Romancing the Stone
Stage I: Breaking Ground

by
Darrel W. Beach
Jun. 1997
Revised, Nov. 1998
Revised, Jul. 2002

Author's Note:
Time placement of this story is the second season of Star Trek: Voyager,
approximately 3 weeks before the episode "Resistance".

Chapter 1

	The Intrepid-class Federation vessel, the *U.S.S. Voyager*,
quietly cut through the calm black of space at Warp 6.  For the first
time in many months the Delta Quadrant seemed to be in harmony with
itself, and the small Starfleet crew revelled in it.

	*God, this is boring.*
	That was the only thing Tom Paris could think of, having sat at
the Conn station now for over three solid hours.  The space in front of
the good starship *Voyager* - as well as the space behind, above and
below - was completely void of activity.  There was absolutely nothing
out there to attract the attention of anyone on the bridge, much less
himself.  No planets, inhabited, life-sustaining or otherwise.  No
subspace or gravametric fluctuations or anomalies.  No aliens, friendly
or hostile, to intercept the vessel.  No signs of massive interstellar
masses of any kind to force a course correction.
	Sure, it had been a welcome change of routine from the random
attacks by Kazon or Vidiian ships, but that was six days ago.  Now the
sudden serenity was only a huge source of irritation to the navigator.
How exciting was it to sit and stare at a blank sensor grid all day?  At
the moment he'd even prefer indications of Borg activity instead of the
mind-numbing nothingness.
	It didn't help the situation any that they were only travelling at
Warp 6.  Both Captain Janeway and Lieutenant Torres felt the extra
stress exerted on the engines at increased speeds over a long duration
posed too much risk of long-term damage, especially in light of their
restrictions to maintenance.  It was a matter of possibly getting home
in a couple of centuries as opposed to possibly never making it back at
all.  Still, Tom ached to simply let fly - punch the engines up to
their limits and take their chances.  It would be a thrill and a half to
see just what capabilities the ship possessed, but he knew the captain
would never tolerate such undisciplined behaviour.  Whether they
depended on his piloting skills or not, she would have Lieutenant Tuvok
throw him in the brig without a second thought.
	*This sucks.  Of all the times to be stuck in a patch of dead
space... who's brilliant idea was it anyway to make it a Starfleet rule
that the Conn must be manned at all times?  We could put the ship on
auto-pilot right now and it wouldn't make a damn's worth of difference.
This *really* sucks.
	*They have no idea the kind of hell this is, having absolutely
nothing to do.  Ol' Janey and Mr. Tattoo get to catch up on their
paperwork and crew rosters and junk like that.  Harry's always busy
whether or not there's anything interesting out there to look at.  Why
doesn't he find a wormhole or something already?  I'd rather be back in
prison now; at least I'd be given something to do.*
	It just wasn't fair.  He couldn't find a way to escape the dull
confines of the bridge, not since B'Elanna had banned him from
Engineering yesterday over an attempt to make unnecessary modifications
to the navigational control systems.  *I don't care what she says, I did
not incite a riot.*  Without the proper stimulation, it didn't take long
for Tom's thoughts to wander away from the console.  He casually looked
over to his left at an attractive young ensign manning the science
station.  *Man, oh man, she'd be perfect for curing my boredom right
now.  I could show her a few manoeuvres they don't teach in flight
school.  If only she wasn't dating Calwell already.
	*<Sigh> Maybe that's why this bland space is getting to me; I'm
all wound up because I've been flying solo ever since Harry refused to
go out on another date with Jenny Delaney.  Now the sisters are dating
someone else because they're using the double-date-or-no-date routine
and I've been getting turned down ever since.  I had an easy mark with
Megan and Harry goes and screws it all up!  Hell, if anyone needed Jenny
Delaney to take the edge off his frustration, it's that uptight little
ingrate.  No, that's not fair; I'm blaming Harry for my own frustration.
	*I bet my problem is I've been on this ship too long.  By now my
reputation - as inaccurate and ill-deserved as it is - has been
circulated throughout the whole ship.  That's probably why the women are
so reluctant to go out with me.  They're not giving me the opportunity
to dispel those myths.  And now it looks like my time is running short
to get a good catch.  The Delaneys are unavailable.  Kes is just a
friend and devoted to Neelix.  Lieutenant Matthews is dating Hogan.
Mariah Henley and Colin Imbro are an item.  Gallagher, McCormick, Yarro,
Renehan and Dvorak aren't interested.
	*So who's available?  B'Elanna Torres?  Ha!  Yeah, like that'll
ever happen - she hates my guts.  I'd have a better chance of surviving
a space-walk in my skivvies than getting a date with her.  Sam Wildman?
Even overlooking the fact that she's married, she comes with extra
baggage.  I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of responsibility yet.
Nicoletti?  Not really my type.  The captain?*  He shuddered.  *Ugh,
that's too creepy to think about.  That'd be like dating your aunt. 
Besides, by the time she realizes she's not married to the ship
Commander Chakotay will be right there waiting for her.*
	"Mr. Paris?"
	*Now let's see, who else is there...?*
	"Mr. Paris!"  The captain's sharp questioning tone cut through his
train of thought.
	"Y-yes, sir!" Tom blustered, snapping his head around to look at
her.  She did not look happy.  Everyone on the bridge stared directly at
him, with looks of questioning and discontent about them.  He could feel
the rush of heat in his face under the ensign's scrutiny.  How
humiliating, to be caught daydreaming on the bridge.
	"In my office *now*, mister," she growled.  Tom wanted to find a
dark little hole to crawl into instead, but slunk in behind her.  He
pulled himself back to attention as she turned around sharply to regard
him with a hard stare after the office door slid shut.
	"Mr. Paris, would you kindly explain to me why you weren't
monitoring the Conn just now?"
	His thoughts raced, spinning wildly out of control.  His usually
quick, sharp wit failed him.  "Ah, well... uh...."
	Captain Janeway leaned forward slightly and poked a finger into
his chest.  "Lieutenant, I asked you a question; I expect an answer."
	"I, uh, my apologies, Captain," he fumbled.  "I just, uh, got
bored and lost my focus."
	"Bored?  Are you telling me that you're tired of piloting my
ship?"
	"No! Captain, it's not that at all.  It's just -"  He searched for
the right words.  "Well, I find that our present situation is less than
stimulating."
	"Oh, is that all?" she exclaimed as if enlightened by the
explanation.  Her posture seemed to relax.  "Well, I can't have my
navigator under-stimulated, now can I?"  She stepped over to her desk
and activated the communication panel.  "Mr. Tuvok, it appears that
Lieutenant Paris is suffering from a lack of stimulation on the bridge.
What would you say to reassigning him to night security detail for the
next two weeks?"
	*"I will get on to the task immediately, Captain,"* came the
tinny response.
	By now Tom's jaw had bounced off the deck plate a couple of times.
"Y-you can't be serious!  Captain, I -"
	"One more word out of you, Lieutenant, and I'll make it a month.
That's how serious I am."
	Tom instantly choked up.
	"That's better.  Now listen up.  When you're on my bridge I expect
you to be alert and disciplined at all times.  It doesn't matter if we
end up travelling through this kind of space for ten days or ten years,
I expect you to keep yourself on your toes while at your station.  And I
don't care how you do it, either; all I want to know is that I can rely
on you to be prepared at any time and at a moment's notice.  So I'm
putting you on night security for two weeks so you can think about that
the next time you begin to feel bored on my bridge.  Now get back to
your station, Lieutenant."
	Tom wasted no time or words as he spun on his heels and made a
hasty retreat from her office.  He didn't know why the captain was so
grouchy today, but for whatever reason, he had no desire to test her
patience any further.  Two weeks of night security detail was bad
enough.

	Lieutenant Tuvok studiously browsed through the security personnel
duty roster for the upcoming evening.  The captain's sudden request to
transfer Lieutenant Paris to night watch had been unanticipated but not
totally unexpected.  For a long while he pondered over the pilot's
irreverent and audacious behaviour on the bridge.  He considered it
quite inappropriate, especially during events when discretion or decorum
were in order.  Frankly, why the lieutenant hadn't been reprimanded much
sooner was an enigma, but one for which he predicted the captain would
resolve eventually.  Now it seemed that the moment he had waited for had
finally arrived.
	He isolated the name he sought, the one officer he knew would be
the ideal instructor for Lieutenant Paris.  She was perhaps his best
security officer on staff, a perfect model of Starfleet discipline and
order.  Responsible, competent, efficient - he had every confidence
that Lieutenant Calloway would more than adequately handle the task of
straightening out the impertinent young navigator.  He made the update
to the duty roster and sent it out to the entire night shift, then
forwarded a copy to Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant
Paris.

	A beep from the message panel stole Tom's attention away from the
Conn, where he pretended to be busy for the captain's sake.  His
shoulders began to droop as he absorbed the contents of the message.
They weren't wasting any time; Tuvok had slotted his next shift for
tonight, paired with a Lieutenant Leena Calloway.  He didn't recognize
the name; he'd have to look up her personnel file later.  Right now his
stomach was telling him it was time for lunch.
	Checking the chronometer, he got up and headed straight for the
turbolift, following on the heels of Ensign Kim.  As the lift hummed its
way silently to its destination, Harry's gaze darted between Tom and the
far wall a couple of times before he mustered the courage to speak.
"So, uh, what happened in there, Tom?"
	"I don't want to talk about it, Harry."
	"Oh.  Okay."  They stood there in silence until the turbolift
stopped and deposited them on Deck 2.
	"I've been temporarily reassigned to security duty.  Graveyard
shift."
	"Ah.  Sorry to hear it.  When do you start?"
	"Tonight.  2330 hours."
	"Hm, double shift.  Tough one."  They entered the mess hall and
grabbed a couple of lunch trays.  Tom customarily wrinkled his nose at
the sight of the food on the plate as they sat down at a table in the
corner of the room.
	He wondered if the ensign was more familiar with his new partner.
It would save him the trouble of looking up her personnel file.  "Harry,
what do you know about Lieutenant Calloway?"
	The ensign's eyes widened with surprise for a fraction of a second
at the mention of her name.  "'Callous' Calloway?" he whispered.
	"Oh, great, like I needed to hear that," Tom muttered before
taking a bite from his main course.  He instantly made a sour face and
reached for a napkin.  "Ugh.  You know, you'd think that after sixteen
months Neelix's cooking would get better, or that we'd at least get used
to it being so gross."
	Harry looked at the fare at the end of his fork and decided to set
it back down on the plate.  "So why do want to know about Calloway
anyway?  Thinking of asking her out or something?"
	"No, nothing like that.  Tuvok assigned me to work with her.  Only
now you've made me wish I'd been assigned to waste extraction instead."
	"I don't blame you.  From what I've heard, Lieutenant Calloway is
one hard nut.  She takes her assignments very seriously - works
strictly by the book; if it's not done precisely the Starfleet way, she
can be difficult to deal with.  You'd almost think she was a Vulcan the
way she acts on the job.  That's how she got her nickname.  You'd better
watch yourself, Tom, you don't want to get on her bad side."
	Tom frowned.  "Perfect.  I bet Tuvok has been itching to pin her
on me since we got here."  He stood up from the table and grabbed his
tray to leave.  "Thanks for the advice, Harry.  I've got a feeling I'm
going to need it."
	"Glad to help, Tom.  Oh, and one more thing."
	"What?"
	"Have fun tonight!"
	"Ha-ha.  Real funny, Harry, just hilarious.  I might have to go to
Sickbay, my sides are splitting."
	Harry just grinned and watched his friend leave, then turned his
attention back to lunch.  Looking at the cold plate in front of him and
considering Tom's opinion, he decided he wouldn't risk a possible case
of food poisoning.

                             *     *     *

	It was turning out to be a really lousy day for the normally
upbeat pilot.  Caught half-asleep at the wheel just as a tedious week of
travelling through the mundane surroundings of space caught up to him.
Chewed out by the captain and put on night watch - which, thanks to Lt.
Tuvok, started less than twelve hours after his regular shift on the
bridge ended.  And to top it all off, he had less than five hours in
which to get some rest for his first shift and nearly slept through his
alarm.  It was bad enough his head ached from lack of sleep, but he
didn't want to find himself on the wrong side of some stiff, square
jawed Starfleet security drone.  He had already reached his monthly
quota of problems.  A quick shower and change of clothes, and he was out
the door to get a small snack from the kitchen before reporting to the
security office.
	He jogged into the entrance a full minute early, much to his
relief.  Already there were approximately a dozen people assembled in
the room enjoying a quiet, pleasant conversation.  *Maybe this won't be
so bad after all,* he reconsidered, recognizing a few faces from
previous away missions.  He angled himself into a corner to observe the
proceedings while the last few crewmen came in.
	The low hum of noise disappeared as one officer stood up at the
head of the table.  "Okay, people.  In case you missed Lieutenant
Tuvok's posting, here are tonight's assignments...."
	Tom had to stop his chin from hitting the floor.  The foreman was
a total babe!  How was it he hadn't run into her before now, after all
this time?  This was a small ship; there weren't many places to hide,
especially when they were the only Federation ship in the entire
quadrant.  Besides, he made it a point to make himself familiar with
each and every attractive female officer on board.  His train of thought
from earlier that day returned in full force.  He conjured up at least a
dozen different scenarios that he and she could spend their weekend
together when he noticed he was being addressed.  He hadn't noticed that
they were the only people still present in the security office.
	"I would presume that you're Lieutenant Paris?" the foreman asked.
	"The one and only, Lieutenant, ah -" he replied, taking note of
the Starfleet rank of junior lieutenant.
	"Calloway, sir."  She frowned and looked at the PADD in her hand.
"Lieutenant Tuvok lists your assignment as disciplinary rehabilitation.
Is that correct, sir?"
	Silently he was giving thanks to the Vulcan for setting him up
with this goddess, even despite the black description Harry provided
him.  "I'd prefer to call it a minor misunderstanding."
	She looked at him cynically.  "Right.  Come with me, sir.  We have
to audit the weapons lockers on Decks 10 and 11."
	Tom almost had to hurry to keep up with her as she marched quickly
out the door and down the hallway.  "You know, you don't have to be so
formal with me.  In fact, I don't like being addressed as 'sir'.  My
name's Tom."
	She stopped and turned so quickly he almost knocked her over.
"With all due respect, *sir*, I know all about you."  She was a picture
of reserve and calm, but he could see the flare of hatred in her eyes.
"I know about how you killed those three officers in that shuttle crash.
I know how you attempted to cover up your mistakes by denying the truth.
I know that you got expelled from Starfleet because of your treachery.
And I know that you were apprehended as a member of the Maquis and
sentenced to prison.
	"Now I want to make myself perfectly clear: I may have to work
with you, but it doesn't change the fact that you are a loathsome
individual.  Now I suggest we report to the weapons lockers on Decks 10
and 11; we're falling behind schedule."  She turned and headed for the
turbolift just as quickly as she had stopped.
	Tom stood there stunned for a second before realizing what he was
supposed to be doing.  *So much for making a good first impression.*