrounding her mirrored her every move. They seemed much more interested in her movements than in Tom's relative stillness. "Bolero? By Ravel? That doesn't have words," Paris protested. "So hum it or make up some words," Shadow ordered impatiently. She stretched her hands high over her head and stood up straight, waiting for him to begin. Feeling a little foolish, the lieutenant nonetheless began humming. She began with slow, gradual movements of her fingers, then hands, then wrists. It was something like ballet, something like a gymnastics routine designed to demonstrate the function and flexibility of the human body and its joints. As Tom knew she would, Malista quickly became so absorbed in the dance that she forgot the circumstances. He increased the volume of his 'music' and settled back to take the role of appreciative audience. An observer would have thought she was there specifically to teach the small aliens the dance steps. She watched their efforts to duplicate her moves and repeated several until the aliens were successful. As the music built, she began to incorporate larger, swooping moves into her performance. It was almost a challenge dance. The aliens began to add their own moves which she duplicated. Laughing lightly with sheer exuberance, Malista tore the tie from her hair, tossing her head back and forth to enjoy the sense of freedom as the black waves swirled around her face. With a sound that was almost a purr, she arched and rippled her body from fingertips to toes in an undulating motion that caused Tom to swallow very hard. He recognized that move. He'd seen green Orion women dance in that manner. Paris wondered if B'Elanna would ever dance like that for him. Maybe Malista could give her lessons? Better not even to think about it. Not now. If Malista were wearing a proper costume rather than the ragged remains of her uniform.....Harry would be totally blown away. Tom grinned as he imagined the look on his best friend's face. He gulped again as she repeated the move twice more with a sensual emphasis that was all the more fascinating because she wasn't being deliberately provocative. He couldn't believe this was the self-conscious Malista Shadow. She was so---uninhibited. Tom reached for the bottle to relieve his suddenly reawakened thirst. For a moment, Shadow looked decidedly dangerous as she moved with cat-like grace demonstrating her litheness and agility. Springing into a leap and landing lightly on her feet, she crouched for a moment then bounced up, stretched out her arms, and went into a spin, a feral smile showing the gleam of white teeth. Feral? With that black hair, those glinting green eyes--- panther-like was a more apt description. That word picture inspired Tom with an idea. But revenge on those who'd been harassing Malista could wait until they got back to the ship. His glimmer of creative vengeance could only be enhanced by the addition of Delaney duplicity to the mix. "Tom! Let's pick up the pace!" She shouted as she spun in a graceful circle and encouraged her audience with gestures to join her. The small aliens complied with clumsy but energetic movements. "Something faster!" She ran to his side, snatched up her own liquid refreshment and polished off the contents. It filled her with energy that quickly spread a tide of warmth to every part of her body. Even her toes tingled. Her eyes sparkled as she seized Tom's arm and dragged him into the center of the circle of dancing aliens. He began to laugh. He vaguely wondered why everything in the room seemed to be so much brighter, so much more clearly defined, but shrugged it off and turned his attention to his giggling 'sister' who was demanding his participation. "Okay. How about a bar song?" He threw one arm around her waist, grabbed her other hand and hoarsely crowed, "Belly up, belly up to the bar, boys! Better loosen your belts! Only drink when you're all alone or with somebody else!" Singing at the top of his lungs, straining his voice but uncaring, he proceeded to lead the group into a dance that was a cross between a polka and a gallop around the room, with a few high kicks thrown in for good measure. He became adventurous and tried lifting her. She smacked his arm when he almost dropped her while attempting the third lift in as many minutes. He twirled Malista around like a top and they fell against each other laughing as she grew dizzy. It was becoming increasingly difficult to laugh, breathe, sing, and dance simultaneously and the temperature of the room seemed to be rising steadily. Or perhaps it was just their exertions that were making them both perspire so much? The little aliens romped through the steps with untiring enthusiasm though they lacked the skill and coordination of their human companions. A quiet hissing sound and a hint of movement snapped them all to attention as a door panel slid open. Two of the large aliens loomed in the doorway. Every moving body in the room screeched to a complete and undignified halt, human and alien alike. Tom Paris blinked owlishly at the intrusion. No one moved or spoke for approximately thirty seconds. Paris sighed with exaggerated sadness. "Ooops. Party's over. Daddy's home." He blinked again as his brain caught up with his mouth. He turned his gaze on Malista as his eyes lit up. She panted, trying to catch her breath as she gaped at him, staring from the large aliens to the small ones now crowded around the two humans. "You think?" she gasped. A delighted smile blossomed on the lieutenant's face. He snickered. **************** The senior staff, with the notable exception of Tom Paris, had once again reassembled in the briefing room. "The inertial dampers are online. Guidance control is optimal. Shields are fully restored. We're ready for another try whenever you are, Captain," Torres summarized tersely. "*Now* can we make another attempt?" Before anyone could comment further, the intruder alert sounded simultaneously with the appearance of the bright white light of the alien transporter. Tom Paris and Malista Shadow materialized standing atop the center of the briefing room table. Malista's knife, the protective eyewear The Six had been wearing when transported to the planet, and the various boots that had been discarded or lost along the way were lying in a neat pile near their feet. Those seated around the table stared for a moment in surprise at the sudden return of the two lost crewmembers. At first glance, it seemed Paris and Shadow were holding each other up as if unable to maintain their balance unsupported. They leaned against one another with arms around each other and panted for breath as if they'd just run a marathon. The two of them looked disheveled, sweaty, and tired, but appeared to be uninjured. Tom's blue eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. "Damn, I wish they'd give a guy some warning before they do that," he muttered, his usual smooth tenor sounding raspy. His free hand went to his temple. "Owwwwwwww. My head hurts." "Did you click your heels three times?" Malista accused breathlessly, then quickly covered her mouth with the fingertips of one hand as a hiccup escaped. Paris didn't waste his own breath on answering that cryptic question. As if too exhausted to bear her weight any longer, Tom loosened his grip and allowed Malista to slither down the length of his body to the tabletop in a controlled fall before dropping to his own knees beside her. Malista's breathing was forced and uneven as she landed on all fours, shaking her head as if trying to clear it. Before anyone else could react, the ever proper, Mr. Correct Starfleet Protocol, Ensign Harry Kim stood, scooped Crewman Shadow off the tabletop, and reseated himself holding the young woman firmly cradled in his lap. He wordlessly hugged her tightly to his body and buried his face in her neck muttering indistinguishable words of sheer relief. "Harry?" Malista's muffled and astonished voice could barely be heard by the others. "Angel?" Ensign Kim failed to respond audibly but his arms tightened around her. Bringing her own arms up and around the ensign's neck, Shadow snuggled into his embrace even as she protested, "Harry, Angel, I'm all sweaty." "Hush, Cookie." Kim tightened his grasp again, only easing up when he felt her gasp for air. Chakotay and Torres jumped to their feet and assisted Paris in climbing off the table. He lurched towards the chief engineer and managed to snag an arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him with a loopy grin. "Hi, 'Lanna! Miss me?" Torres snarled at him. "Megan Delaney said you almost got yourself killed!" "They're back on the ship?!" Paris chirped brightly. "Awwww, she 'xagerated. Don't believe her." Neelix gaped at the pilot. "He's drunk!" "I think you mean they---we are---" With a shaky sigh, Malista gave up on what she intended to say. Correcting Neelix's impression wasn't as important as returning her attention to soothing Ensign Kim, who was still holding onto her as if not totally convinced she'd returned or that she wouldn't disappear again. "Mmm. You smell good, Angel," she purred and nibbled at the back of his ear. Mr. Kim blushed furiously and grabbed her free hand which was attempting to snake down the neck of his uniform to reach bare skin. Fortunately, she didn't seem to resent his restraining her. If anything, it seemed to motivate her to be even more creative in the use of her mouth---and teeth which were now nibbling his neck and earlobes as if he were the main course of her next meal. Malista's sudden lack of inhibitions had the potential for causing serious discomfiture for both of them. "If by 'drunk' you mean inebriated or suffering from overindulgence in the ingestion of alcohol or other fermented beverages, there are at least seven other alternative explanations for Mr. Paris' and Ms Shadow's apparent incapacitation," Tuvok said pedantically. From the speaking look cast his way by the captain, the Vulcan concluded that no one was interested in hearing him expound on the subject. He raised an eyebrow but fell silent. "Fermented?" Tom's words were slurred as he blinked, trying to get Tuvok's appearance to focus into a more defined image. He was sure there was really only one Tuvok despite what his eyes were telling him. "Oh. That must be it. Hey, Sis! That juice they gave us was fermented. No wonder---Hey, we have to tell the Doc we found some real jungle juice!" He chortled, then caught his breath in a loud hiccup. His eyes widened as if astonished at the sound, then he grinned again. "Let's get them to Sickbay," Chakotay suggested, latching onto Tom's arm as the pilot swung it widely in an expansive gesture towards Malista Shadow that almost smacked the first officer in the face. Tom just smiled at his commander genially as if pleased to see him. That was a definite first. At the sound of Tom's voice, Malista lifted her head, blurrily seeking to identify the other occupants of the room. The moment her eyes lit with recognition on Kathryn Janeway, she became slightly agitated. Sitting up a little from Harry's embrace, she waved a beckoning hand vaguely in the captain's direction. "C-c-captain. Captain. Captain!" she called with increasing urgency. Torn between amusement and surprise, Janeway stepped towards her, bending to peer into her slightly unfocused green eyes. "Yes, Ms. Shadow?" Malista's brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. "I'm s'posed to---I need to---uh, Tom." Receiving no response, she raised her voice. "TOM!" Distracted from his efforts to tug one arm free of Chakotay's grasp and his attempt to wrap both arms around B'Elanna, Paris spun, staggered, and wound up draped face down over the back of a chair, hands flat on the table in front of him. "What?!" he demanded imperiously as he raised his head to stare at Shadow. "What did I want to talk to the captain about?" Malista pleaded earnestly. His expression went blank. "What? I don't know. Can't remember." He tried unsuccessfully to straighten and locate Torres. "B'Ella, beautiful B'Ella! Where are you?" he wheedled. With a disconcertingly swift change, he snapped his attention back to Malista and announced, "Apology." He grinned as if supremely self-satisfied that he'd come up with an answer for her, then shook his head warily. He was slightly confused to find that the room was apparently getting taller. And possibly starting to rotate? He squinted at the far wall of the room searching for a focal point. Chakotay stepped up behind the pilot. He got his arms under Tom's, locked his hands on the taller man's chest, and hauled him upright as he showed every sign of slowly sinking to the floor. "Definitely Sickbay," the first officer huffed as he attempted to get Paris to stand or at least balance on his own feet until he could get a better grip on the taller man. The first officer shot a 'help me' look at Lieutenant Torres. She held up both hands and backed away, carefully staying out of Paris' line of sight. She wasn't getting anywhere near Tom while he was under the influence. Not in public anyway. She knew from past experience the effect her presence would have. It would only increase his amorous mood and lead to embarrassment for both of them. Now if they were alone.....Maybe she could get him to his quarters before the effect wore off? Tuvok stood up and came around the table to assist Chakotay with his armload of unsteady conn officer. "Apology? Oh, yeah," Malista slurred. Following Starfleet protocol, she struggled to come to attention when addressing a superior officer, but didn't manage to accomplish it very well since she was still seated in Harry Kim's lap with one arm looped around his neck. "Cap'n, I want to apologize for my behavior this morning---was it this morning? Harry, Angel, was it this morning?" Gray eyes twinkling, Janeway answered for the ensign. "Yes, Crewman Shadow, it was this morning. Apology accepted. We'll deal with everything else after your---situation has been dealt with. You need to go to Sickbay now. We'll talk later." Harry Kim was amused by his besotted love's attempt at formality, but still overcome with relief at her safe return. He directed an apologetic look for his own unorthodox behavior toward the captain. To his relief, she nodded understandingly. It took some effort and a good sense of balance, but the ensign managed to get out of his chair and up on his feet with Malista in his arms as he prepared to carry her to Sickbay if need be. Slithering bonelessly out of Chakotay's and Tuvok's grasp, Paris hit the floor with a thump, sprawled, and began to laugh. "Hey, B'Ella! You look taller from down here." Captain Kathryn Janeway sighed ruefully as she took off her commbadge and stuck it on Paris' chest. She activated it and said, "Transporter room. Mr. Paris is wearing my commbadge. Please lock onto it and to Mr. Kim's comm signal and transport three directly to Sickbay." As the trio disappeared, Torres shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I can't wait to hear this debriefing." ****************** By the time Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Torres and Lieutenant Tuvok arrived in Sickbay a few minutes later, the doctor had a sleeping, shirtless Tom Paris lying face down on a biobed. The EMH was in the process of healing the numerous puncture marks along the lieutenant's spine. A concerned Torres went to stand next to the holodoctor, looking over his shoulder as he worked. "Doctor?" The captain's tone requested a report. "It seems that someone has been using Mr. Paris as a test subject," the holodoctor responded. "Tissue samples, fluid samples---beings of advanced technology, perhaps, but their grasp of medical procedures is questionable. They seemed to have used some form of 'hypodermic needles'," he explained indignantly. "Our science abandoned that particular brand of torture over----" "Yes, Doctor. I understand. They used old fashioned methods," the captain interrupted. "How is he? How are they?" Her eyes traveled quickly around Sickbay seeking the other patient. "Kes is helping Malista get cleaned up. Mr. Kim went to meet Mr. Neelix in the messhall and get them something to eat." The doctor answered the unspoken question first. "He seems to be fine. My preliminary scans showed no permanent damage to either of them. Mr. Paris is not unconscious. He fell asleep almost the moment we got him on the bed. They do seem to be exhausted, but I haven't been able to ascertain the cause. I have given each of them a dose of tricetylmylanacol. That will speed up the process of metabolizing the alcohol in their systems. There should be no side effects. They should be coherent and able to answer questions within a few minutes." Malista teetered unsteadily into view. She was wearing blue Sickbay pajamas and leaning heavily on Kes' shoulder for balance. The Ocampan settled her much taller charge on a biobed a few feet from Tom's. Shadow winced as she eased up onto the bed and allowed herself to stretch out. "Ow. I'm so sore," she mumbled, not really complaining but analyzing her current health status. Though he'd managed to ignore everyone else, Tom's eyes popped open at the sound of her voice and zeroed in on her location. "Why are *you* sore? I'm the one who got poked and prodded by inefficient alien doctors." He sounded perfectly sober now. She frowned vaguely in his direction as her right hand went up to massage her left shoulder. "Zeus, Tom! I fell off a wall! I think it's natural to have a few sore spots." "You didn't tell me you fell! You said you jumped!" Paris accused. Ignoring the doctor's attempts to keep him lying flat, he swung into a sitting position and glared at Shadow. "If you'd told me you'd fallen, I'd have been more careful, not let you exert yourself so much! Of all the irresponsible---" "Oh, for crying out loud! How did you *think* I really got off the wall? There was a seismic disturbance, you nitwit!" she grumbled back irritably, returning his glare with a pout of her own. She sat up and swung her legs off the edge of the bed so she sat facing Paris. Chakotay and Janeway exchanged amused glances. Something positive had occurred on that planet. Malista was no longer automatically deferring to Tom in order to avoid a confrontation. They were treating each other as equals. 'Equal siblings, at that,' Janeway thought. Their bickering reminded Kathryn forcefully of Phoebe and the way she and her sister had carried on when they got wound up about some trifling difference of opinion. "What did I tell you? I told you not to---" "I don't want to hear 'I told you so' from you. You don't know everything. You didn't know about the quakes---" Kathryn Janeway cleared her throat. It was sufficient. Both parties subsided into a guilty silence for an instant. "Sorry, Captain," the pair chorused and exchanged sheepish glances. Ensign Kim arrived with a tray and set it on the biobed next to Paris. Grabbing one of the purplish fruits they'd gathered during their tree climbing activities on Foster, he took it to Malista Shadow, leaving Tom to fend for himself. She scooted over, and mutely tugged on his arm. With a glance at Janeway for permission, which was granted by a nod, Kim hopped up to sit next to Malista on the bed. He held onto the fruit when she tried to take it from him, offering it to her as if intent on feeding her himself. She smiled her thanks and took a bite, her eyes never leaving his as he fed her. Torres, seeing that Tom was now sober and in control of himself and his libido, came around the biobed to stand next to him and make a visual inspection of his injuries herself. Paris grinned at her knowingly and snaked an arm around her waist. "I'm fine. Really." She selected a piece of fruit from the tree and offered it to him. His grin widened. "Now what does this remind me of?" Unsure of what he was referring to, but distrusting the mischievous glint in his blue eyes, Torres settled for a glare rather than a verbal response. Using rather more force than was strictly necessary, she shoved the fruit between his lips. He clenched it in strong teeth and took a large bite, then captured the rest of it in his own hand. Captain Janeway cleared her throat once more. Assured of being the center of attention, she fixed Tom with a steely gray glance. "I would like a report, Mr. Paris. We've heard from the other four away team members about the events leading up to their return. We'd like to hear what happened after that." "Were you able to communicate with the aliens? Is that why they returned you to the ship?" Chakotay added. Paris looked at Shadow to see if she wanted to offer an explanation of her own. Shadow returned his regard and with a hand gesture indicated he should answer. Finishing up his snack, the lieutenant shook his head. "I wouldn't exactly call it communicating. At least, not two way communication. I'm glad to hear the other four made it back to Voyager. I wasn't sure where they went when they disappeared. I started off to look for Malista. When I found her, she was in a room......" Fifteen minutes later, Janeway was shaking her head in bemusement. "Dancing? As a form of communication? Well, Mr. Paris, I've always said that you are an original." "Of course, I did all the dancing," Shadow whispered to Harry, throwing a teasing look at Tom. "Of course," Harry replied. "Tom let you do all the hard work. He tends to take advantage of you, you know." "I resent that," Tom replied saucily. "I danced that last dance with you." "You almost dropped me!" she retorted indignantly. "Don't ever dance with him, Harry. He's a klutz." Tom shrugged. "I have no intention of dancing with Harry. Besides, it's not my fault you're heavier than you look---" "Are you calling me 'fat'?" Her voice rose in indignation. Eyeing her tall, slender form and wondering how she could even ask that question, Tom shook his head. "That's not what I said. I said---" "Could we get back to the point?" Janeway said with mild exasperation. "The point at which the larger aliens made their reappearance?" "Sorry, Captain," they said simultaneously, then each scowled at the other. This tandem speaking thing was getting to be annoying. "So who were the larger aliens? Why were they larger?" Torres interjected. "Some kind of evolutionary divergence?" "The larger aliens were the grownups," Paris said smugly. He paused for a moment, to let the others absorb that remarkable statement then continued, "The small aliens were evidently their children. When Malista fell off the wall, she landed in their day care center, for lack of a better description." He smirked. "They must have had us under observation the whole time," Malista added. "I'm sure their security systems would have been designed to protect their children. Maybe it was just another test. To see how we'd react." "And you reacted by teaching their children to dance?" Commander Chakotay's dimples were fighting hard to make an appearance. He'd taken the first contact training course at Starfleet Academy, but he'd never heard of anything quite this bizarre. "Exactly what kind of dancing were you doing, Malista?" To the first officer's surprise, Shadow blushed a rosy red and tried to hide her face on Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyes flew to Tom's. Paris shrugged and waved a hand, indicating he would explain later. Harry's eyebrows flew up. He would hold Tom to that. "Commander," Janeway said warningly. "I don't think that's relevant." Hastily changing the subject to save Malista further embarrassment, Paris speculated, "I think when we couldn't understand their language---if that's what the colors and lights actually were---they tried to use some form of telepathy to communicate. But the adults weren't able to get a clear signal through. When they saw us interacting with the young ones, they must have seen that we managed to communicate sufficiently to get them to meet our needs. They didn't understand our language, but the kids picked up enough from us telepathically to know we were thirsty and to respond to that. The children seemed to be able to read us better. Maybe they were more on our wavelength. It was the children, not the adults, who figured out we were thirsty and provided us with, uh, refreshments." "The *kids* got you drunk?" Torres raised her eyebrows suspiciously. She knew Tom's sense of humor occasionally got the better of him, but she didn't *think* he would joke around to this extent during an official report. "I would speculate that the differences in physiology would play a part in the effect this so- called 'juice' had on Lieutenant Paris and Crewman Shadow," Tuvok stated firmly. "It is quite possible that the liquid refreshments were not intended to be intoxicating for the aliens who created it." "At the time, it didn't matter. We were thirsty enough to drink leola root stew. We were that desperate. But the greatest thing about that jungle juice is there's no hangover," Paris remarked brightly. "Too bad we couldn't get trade negotiations going for some of that stuff. Stronger and more flavor than synthale---" "Mr. Paris," Kathryn sighed. "Get on with your report." "Yes, ma'am," the pilot replied, an impudent grin teasing at his lips. "Once the adults arrived, they seemed to be trying to use the children as translators. We went back and forth for about thirty minutes, but I never did get a definitive idea of what they were trying to say. Just general impressions." The EMH finished healing the damage to the pilot's back and handed him a clean Sickbay pajama shirt. "Did you understand them better than I did, Sis?" Tom asked as he pulled the shirt over his head. "It was sort of like talking baby talk or using word pictures," Malista said thoughtfully. She flinched when everyone's eyes turned towards her. Harry bestowed an encouraging smile. "Go on. What did you think they were saying?" Keeping her eyes on Harry, she continued, "Tom and I haven't had a chance to discuss it, but I think they were telling us we'd---Voyager, I mean, had trespassed in their territory." "The planets in this system we were harvesting?" Kim asked. Malista nodded, then turned her eyes back to Tom, hoping he would take over again. Her new found self-confidence was being stretched to its limits right now. Paris was smiling in her direction. He tugged the waist of the shirt into place before returning his attention to the captain. "Yeah. That's the impression I got. They weren't exactly happy about it, but they didn't seem too upset." "They just want us to go away," Shadow interjected impulsively. "That came through pretty clearly." Tom nodded his agreement with her assessment. "I think Sven hit it on the head. We're so different from them that they weren't really sure if we were non-sentient animals or sentient beings. That's why the sampling, the testing, and the attempts to communicate." "Then the satellites belong to them?" Chakotay mused. "They must have been intended as warning beacons." "As I theorized when we first became aware of them," Tuvok stated blandly. "Is that a Vulcan version of 'I told you so'?" Torres inquired of Paris, a twinkle in her brown eyes belying her serious expression. He nodded sagely, throwing a teasing look toward the Head of Security. "I believe so. Is that what you mean, Tuvok?" Kathryn Janeway sighed---loudly. When had she lost control of this debriefing? Again. This had to be the strangest....."Let me get this straight, Mr. Paris. The aliens have no hostile intent and no interest in interacting with us further. They just want us out of their territory?" "Yes, ma'am. As I said, we didn't communicate all that plainly, but I believe that was the gist of it. Right, Sis?" "Yes," Shadow replied. "I'd like a written report from each of you on your perceptions. You may recall more details after you've gotten some rest." Janeway stepped closer to Malista, regarding her intently. "Crewman Shadow, we still have the matter of the sexual harassment charges to deal with." Malista visibly flinched back into Harry's welcome embrace. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, slid off the biobed and came to attention in the prescribed Starfleet manner. "Yes, Captain?" "I will not allow that kind of abuse to occur on a ship under my command, Crewman. I am seriously disturbed that you failed to report such behavior at once." Janeway's gray eyes studied the younger woman sternly. "Do you have an explanation to offer?" Her eyes flew to Harry, then to Tom as if hoping they would answer for her. When no response was forthcoming, she took a deep breath and said, "Cowardice, ma'am. That's the only---" "You are NOT---" "That's not fair---" Both Kim and Paris began to argue at the same time. "Gentlemen!" The whip crack of the captain's tone settled the issue. "This is not an open debate. I'm sure Ms. Shadow appreciates your supportiveness, but there are some things she must do for herself. And one of them is to take responsibility for her own actions---or lack of action." Assured of their continued silence, she said more gently, "Malista, you're tired and it's been a long, emotionally trying day. I think you should get some rest and tomorrow---at your earliest convenience---you may give Lt. Tuvok a written report on the incidences of harassment. The report will, of course, name those responsible and give as much detail as you feel is necessary to convey the nature and severity of the abuse." "Yes, ma'am," the younger woman whispered, then repeated the acknowledgment more firmly, her green eyes full of dread. Janeway stretched out an arm and placed a reassuring hand on the taller woman's shoulder. "Try not to worry. We will handle this. There will not be a repeat of those incidents. The guilty parties will be punished." At the captain's nod of dismissal, Harry Kim escorted Malista from the room, holding her so closely to his side it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. 'Those two are good for each other,' Janeway thought as she watched them with satisfaction. "Captain," Tom said in a slow, contemplative drawl. "Have you given any thought to the nature of the punishment for these pigs?" Kathryn's eyes met B'Elanna's. She closed one gray eye in a deliberate wink before rolling her eyes as she turned toward the pilot. "No, Mr. Paris. But I have the impression that you have given it some thought." "Yes, ma'am," Tom said with what Torres felt to be an ominously dispassionate air. Paris was never more dangerous than when it seemed he wasn't up to anything. "Do I want to know what you've been considering, Mr. Paris?" Janeway asked with excessive politeness. Tom's blue eyes widened in transparent innocence. "Oh, yes, ma'am. But I think it can wait till tomorrow. I'd like to sleep on my ideas---and run them past the Delaney twins for their---input. Megan and Jenny are sure to have a---unique perspective on dealing with the issue." Those bright white teeth flashed in a smile that reminded those present of a Sagdarian Sand Shark. At the mention of the Delaneys, Torres suppressed a shudder. If Tom was going to turn those two loose---! They all needed their rest. She tugged his arm, pulling him off the biobed. "Come on, Helmboy. Time for you to go beddy-bye. It's been a long day." Allowing himself to be towed toward the exit, Tom asked, "Why, B'Ella, is that an invitation?" The doors to Sickbay slid closed before those inside could hear the answer, but they did hear Tom's voice utter a loud, whiny "Owwwwwwww!". ****************** Tomorrow came a little sooner than Malista had been prepared for. She awoke starving, sore, and scared, not necessarily in that order of importance. A quick trip to the replicator solved the first problem, a hot shower took care of the second, but the third... She didn't know where to begin. The captain had ordered her to file a report. She knew how to do that. She just didn't know if she had the nerve to actually put into words what had happened and how it had made her feel. The more she thought about it, the more she didn't want to even attempt it on her own. She needed help. Asking Harry or Tom was out of the question. While it was comforting to know they wouldn't blame her for being the victim, she'd find herself constantly censoring her words in order to avoid upsetting them. Well, upsetting them more than they were already. If they heard the details, especially knowing that the harassment had NOT stopped at words and looks....If they knew it had gotten very close to assault.... Malista shuddered, staring once more at the blank datapadd. She didn't want either of them to lose his temper and get in trouble because of her. So who could she ask for help? B'Elanna. 'Of course. B'Elanna is my friend,' Malista told herself. 'And B'Elanna won't lose her temper as easily as Tom or Harry under these circumstances. She's a beautiful woman. She's probably dealt with this kind of thing before. She won't take my being attacked as personally as the guys would. Will she? No, of course not. ' So Malista called B'Elanna and asked for her help in preparing a report for Tuvok. Lieutenant Torres, sounding not at all surprised at the request, invited Malista to come to her quarters where they could work undisturbed. ****************** Crewman Shadow rapidly discovered that she had seriously underestimated Lt. Torres' reaction to the news that one of 'her' engineering staff had been the victim of harassment, not only during her personal time, but also while she was on duty---under Torres' supervision. They were both handling the subject matter fairly well while Malista was describing the minor events. It was a different matter entirely when she described the incident in the Biology Lab. The first burst of Klingon temper almost sent Shadow fleeing from the room. Torres was so furious that merely trying to form words to express her fury almost choked her. Malista waited until B'Elanna had regained some control---or at least had stopped cursing fluently in Klingon. When she continued, out of habit, Shadow tried to minimize what had happened and its effect on her. Quickly realizing what was going on, Torres refused to let her. "Malista, I want you to put down every leer, every sneer, every insulting remark. Just this once and then you'll never have to deal with it again." "But why are you so angry?" The meek tone of voice caught at Torres and brought her eyes back to the taller woman. B'Elanna knew she had to make it clear that it was not Malista that had just become an endangered species. "Because I should have known. I should have seen something was wrong. Especially when it began to interfere with you doing your job! No, I *did* know something was wrong and I didn't do anything about it." "B'Elanna, it wasn't your fault. I didn't tell you anything," Malista protested. "Tom says it's not my fault either. It theirs. The ones who did this. He says the only thing I did wrong was not making it clear to them that I wasn't interested. I didn't say 'No' with conviction and make it stick. So you shouldn't feel guilty. Don't take blame that isn't yours." Torres laughed reluctantly. "Helmboy sure has been spreading that little proverb around, hasn't he? Okay. We'll make a deal. You put down every grimy detail. I'll get as ticked off as I want, but I'll take it out on the furniture. Call it my way of venting. But you don't let it intimidate you or make you change what you need to say. Deal?" "Deal." Malista grinned at the shorter woman. Maybe Torres had a point about venting her wrath on inanimate objects. Maybe she would try it herself. Later. Three hours later, the report was finished. Malista Shadow was drying her eyes. Very few breakable objects remained unbroken in B'Elanna's quarters. Smashed pieces of pottery, plastic, and glass littered the floor like leaves fallen from a tree. "Ready to go to the Security Office?" Torres inquired, casually wiping a bit of blood off one scraped knuckle with a clean cloth. Shadow spared a glance for the debris around them. "Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up later," B'Elanna remarked. "We'll clean it up," Malista corrected. They exchanged grins of mutual understanding, a moment of rare rapport between two women with very different backgrounds and personalities. ****************** The Security Office was not meant to hold quite so many people. It was filled to capacity, except for the brig, when Torres and Shadow arrived. Lt.Tuvok and Ensign Mikel Hudson were the only ones who were actually supposed to be there. When Malista hesitated in the doorway, B'Elanna nudged her forward as she sent a brown- eyed glare around the room at Tom Paris, Harry Kim, Ethan Simms, the Delaney twins, and Ensign George Natwick. Shadow advanced toward the desk, padd in hand, trying to pretend the others smiling encouragement at her were invisible. Lt. Tuvok stood to accept the report. "Thank you, Crewman Shadow. Do you have anything you wish to add verbally to your written report?" "No, sir. I think---uh, I think it's all in there," she mumbled, blushing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. "Okay. What's going on?" Torres demanded. The occupants of the room turned their eyes toward Tom Paris. He lifted his hands in helpless innocence. "Nothing, B'Elanna. We were just---discussing possible sentences for those found guilty of sexual harassment. Just an objective, hypothetical discussion, you know?" "Uh-huh. Sure. And what conclusions have you reached?" Torres matched his innocuous tone perfectly, though her expression of impassivity could have used some work to make it more convincing. For some reason no one in the room, including Harry Kim, wanted to meet Malista's apprehensive green eyes. She looked to Lt. Tuvok who was busily reading her report. He glanced up. "Under the circumstances, I believe the captain will assign the guilty parties to work additional shifts performing the more unpleasant duties necessary to ensure the smooth functioning of the ship. At her discretion she may also reduce privileges and restrict them to their quarters for a specified period of time." "But, we ask ourselves," Tom began philosophically. "Is that enough? " "And you answer yourselves?" Torres asked, beginning to be amused. "No!!" The word was spoken in unison by everyone present except Tuvok and Shadow. "Does anyone really believe those options are enough to impress upon the minds of these dishonorable, despicable dastards that their behavior is totally unacceptable and will not be tolerated?" Paris was on a roll now. The words flowed from his lips like those of an expert orator. "Will restriction of privileges, loss of replicator rations, and doing disgusting duties, sufficiently make the point that we are absolutely furious that they would take advantage of the gentle nature of my sister and certain other women aboard this ship whom we consider as family members or treasured friends? That we are disgusted and repelled by their behavior?" He looked around as if gathering support. It was a futile gesture. He was preaching to the choir here. No one needed to be persuaded to agree with his point of view. The only possible dissenter was Lt. Tuvok, who was listening intently out of fascinated intellectual curiosity concerning Mr. Paris' rationale and methodology for his proposed course of action. The victim herself was staring at Paris with dawning dismay. "Oh, Zeus, Tom! *What* are you planning to do?" "He's just being dramatic, Malista. Tuvok isn't going to let him kill anyone. Or even inflict permanent damage," Torres said. Her words might have been more comforting if they hadn't sounded tinged with regret. "Sis, we talked about this before. *You* have to confront these guys. If anyone else does it for you, it won't stick. Well, maybe it would if we pounded them, which I personally find an appealing option," Paris admitted, "but it would still mean you weren't ready to defend yourself so this kind of thing could happen to you again." After a momentary pause, Tom said quietly. "You told me you didn't want to find yourself caged again, having to be escorted everywhere to feel safe. You have to tell them no and make them believe you mean it." Harry Kim came forward and put his arms around Shadow. "No one is going to get hurt, Malista. We just want to teach them a lesson. One they won't forget. The captain has even approved this scheme of Tom's. In fact, she said she wants a front row seat." She rested her head on Kim's shoulder and sighed her relief. Too soon. Tom and the Delaneys began to explain their plan to her. The only words Shadow spoke for the next hour were, "Oh, no. I can't do this." They began as a moan, crescendoed into a shout at one point, and slowly morphed into a mortified murmur repeated at intervals whenever a new idea was proposed or explained in more detail. It took a combination of charm, persuasion, and emotional blackmail by all of the schemers to get Malista Shadow to even agree to attempt to implement their plot. But she did agree. Eventually. Then the conspirators split into three different groups to carry out their assignments to make the plan come together. The Delaneys and Natwick escorted Malista to her quarters. Harry Kim, B'Elanna Torres, and Tom Paris went to the holodeck to make some program adjustments. Ensigns Simms and Hudson began their surveillance and monitoring of the whereabouts and activities of Lt. Laro Longoria and Crewman Paul Castelle until their presence was required on the holodeck, at which time the two Security men would ensure their attendance. *********** "This is taking forever," Paris complained. "Where is she?" B'Elanna sent him a sour look and pushed him back onto the bleacher. "Sit down and be quiet. The Delaneys called in a few minutes ago. If you knew how much work it took to get her to plan what she was going to say and then all the fuss about wearing the costume, you wouldn't be complaining." "Hey, I did my part!" Tom protested. "Are you sure no one can see us?" Harry Kim asked anxiously. "You checked out the holo-image from the other side, right?" Torres let out a hiss of exasperation. "Of course, I checked it. Anyone on the holodeck isn't going to see anything but a curtain hanging over this part of the bleachers. There's no way they'll even know we're here---if you two can keep quiet! Captain, can't you keep them under control?" Kathryn Janeway, seated at Tom's left side on the front row of the hidden bleacher section, shook her head. "Oh, no, Lieutenant. Officially, I'm not here." Her gray eyes twinkled first at Torres, then at Chakotay, seated on her right. The first officer laid a finger vertically over his lips. "I'm not here either," he whispered. Lt. Tuvok, seated on the other side of the commander, raised one eyebrow. "Those are illogical statements. Unless you are speaking metaphysically---" Janeway leaned forward to look across Chakotay at her Head of Security. "Tuvok, officially we aren't here at all. Unofficially, I want to see if Malista can handle this. You know we have no objective evidence of the sexual harassment charges that can be substantiated. They made sure there were never any witnesses when they accosted her and the computer messages are so well buried and rerouted throughout the comm system, they're next to impossible to trace. If we held a formal hearing, it would come down to Malista's word as opposed to their account of the events. So if we can persuade them to incriminate themselves---" "Evidence elicited through entrapment---" Tuvok began. "It's not entrapment," Chakotay announced flatly. "They know that the holodecks are a public forum unless specifically reserved for private use. To use the proper legal jargon, they should have no reasonable expectation of privacy which precludes any objection to there being witnesses to this encounter with or without their consent. Besides, they'll be in full view of the security team the whole time. If they're stupid enough to incriminate themselves, we'll take advantage of it. If not, this confrontation, assuming it's successful, will raise Malista's self-esteem and solve the problem without our 'official' intervention." "I still don't see why I can't be out there where----" Harry began for the fourteenth time in twenty minutes. "Because that's not the plan," Torres snarled impatiently. "She'd start looking at you and forget her lines. Or worry about what you're thinking about what she's saying. And you HAVE to stay QUIET! Remember, she thinks we're monitoring this from the Security Office. We DON'T want her to know we're here so she'll handle it herself!" "Well, where is she?" Tom reiterated for the twelfth time in the SAME twenty minutes. B'Elanna turned her fiery scowl on him. She was about to lose all patience with both Tom and Harry and blast them both verbally, when she heard the entrance to the holodeck hiss open. "The Delaneys are here." "Where's Malista?" The question came from four directions at once as the breathless redheaded sisters slid behind the concealing curtain and climbed up the bleachers to seat themselves on the third row up. "George is bringing her," Jenny snapped irritably. "She almost flaked out on us again. That girl has NO backbone!" Tom, Harry, and B'Elanna bridled defensively at that remark, but before they could respond, Megan Delaney contradicted her sister. "Yes, she does. You should have seen her standing eye to eye and toe to toe with---" Megan's hand flew to her mouth as she immediately suppressed what she intended to say. For all her famed lack of discretion, she had managed to avoid describing the Paris/Shadow confrontation on the planet. And now? Now she almost let it slip in front of the captain, the first officer...Damn! Everyone was staring at her. "So where are Malista and Natwick?" Harry Kim insisted. Jenny, covering for her sister's loss of composure, quickly replied, "She started trying to back out again. George was telling her about something called ---what was it, Meg? bush something." "Bushido," supplied a subdued Megan . "Something to do with honor and fighting, I think." "What? What the hell does that have to do---" Paris began. "I told you. She was trying to back out of the whole thing. George was trying to convince her that she has to defend her name and fight back. He was trying to get her to agree that this is a matter of honor," Jenny explained. "Was he making any progress?" Torres asked sardonically. She didn't think so. Her own mother had never had much luck appealing to B'Elanna's sense of family honor in order to gain her obedience or compliance in following Klingon traditions. "I don't think so," Megan sighed. "She may be sweet and easy-going, but she sure can be hard-headed. You think it's a family characteristic, Tom? Oh. Sorry. I forgot. She's not really your sister." Torres stared at the redhead disbelievingly. Megan ignored the chief engineer and continued, "Anyway, she totally refused to wear the dancing girl costume we provided. She's been dragging her heels all the way. She said she'll confront them, but she's not letting us use the hologram of her dancing after all. She says she'll let us make a recording of her dancing later. In private. For Harry's eyes only. I'll be surprised if she doesn't just cancel the whole thing while she's at it. Or tell George to tell us she's not going through with it." "Maybe I should go check on them?" Ensign Kim suggested, bounding to his feet. Inaction and not knowing what was going on was driving him insane by degrees. Harry told himself he was merely concerned. Maybe he'd caught the overprotective bug from Tom? He certainly was not jealous because Malista was alone with another man. Even if it was the one man who had almost seduced her once before in a vulnerable moment. There was no need for him to feel threatened. Of course not. Torres snagged Kim's arm and thrust him back towards the bleachers. "Leave them alone. I think they may have some issues they need to deal with before Malista is ready to deal with this one." "George will get her here. He knows she has to do this," Jenny insisted. "Besides," her twin added, "George seems to have a calming effect on her." Not comforted in the slightest, Harry Kim threw a discomfited glance at Megan, and gauged his chances of getting past B'Elanna to the exit-and concluded he had absolutely no chance at all. He finally faded reluctantly back into place on the bleacher to wait impatiently, though he bounced his feet incessantly in an attempt to work off excess energy. "I have every confidence in Mr. Natwick's ability to carry out his assignment," Tuvok stated firmly. "He is quite competent in his duties as a Security Officer." "Oh, that sterling reference alone makes me feel so-o-o-o much better," Tom drawled, but subsided under the steel gray glance of his captain. They all settled down to await the arrival of the most important participant in the planned scenario. *********** "George, I can't fight for my family honor if I don't have any!" Malista shouted. She looked for all the world like a trapped kitten. She'd backed herself into the corner of her room nearest the door and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt terribly self- conscious being alone with him in her quarters while wearing her circus tights and robe. Somehow it felt odd. Awkward. It was strange but she'd never felt quite so exposed when she wore this costume in her circus program on the holodeck. "Any family? Or any honor?" Natwick wasn't sure he understood her response. "Either. Both. My father disowned me," she confessed miserably. Natwick, arms crossed over his massively muscular chest, just stared down at her for a moment wearing his most stoic expression. He didn't try to close the distance between them. She might bolt. 'Okay,' he thought dispassionately. 'Screw the honor code approach. Time for a new angle.' "Malista, do you remember when you knocked me on my butt?" That caught her attention all right. He could tell that she had immediately stopped her internal preparation of arguments to counter his 'code of honor' rationale. She frowned at him, thrown by the sudden change in subject. "Do I remember---of course, I remember--- George! Did I ever apologize? I meant to---" "As a matter of fact, you did, but then you told me I deserved it. And you were right, but not for the reason you thought." Now he had her. Her interest was engaged and she immediately became less defensive and self-conscious. Her arms dropped to her sides as she took a step towards him, frowning even more deeply as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. "Why? What do you mean?" "Malista, WHY did you knock me down in that self-defense class? YOU got violent. With ME." His voice revealed that he still wasn't quite over his own astonishment. "I'm taller than you. I'm heavier than you. And, God knows, I have more training than you do! Since I was seventeen and began my training at Starfleet Academy, and all throughout my Starfleet career, up until that moment, no one---NO ONE---had ever managed to knock me flat like that. Why do you suppose that is?" Natwick felt almost out of breath. That was probably the greatest total number of sentences he'd strung together in months, except for when he was teaching. Or talking to Malista Shadow. Damn. Something about this woman always made him behave uncharacteristically. Now, she was turning him into a blabbermouth! But if it would help her..... She hesitated, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. "Uh, I caught you by surprise?" "You did that," he agreed, shaking his head. "But that just tells me why you succeeded. I didn't expect your reaction. That and the fact that I underestimated you. I didn't think you had the aggressive instincts to come after me. I thought you'd take the chance I offered you to give Kim a few bruises and feel better for doing it. I'm usually pretty good about judging the students in my classes. A lot of people may not like my methods, but they work and that means those I teach learn to defend themselves and don't get themselves killed needlessly. But you never answered my original question. Why?" "Why what?" She drew closer, not noticing that he had been steadily walking backwards until he seated himself on the couch. It felt awkward to remain standing so she sat down but remained bolt upright in the armchair facing him. She was not ready to lower her guard, suspecting a verbal trap of some kind and trying to prepare herself for it. "Why did you attack me?" His tone was accusatory. "I didn't *attack* you!" she protested breathlessly, looking positively horrified at his interpretation of the event. He rubbed his stomach in the exact place she'd struck him with the end of the plastic pipe during the confrontation. "Didn't feel like a love pat," Natwick said shortly. "You knocked me flat on my back in front of the whole self-defense class. Which didn't help my reputation any." Now Shadow was thoroughly confused. The big man didn't seem angry. He was just stating facts. She didn't understand what he was getting at. "George, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." "No, you shouldn't apologize. That's my point," he said patiently, fastening deep brown eyes on hers. "Did you attack me for a reason? Or just for fun?" "No, of course it wasn't for fun. I didn't mean to hurt you," she began earnestly, but then forced herself to be honest. "Well, not exactly. But you were trying to set Harry up to take a beating in that class! For no reason at all." The muscular Security Officer's mouth twisted in a half-smile. "Oh, I had a reason. It just didn't prove to be valid. I was attracted to you, Malista. Even then," he added as she shook her head in automatic denial. "Yes, even then with you trying to hide your beauty. Even with you trying to disappear behind Kim every time I got close. I found you attractive and I took entirely the wrong approach to try to get your attention. Flexing my muscles always worked before." He held up his right arm and sent a ripple through the biceps and across his pectorals in demonstration. "But it didn't with you." "Oh, George." Her green eyes were filled with compassion. "I didn't know. I didn't understand." She wouldn't have believed any man could possibly have found her attractive then. To find out that she had not one, but two admirers amazed her. "I know." He forgave and dismissed all her transgressions with a rueful smile. "I went at you like a charging targ. By the time I realized I needed to change my methods, it was too late. Kim already had you on his hook and halfway to reeled in." He held up a hand to stop her next comment. He was afraid, from the look in her eyes, that it would be a compliment inspired by pity. He was strong and could stand a lot of things, but being pitied was not one of them. "But get back on track here. WHY did you attack me?" "You were trying to hurt Harry," she answered simply. "And using me to do it." Her jaw clenched in remembered anger. "On two different occasions you refused to 'use' me. Once to beat up Harry for you and the other to teach you about sex," Natwick commented, steadfastly ignoring Malista's mortified blush. "Is that some kind of issue for you? You don't want to use people or be used by them?" "Well, of course---" "There's no 'of course' about it, woman!" the big man snarled. "Not everyone shares that point of view. Obviously. Why do you think Longoria and Castelle were harassing you? And some of the other Maquis women?" "I don't know." Shadow tried to bounce out of the chair, but Natwick leaned forward and blocked her way. "I didn't know about the others. I thought it was just me. I thought---" "You thought you deserved it? You thought you did something that caused them to treat you like a Risan pleasure girl?" She didn't reply. Her body sank back into the chair, trying to retreat from his words. Her green eyes darted away from his face, fixing in a stare at her clasped and wringing hands. "Didn't I?" Her expression was a confused mixture of anger and embarrassment, with a measure of self-disgust thrown in. "What could you possibly have done that would merit that kind of treatment?" Natwick demanded exasperatedly. "Did you encourage them? Did you flirt with them? Did you take off your clothes and run naked down the corridors?" "No!" Malista exclaimed in fierce denial. Then a thought seemed to occur to her. "I don't think I encouraged them. At least, not deliberately. But then I'm pretty stupid when it comes to things like that. I didn't think I had done anything to make YOU think I was attractive either. I must have done something!" Natwick was floored by her assumption. He remained silent for a moment while he pondered a counterstrike. She stared back at him. From the look in her eyes, he judged that she was waiting to be convinced she was wrong. And HE was supposed to do the convincing? Damn. He closed his eyes as he brought one large hand up to massage his temples. "I hate to think you've put me in the same category as those two. I took 'no' for an answer if you'll remember. Above and beyond the call of duty in your quarters that night. For that alone, I should get a medal!" He sighed heavily. "You really don't know much about men, do you, darlin'?" She refused to answer verbally, shrugging as she studied her fingertips and worried her lower lip between her teeth. With a heavy sigh, Natwick plunged into the fray once more. "Malista, back in Texas my dear old Daddy used to say there are two kinds of men---gentlemen and hound dogs. Do you know how you tell the difference?" Eyes rounding, she shook her head. "A gentleman is a man who treats every woman as if she is a lady, until she proves herself otherwise. Hound dogs treat every woman like a tramp regardless of her behavior." That said, Natwick leaned back against the sofa and let her ponder his meaning. After a moment, she tentatively ventured, "Are you trying to say that Longoria and Castelle treated me that way, not because of what I may have done, but because that's the way they treat all women?" The big man nodded slowly. "More or less. That's the way they treat all women when they think they can get away with it. You'll notice they didn't try their tricks with Captain Janeway. Or B'Elanna Torres. Or Susan Nicoletti, come to think of it. Because they are cowards, Malista. Their behavior was as much about power and control as it was about sex. They only picked on women who wouldn't fight back---" "Wait a minute! There's something wrong with your theory there! What about Henley? She's a Maquis and she doesn't run from anyone. If they only pick on cowards like me, why did---" "You are not a coward," Natwick insisted, meeting her eyes with a demanding glare. "As for their plan of attack, don't ask me to explain it. I think they underestimated Henley's reaction. Or they'd grown arrogant and careless because they'd been getting away with it so long---" "Then it's my fault, isn't it?" Natwick growled deep in his throat. "Woman! You'd probably try to take credit for the Borg invasion of the Alpha Quadrant if you could find a way to rationalize it!" Malista bit back a giggle of surprise. "I don't think I'm quite that bad, George. Tom said that the only thing I did wrong was to let it go on. I should have tried to do something about their comments and behavior when it started, instead of hiding and evading and hoping it would all go away." "Paris may be brighter than I've given him credit for," Natwick allowed grudgingly. Malista's hand flew up to cover her mouth, trying to hide a sudden grin. "What?" he demanded, one eyebrow up in inquiry. "Tom said the same thing about you," she confessed, trying unsuccessfully to hide her amusement. "Yeah, well, that's flattering. Paris and I do have one thing in common. You. We both want what's best for you so we're working together on this. But just don't expect us to become best buddies, okay?" the big man grumbled. "He's right about one thing though. Things got worse because you didn't stand up to them right away. The way you reacted made them feel powerful." "But I don't understand why they would do this. Not just why did they do it to me, but why act this way at all?" Malista gazed up at him, hoping for an explanation that she could comprehend intellectually, if not emotionally. "If you asked those guys why they treated you so badly, they would make up all kinds of reasons and possibly try to blame it on you. They'd say something about the way you dressed or the way you reacted. Or that you didn't make it clear enough that you weren't interested in playing their games. The sad thing is that they may not even think they were acting with malice. They think their behavior is acceptable. They enjoyed terrorizing you because you allowed it. Longoria and Castelle are bullies and cowards. You ever see the play 'Man and Superman' by George Bernard Shaw?" Malista shook her head. "There's a line in the third act that goes 'Man gives every reason for his conduct save one, every excuse for his crimes save one, every plea for his safety save one; and that one is his cowardice.' That's the real reason. They probably have no idea how much you were hurt by their actions and they'd say it was all just a game. But it wouldn't be the *truth*, Malista," he insisted. "If we checked with other women on the ship, we'd probably find they'd tried the same abuse with others, but ran in the opposite direction when confronted or called on their behavior. What I don't understand is why *you* aren't mad at them! You aren't, are you?" "Uh...." She stammered and cleared her throat, but didn't produce one complete word. "I was watching you in the Security Office. The only reason you plan to try this harebrained plot of Tom's was to make him happy. Because Paris, Kim, and the others coerced you into it." "They didn't coerce---" "The hell they didn't!" Natwick leapt up from his seat and began pacing, anger clearly written across his chiseled features. "They wouldn't force me to do something I didn't want to do. They offered to help me." "Oh, come on, Malista! You're always waiting for Kim or Paris to tell you what to do!" Natwick complained, beginning to lose patience with her lack of righteous indignation. "Do you like being bossed around and intimidated? Is that why you let Castelle and Longoria get away with it?!" "I do not!" she replied with resounding indignation, her accent becoming more obvious as she became agitated. "Tom is family. Harry is the man I love. I've given them the right to treat me familiarly. No one else has the right to call me nicknames. No one else has the right to touch me! I've given that right exclusively to Harry!! And he does NOT boss me around. Sometimes I wish he would. Or act more possessive. Then I would know that he understands that I belong to him." Speechless for a moment, Natwick stopped his pacing and stared at her. With a shake of his head, he muttered, "Are all women this crazy or is it just Greek women?" "I don't know. Maybe it is a Greek thing. How many Greek women do you know?" Shadow replied, tongue firmly in cheek. "One too many," the big man responded with a mock frown as he resumed pacing the length of the room like a caged beast. "But let's get back to my original point---You were going along with the whole thing for Paris and Kim! Not for YOU! You're the one who's been offended. You're the one who should be angry about it. For you! Unless you liked the way they treated you?" "Of course I didn't LIKE it!" she protested, turning her head back and forth to keep him in her line of vision. "I am angry with them." "Then this is your chance to tell them so! Let it out! Tell them how they made you feel. Tell them how angry you are with them! Tell them you refuse to be treated this way---by anyone!" Natwick was really getting wound up now. Normally, he didn't lose his temper. He'd always prided himself on remaining stoic and detached. In fact, until he'd recently erupted in anger and punched out Harry Kim, it had been years since he'd really surrendered control of his emotions. "Why are you so angry about this, George?" Natwick exhaled a loud exasperated breath as he stopped in front of her chair and turned to face her. "Because any *real man* would be. These hound dogs give all men a bad reputation. Because I hate the fact that these guys are Starfleet. I despise them because they've spit on what Starfleet stands for. I know you never went to the Academy, Malista, so you might not know the oath. Every member of Starfleet takes an oath to serve, protect, and defend sentient beings. These two are making a mockery of that oath. They treated you as if your feelings didn't matter. As if you had no right to protest what they did. Doesn't that make YOU angry?" There was a cold fire sizzling in the green eyes as she surged to her feet with feline grace. She couldn't seem to stand still. As she spoke she began to move restlessly, her hands flying through the air in gestures that punctuated her words. "Yes! Yes, it does. You're absolutely correct. Those pigs had no right to play sexual games with me." She turned away from him while she fought for enough control to spit the words out as if they could no longer be held back. "If my brothers were here---The Greek culture may be well known for its great legends, myths, and works of art, but we are also known as fierce fighters who hold a grudge very well. I think it's time for me to free that part of myself. I've kept that part of me caged for far too long." Her head snapped around so she could meet his eyes. With the tone of a royal command, she ordered, "Come on, George. I have something to do." She charged out the door into the corridor. As he trailed along behind her, he asked, "What are you going to say? Are you going to follow the script?" "No," she replied brusquely. "Tom wrote what he thought I should say. I think I'll make it up as I go along. I have been trained to fight. I know how to defend myself. I've just repressed all my aggressive instincts out of fear of losing control. Well, now you've convinced it may be time to lose control. Those men don't know what they've unleashed. I am a GREEK! We do not accept insults lightly. Hurry up! I'm building up to an overload and I don't want to waste energy!" She lengthened her quick-paced strides, muttering furiously under her breath. Natwick had to almost jog to keep up. He triggered his commbadge. "Natwick to Hudson and Simms. We're on our way. ETA for you should be five minutes." "Acknowledged." As the single word issued from two sources, Natwick and Shadow charged toward the holodeck ignoring the curious glances of other crewmembers who quickly stood aside to get out of their way. ****************** There was no doubt in the minds of all those waiting unseen behind the holographic curtaining screen that Malista Shadow had arrived on the holodeck. They didn't need the warning of the hissed whisper on the comm system. It was quite apparent that whatever Natwick had said to her had done the trick. She was taking charge. Natwick was following along behind her like an oversized pet pulled by an invisible leash. His expression was carefully controlled, but a close look at his eyes would have revealed a well hidden sense of gratification and anticipation. This was going to be good. Malista stopped abruptly in the center of the middle ring of the circus setting. George had to quickly catch his balance to keep from crashing into her. She spun on her heel and tilted her head back to look up into his face. "I know the others are in the Security Office monitoring this. Mikel and Ethan are going to wait just inside the doorway. Where are you going to be?" "Where do you want me?" the big man asked calmly. Shadow considered it for a moment. "Would you mind waiting across the ring on the other side of the tent? If you're standing too close, they'll be watching you. I want all their attention. But I want you close enough to intervene if I need you to." "You're afraid they'll make this a physical confrontation?" That couldn't be what she meant. "They're stupid, but they aren't *that* stupid." "Don't be silly," Malista rebuked. "I know you and Ethan and Mikel wouldn't let them hurt ME. I'm just afraid that I may lose my temper. I want you to stop me if I forget myself and try to hurt them." Her Greek accent was back and her voice was thick with emotion. Her emerald eyes had taken on a steely cast. George wondered if she'd been taking lessons from Captain Janeway. "What are you going to say?" he asked as he moved to the position she'd indicated. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her color was high and she looked excited rather than anxious. "For once in my life, I'm going to open my mouth and just say whatever comes out---without thinking about the consequences. I don't think those two knew just how close they came to---. They almost scared me into doing something rash. Remember what we talked about, George?" With a wince, he suddenly recalled the substance of their discussion on the use of deadly force. "Oh, yeah." He hoped Paris wasn't going to get more than he had bargained for with this little confrontation. And that the captain wouldn't pop a warp coil if Malista confessed to carrying a concealed weapon. Natwick went into Security Officer mode, standing alert and ready for action. Malista fixed her eyes on the doorway and waited. They didn't have to wait long. ***************** "What the hell is going on?" Lt. Laro Longoria slammed to a halt in front of the holodeck entrance as he caught sight of Crewman Paul Castelle approaching from the opposite direction under the watchful eye of Ensign Ethan Simms. Longoria's escort, Ensign Mikel Hudson, kept a firm grip on his upper arm and urged him forward as Simms did the same with Castelle. "You have an appointment to keep, gentlemen," Mikel commented, and continued under his breath, "And I use the term loosely." Longoria sent him a sour glance. "Exactly what is going on here, Hudson?" He didn't meet the eyes of his co-conspirator. "Your presence has been requested on the holodeck," Ethan Simms replied. "We're just here to make sure you accept the invitation." Once inside the holodeck, Simms and Hudson released their holds on their 'invited guests' and took up their positions against the wall on either side of the holodeck entrance. Fascinated by the setting, Longoria and Castelle looked around the holographic scene, taking in all the details of the circus setting. Then their eyes alit on Crewman Malista Shadow standing in the center ring wearing a robe. With an almost queenly gesture, she motioned them toward the front row seats directly in front of her. Uneasily, they moved to comply and planted themselves on the bleacher, staring at her defiantly. Malista studied them with a detached air, standing perfectly still and quiet. As the silence stretched on, the two men's discomfort increased. The tension in the air was somehow a living breathing thing with a pulse that each person there could feel as if it brushed across his or her skin. Those behind the curtain exchanged glances, each one wondering if Malista had decided not to say anything after all. "Are you going to tell us why you had us brought here, Crewman Shadow?" Longoria demanded. He emphasized her rank, a not very subtle reminder that he was a lieutenant and, as such, her superior in the chain of command. She blinked. Castelle smirked. That was the last straw. Malista casually lifted a hand and waved it at their surroundings. "Do you like my circus program? It's a holographic representation of my family's circus tent. We used to tour the colonies in our sector when we weren't busy on our farm." Longoria started to his feet. "I'm sure that's very interesting---" "Sit down!" It was unmistakably an order. Which, to his subsequent fury, Longoria found himself automatically obeying. "You've been trying to get me alone to have 'a little talk' for weeks now. Well, here's your chance, boys." Shadow crossed her arms and awaited a response. Castelle cast a nervous glance across the tent toward Natwick, then back towards the entrance where Hudson and Simms had stationed themselves. The three Security Officers had all assumed their 'guarding' stance and looked formidable and ready for action. In fact, Natwick's glare suggested he would welcome any excuse to pound into dust either or both of the smaller men facing Malista. "We're not exactly alone," Castelle stated. "This is as alone as you're going to get with me," Shadow said flatly. Nonchalantly, she reached down and untied her robe. Letting it slip off her shoulders, she caught it with her fingertips and flung it to lie on the bleachers near them. Involuntarily, her prey each sucked in a deep breath as they caught sight of her lovely body in the tight, green spangled tights. Ignoring them, she stretched and ruffled her hair in an enticing manner that couldn't have been outdone by a Risan pleasure girl on her best day. This was not the intimidated girl they'd been lusting after who shrank away and tried to hide herself from their gaze. This was a woman who wasn't ashamed of her body or her own attractiveness. Her face was impassive as she explained, "This is the costume I wear when I workout on the trapeze. You've made enough comments about wanting to see my body. So take a good long look. Consider it a gift. The last one you're ever going to get from me." Longoria leaned back, crossed his arms, and leered at her. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ms. Shadow," he drawled mockingly. "And neither does my friend here. By all means, go ahead and stage whatever little drama you have planned here. All we have to do is keep silent." Castelle sniggered and nodded his agreement. "You think we're going to admit to anything while you've got your three trained monkeys watching us?" Emboldened by the lack of reaction from the Security Officers whom he presumed to be out of hearing range, Castelle continued. "What did you have to do for them to get them to go along with this little stunt?" The expression on Malista's face as she looked at the two of them was that of someone studying a particularly revolting insect or rodent. With a sigh, she shook her head. "I cannot believe that I was afraid of you two. You are just so---pathetic." Their pride stung, the two men exchanged glances. They weren't sure how to deal with this. "Are you tired of playing hard to get? Is that it, chica?" Longoria purred. "Is this your way of letting us know you've changed your mind? That now you're interested?" Malista's jaw dropped. "Oh, Zeus! Tom was right! You two really are dimwits!" "You told Paris---what did you tell Paris?" Castelle hastily rephrased his question to avoid incriminating himself. He wasn't prepared to bet the Security Officers couldn't hear the conversation, no matter how far away they were. "It doesn't matter what she told Paris or anyone else," Longoria snapped viciously. His handsome face seemed twisted and ugly. "It still comes down to her word against ours. Remember that and keep your mouth shut!" "Oh, Tom's not the only one I told," Malista informed them. "I filed a formal report with Lieutenant Tuvok. I'm sure he's read it by now---and passed it on to Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay." "You can't *prove* anything!" Longoria reiterated. Shadow gifted him with an extremely insincere smile. "Oh, I don't think I'll be pressing formal charges," she told them earnestly. "I just wanted my side of the story to be on the record just in case...." She let her voice trail off. "In case what?" Castelle blurted. "You boys really aren't very bright, or you're very new at this. One of the rules of victimizing others is that you should pick on someone who won't fight back." Malista strolled closer, fighting not to flinch away as they ogled her figure. She refused to back off any longer. "Now as Tom and George---" She tossed a look and a smile in Natwick's direction before returning her attention to her targets and continuing, "As Tom and George said, my main mistake was that I thought if I ran from you and avoided you, that you would figure out that I wasn't interested in playing games with you. Evidently I overestimated your intelligence." "Now, listen you---" Longoria started to his feet, but caught a glimpse of the snarling visage of George Natwick and dropped back onto the bleacher. "No, *you* listen. I am going to have my say! After that, you can go for all I care. For the record, I am NOT interested in a relationship with either or both of you, sexual or otherwise. I want you to pretend I'm invisible and I'll do the same. Unless it's on a matter of ship's business I don't want to see you, talk to you, or acknowledge your existence. Is that clear? Or do I need to spell it out for you?" The two exchanged sullen glances and didn't speak. "There was one more thing you overlooked in choosing me as your victim," Shadow added. She began pacing back and forth in front of them, arms folded tightly across her chest in unconscious imitation of Tom Paris. "And that is the fact that everyone has their limits. Now, you two attended Starfleet Academy. I'm just a simple farm girl from a small outworld colony so I don't have your level of sophistication or education or training." She stopped to take a deep breath. She was maintaining eye contact and speaking with conviction, no hesitation evident as she continued. "But one thing I do have, I was trained to fight. By my brothers. By the Maquis. And by my natural instincts as a proud Greek. Greeks quite frequently have hot tempers and we fight fiercely when we choose to fight. I know you might not have noticed. I haven't given much evidence of my fighting abilities since I've been on Voyager. You probably think I'm a coward or a fragile doll. But you are wrong." She stopped directly in front of them. "Castelle, when you confronted me in the turbolift, you have no idea how much danger *you* were in. Longoria, when you accosted me in the lab and cornered me, you don't have the faintest idea how close you came to pushing me over the edge of rational behavior." "What are you talking about now, chica?" Longoria sneered contemptuously. "I'm talking about this," Malista said quite calmly. She was suddenly holding a wicked looking knife with a long blade in her right hand and she was holding it as if she knew how to wield it. "And DON'T call me chica." Natwick, Simms, and Hudson snapped to attention. A weapon? 'Where the hell did she hide that thing in those tights?' all three of them wondered. George made a mental note to ask her later. He was always interested in possible hiding places for concealed weapons. It was a question which also occurred to those behind the holographic curtain. Janeway threw a look of consternation at Tuvok and Chakotay, before turning her gaze to the others. Harry Kim looked appalled. B'Elanna was beaming with approval. Tom Paris was trying much too hard to look innocent as he thought, 'Oops. Forgot to talk to her about that damned knife!'. With a weak smile, Paris shrugged helplessly at his captain and turned his attention back towards the scene in the center of the holodeck. "When you two started targeting me, I started carrying this. It belonged to my great-great- grandfather." Malista caressed the blade with her left hand, pricking her index finger with the sharp point. She watched the drop of blood bead up, then placed the tip of her finger in her mouth and sucked on it in an unconsciously sensuous manner. Longoria and Castelle abruptly felt a need for a drink. A strong drink. "You wouldn't have used that thing---" Castelle blustered. She thoughtfully regarded first the knife then him. With a scary smile, she pointed the knife at him. "Oh, yes. I would have. If you'd cornered me. If you'd touched me one more time. If I had been sure you sent those messages. If you'd scared me a little bit more than you did. If you'd threatened to rape me---" "We never threatened to rape anyone!" Longoria protested, as if outraged. "Oh, I got very, very close to using this on you," Shadow said almost wistfully. "When you ambushed me in the lab. When you trapped me between the bulkhead, the table, and you. When you touched me without my permission and wouldn't let me move away from you. I was just about to pull this little darling out of my boot when Gerron came in." She caressed the knife fondly and went on in the same sweet, hard voice. "I was on the verge of gutting you. And I would have claimed it was self defense. With that tear in my uniform and the cut on my shoulder, I think they would have believed me. You really should thank Gerron Tem, Lieutenant. He saved your life." Longoria, looking into her eyes, believed every word. "We didn't mean any harm!" he objected. He was suddenly very glad for his own sake that the three Security Officers were present. The woman was a barbarian! A knife? Somehow the knife in Malista's hand disappeared back into its hiding place. This freed her hands to gesticulate as she drove home her point. "You didn't care how you made me feel! You scared me and you liked the feeling it gave you! Every time I scurried out of your path or dodged your groping hands, you got some kind of sick thrill because you had power over me. And I was so stupid that I thought if I made myself less attractive, you would leave me alone. But that just fed into your power fantasy, didn't it? You expanded your game to other Maquis women because I never told you no and made it stick. Well, now I'm telling you clearly so you can't possibly misunderstand me! NO! I'm NOT interested in you or your games! No, I won't be your victim any more! It stops NOW!!" It was a command, imperious and definite. "I don't know if the captain will take some kind of disciplinary action against you. All I wanted to tell you is that you will NOT treat me as a sexual toy!" Her ferocity was supremely convincing. "You think Kim will---" "Shut up! You're not fit to speak Harry Kim's name!" She paused until her glare caused them to subside back into silence. "My personal relationships are just that---personal and none of your concern. My friends know what you've done and how you've behaved. If this ever happens again---to any woman on this ship---you will have ME to deal with. And Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Tuvok, Tom Paris, B'Elanna Torres, Harry Kim....and others. Your lives will become a living hell if you persist in this kind of behavior. It will not be tolerated. I would suggest you get some counseling. If the only way you can attract a woman's attention is by torturing her and sending her obscene messages, then you have some psychological problems that need to be addressed." With that final outburst, Malista took a few steps back to allow them room to stand. Slightly paler than when they'd arrived, the two men got to their feet. "Can we leave now?" Castelle choked out. "Please do." Malista calmly watched them go. As soon as the doors slid closed behind them, she took a deep breath and shakily sank down onto the nearest bleacher. Her whole body was trembling with reaction to the stress. Natwick, Simms, and Hudson were at her side in moments. "Are you okay?" Ethan asked. Shadow shook her head, got to her feet, and concentrated on getting her breathing back under control. "Computer, end program," she said as soon as she was able. She wanted to get out of there. The sudden appearance of the hidden watchers took her breath away again. It was almost a race to see who would reach her first, Harry Kim or Tom Paris. It was a tie. Harry pulled her up and into his arms, locking her into a tight embrace that she welcomed with a smile and a sigh. "I thought you were going to be in the Security Office!" The others present backed away slightly, forming a half circle, trying not to crowd the shaken young woman. "Tom lied," Kim announced, passing the blame for a mutual decision without a twinge of conscience. "Hey!" Paris exclaimed. "That's not fair! You agreed----" "It doesn't matter," Torres interrupted. "You did very well! If they don't get the message now---" Tuvok stepped forward, catching the captain's eye. "There is a security issue to be addressed. Carrying concealed weapons without permission is a violation of four separate Starfleet regulations." He ignored the impatient looks sent his way from several of those present. "Yes. Ms. Shadow? About that knife?" Kathryn Janeway inquired in a dangerously ominous tone. Shadow straightened away from Harry and came to attention. With an impossibly innocent expression, she asked, "What knife, Captain?" Gray eyes locked with green in silent communication. 'Damn!' Paris thought. 'She's good. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd doubt the knife's existence myself.' All eyes were on the two women waiting for the next volley. A smile twitched at Janeway's lips. "IF there was a knife, and IF it was being carried as a concealed weapon, that would be a blatant violation of ship's policy and Starfleet regulations. You do understand that, Crewman Shadow?" The taller woman nodded an acknowledgment. "IF there was a knife and IF it was being carried as a concealed weapon because someone didn't feel safe---well, that wouldn't be a problem any more, would it?" Janeway conceded the logic of that statement with a tilt of her head. "That's true." Commander Chakotay stepped forward and took Shadow's hand. "Congratulations, Malista. You did a very good job of standing up for yourself today. I don't think you'll have any more trouble from those two." "I just have one question," Tom said angrily. "What was that about Longoria cornering you in the Science lab? You told me they brushed up against you. You didn't tell me they got physically threatening----" "Tom, it's over," B'Elanna insisted, trying to distract him. Stubbornly, Paris stared at Shadow, nonverbally demanding an answer. With Paris before her and Kim behind her, she could have been forgiven for feeling trapped. It didn't seem to bother her, however. With matching obstinacy showing in the chin she raised in his direction, she told Tom the blunt truth. "If I had told you about it, you would have overreacted." "Overreacted?" Tom erupted. "To some pervert assaulting my *sister* !! You're damned right I'd react---" "And get yourself in trouble!!" Malista shouted right back in his face. "It was my problem and I took care of it! That's what you wanted, that's what I did, so get out of my face about it!" George Natwick, the troublemaker, began to clap. He was quickly joined by Simms, Hudson, the Delaneys, and all the others present---except for Tom Paris, who stood blushing a fiery red as a grin stole across his face. He wrinkled his nose at Shadow. "Damn, Sis. Teach you a bit of independence and you just take the hoverball and smash it back at me!" He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Slightly embarrassed, Shadow smiled gently at him. "I'm sorry, Tom. I'm the one who's overreacting now. I'm just---edgy, I guess." "Oh, don't let him off the hook that easily," Torres complained. "At least make him apologize!" Paris turned a frown on his beloved. Before he could speak, Malista's words drew his attention once more. "No, really, it is my fault. I should have told him everything. But if you had known about it and something had---" She broke off and swallowed hard. "If the hypothetical knife had been used, you would have been an accessory. I didn't want to be to blame for dragging you into that kind of mess. I never should have let it go this far. George was right. They were bullies and cowards. I would seen for myself if I just wasn't so stupid---" Tom reached forward and smacked her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention. "I told you before: Don't call yourself stupid!" In a heartbeat, Tom found himself nose to nose with a furious Harry Kim who'd placed himself between Malista and Paris. "You keep your hands off her!" No one could recall ever having seen Harry lose his temper before, but lost it he had---and with his best friend. Taken aback, Tom blinked and, though indignant at Kim's reaction, tried to placate his friend. "Hey, Harry, she hits me like that all the time! You know I wouldn't hurt her! I just want her to remember that I told her not to call herself 'stupid'." "Harry, it didn't hurt," Malista said placatingly, trying unsuccessfully to get around Kim and between the two men. "That's not the point!" Kim insisted tersely, still glaring up at Paris. The lieutenant was righteously indignant. "I'm allowed to touch her! She doesn't mind! She's my sister!" Not appeased in the slightest, the furious Kim yelled, "Well, she may be your *sister* but she's going to be my WIFE and you and everybody else better keep your hands off of her!" A profound silence hung in the air for several seconds. B'Elanna Torres was the first to recover her voice. "Were you planning on asking her, Starfleet? Or are you just going to order her to show up for the wedding?" she asked dryly. Harry's brain abruptly caught up with Harry's mouth. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to get up the courage to turn and see Malista's reaction. Janeway clapped a hand over her mouth and refused to look at Chakotay who was studying the grids on the wall of the holodeck. She didn't feel a fit of the giggles would be appropriate at this time. But the look on Harry's face was nearly enough to upset her control completely. The Delaneys were smiling smugly and hugging each other in their glee. Hudson and Simms seemed amused. George Natwick was wearing a stoic mask that hid any feelings he might have about the situation. Tuvok seemed to be studying all the various reactions. "All right, Harry! Finally a verbal commitment! See, Sis? I told you he loved you!" Paris shouted. Wearing a big grin, he slapped a friendly hand on Kim's shoulder and shook him. Since he wasn't turning to face her, Malista stepped around Harry and moved between him and Tom. She seemed to be suspended between disbelief and hope. Tentatively, she whispered, "Harry?" His hands shot forward and latched onto her shoulders as if he feared she would run from him. "Malista, I'm sorry. That's not the way I meant to do this." Catching the eyes of those around the couple, Janeway jerked her head toward the holodeck entrance. Everyone started moving in that direction. Except Tom Paris. He wanted to see this. He was not allowed to make that choice. Torres latched onto his arm and dragged him out into the corridor. "Harry, if you didn't mean it---" "Of course I meant it!" Kim's sincerity was convincing. "But you know I'm not a----" "It doesn't matter, Malista. I know you're the woman I want by my side for the rest of my life," he interrupted gently. "Damn! This isn't the way this was supposed to happen. I had it all planned. There was going to be music, candlelight, poetry---I'm sorry." "Don't be. Are you really sure?" Her eyes pleaded for reassurance. "Yes. For days now, I've been searching the database for just the right love poem----" "Harry, my angel?" It was a whisper. "Yes, Cookie?" "It doesn't matter about the poem. I love you, Harry Kim." Her green eyes were dancing with joy. "I love you, Malista Shadow." A smile began to dawn as he let go of his plans for a 'proper' proposal. It didn't seem to matter anyway since he'd gotten the right answer to the question. The question he hadn't really asked yet. "Malista, we need to talk---" "Harry, I never thought you'd ask---" "I'm sorry. I should have---" "No, it's my fault----" "It isn't! I'm the one who expected you to read my mind," Kim confessed. "I thought you knew that I loved you. I thought you knew that I wouldn't have pursued the relationship if I didn't have a permanent commitment in mind." "I didn't expect any man to ever want to marry me," she mumbled. "My father said--" "Malista, your father was wrong. Any man would consider himself lucky to marry you." His hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs brushing over the high cheekbones as a single teardrop spilled over from her damp emerald eyes. "Harry, I don't know if---I mean, I do love you, but I'm not sure I'm really---ready to get married. I mean---oh, Zeus! I don't know exactly what I mean." He smiled gently and brushed away the tear. "It's okay, Malista. We've settled the most important issues. I love you. You love me. We want to get married. That doesn't mean we have to get married today. Or next week. Or next month. We'll take all the time we need to be sure we're both ready. You've had one crisis after another in your life lately. I don't want our marriage to be the next one. Now do we have anything else we need to discuss?" "What will Tom say? He's probably planning the wedding as we speak." There was amusement and affection in her tone. "Tom Paris can mind his own business. If he wants to arrange a wedding, he can get to work on arranging his own," Kim said peremptorily. With a slight wince, Malista decided to abandon that topic and avoid controversy while she could. She could see herself now, caught between the two friends. She would just have to count on B'Elanna Torres to keep Tom in line. And if anyone could do it, it would be B'Elanna. "Harry, can we discuss that later? Right now---would you please shut up and kiss me?" Her smile blossomed into radiance though her lips trembled. "I can do that," he assured her. And demonstrated. ********* Once the holodeck doors slid closed, Paris frowned down at Torres. "Do you realize they're standing there in an empty holodeck?" "So? They're together," Torres said. Paris rolled his eyes. "They need a proper setting. Computer, run Paris Program Lake Como seven and audio track Paris 214 in Holodeck One. There, that should do it." He smiled smugly. "A cool moonlit night and romantic music, in case they feel like dancing." "It has definitely been an interesting evening," Kathryn Janeway remarked. "Oh, yes, I'd say so," Chakotay agreed. "I don't think I've ever actually been present before at a proposal of marriage." "Is that what that was?" Jenny Delaney asked mischievously. That did it. Everyone began to laugh. Except Tuvok, of course. And George Natwick. Then Tom, with a gleam in his eye, said, "That's right! We have a wedding to plan!" Simms, Hudson, Natwick, and Tuvok perhaps feeling their services were no longer required chose that moment to slip away. The Delaney twins squealed with excitement in unison. "Let's go look for dresses to wear as bridesmaids!" they chorused and took off for their own quarters. Torres shot a grumpy look in the direction of their departure before grabbing Paris' arm again. "Tom, it's their wedding. They get to plan it." "I'm going to be very involved in this wedding!" Paris protested. "I'm her brother. I'm giving the bride away!" "It's customary to wait until you're asked, Mr. Paris," Chakotay chided. "Besides she might want someone older to perform that function. Someone who has provided a fatherly image---" "You!?" Paris squawked. "Come on, Commander!" "I think both of you are getting ahead of yourselves," Janeway reproved. "If and when there is a wedding to plan, it is up to Mr. Kim and Ms. Shadow to make the plans and inform any or all of us of the roles they want us to play in it. And at this time, I would like to suggest we stop lurking in the corridor outside the holodeck. Give them some privacy." "Aye, Captain!" Torres agreed snappily and began towing Paris away in the direction of the turbolift. She had an idea that the two of them could use some privacy of their own. She also could think of better things to do than planning a wedding for their best friends. As Paris and Torres vanished around the bend in the corridor, the captain and commander heard Tom complaining. "B'Elanna, you know we need to help those two or they'll mess it up. Wouldn't you like to be the maid of honor?----Ow! All right, I get your point. They can plan it themselves! B'Ella, have you ever thought about taking dancing lessons? Malista knows a few----Owwwwwwww!" Chakotay's dimples deepened as he flashed a grin at his captain. "I hope B'Elanna can keep Tom occupied for the next few hours while Harry and Malista, uh, settle some things." Looping her arm through his, she smiled back at him as they began to stroll down the corridor. "I think our chief engineer is innovative enough to come up with some activity to keep his mind off of what Harry and Malista might be up to." And Kathryn Janeway was right. **************** The engagement announcement of Harry Kim and Malista Shadow settled a great deal of the gossip about their relationship. Voyager's gossips and gamblers had to look elsewhere for topics of discussion and issues to place bets on. Three items of interest concerned the same pair of crewmen. First, no one had managed to discover why Lt. Laro Longoria and Crewman Paul Castelle had suddenly been assigned to two weeks of cleaning deuterium filters during Gamma shift. Some people believed it had something to do with Castelle's behavior in the holodeck and his fight with Gerron. Others argued that if that were the case, it would have been Gerron, not Longoria, who shared the duty with Castelle. Second, each man also was attending counseling sessions with the Holographic Doctor and Commander Chakotay. No one was able to ascertain the topic of those sessions either. The third topic of discussion was the sudden incredible streak of bad luck that seemed to be haunting Lt. Longoria and Crewman Castelle. It seemed that during a two week period, the two men suffered every possible malfunction or combinations of malfunctions in every possible piece of equipment, furniture, or fixture in their quarters---and it was never the same problem twice. Though several different maintenance teams had repeatedly checked the equipment, no cause had been found for the malfunctions. No one understood why the problems only seemed to occur in those two cabins. It was a mystery. Bets were being placed on what would next go wrong and on how long their bad luck streak would last. If, for some reason, he had been asked to speculate, Tom Paris would have ventured a guess---or maybe a prediction?--- that it would continue for at LEAST six weeks.