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.*

Chapter 2

	The turbolift ride to Deck 10 was unbelievably quiet, Tom still
felt cowed from the security officer's scurrilous outburst.  He almost
didn't want to believe it had happened, either; she had reacted with
such vehemence one would have thought he had just been released from the
penal settlement rather than over a year ago.  He thought that issue had
been resolved with the rest of the Starfleet crew, so why was she
bringing it up?  He looked at her carefully in an attempt to gauge her,
to solve the puzzle before him.  She remained at attention, her eyes
fixed upon the far wall.  Her face was set as stern and cold as a slab
of granite, blocking out everything except the tasks ahead of her; he
sensed she was aware of his scrutiny but chose to ignore it.
	She stood about 5'8" or 5'9", taller than average for a woman.
Her figure was lean and trim but possessed soft, ample curves.  In fact,
by the way she was so voluptuously proportioned he wouldn't have
believed she was a security officer if he hadn't known it to be true.
She wore her dark hair long and pulled back into a tight knot, not
cropped short as most security officers preferred.  He studied the
graceful lines of her profile, the high cheekbones, the small narrow
bridge of her nose, the soft pink curve of her lips, and decided she
would look at least twice as beautiful if she wasn't brooding as she was
now.  *She could easily be one of the most attractive women on the ship
if she smiled and wore her hair down.*
	Lt. Calloway stepped out of the turbolift at a brisk pace.  Tom
followed two steps behind, appreciating the sight in front of him.
Despite how the all-business attitude her Starfleet security training
shaped her, there was still a small waggle in her gait.  He certainly
enjoyed the unconscious mannerism, but he would have enjoyed it more if
the woman hadn't already declared her contempt for him.
	His slight smirk melted into a frown over that troubling thought.
It had almost been a year and a half now since being unceremoniously
dumped into the other side of the galaxy.  Sure, at first it had been
difficult working with the rest of Janeway's Starfleet crew.  His
presence on the ship was still very much a sensitive issue: after all,
he carried with him a damaged reputation wherever he went.  Tom Paris,
betrayer of the Federation.  Tom Paris, Starfleet criminal and Maquis
turncoat.  Tom Paris, unreliable, untrustworthy, unpardonable.  It was
the biggest hurdle he faced during the merger of the two crews.  It had
taken a lot of time to prove his loyalty to the ship, but he had gained
the trust of his Starfleet shipmates - or at least he had thought so,
until tonight.
	Leena accessed the weapons locker with her clearance code and
slipped out a PADD from a small cabinet adjoining the entrance.  She
forcefully shoved it into Tom's midsection, to which he responded with a
surprised grunt.  "Here, sir.  Start cataloguing the contents of the
spare item bins over there," she ordered, pointing to a line of shelves.
"Please bring me your report when you're finished."  She disappeared
into the racks of phaser compression rifles before he could get out a
word.
	"Yes, ma'am," he muttered to himself, throwing open the first bin.
Harry was right; she was going to be a tough nut to crack.
	As he fumbled through the containers of phaser power cells, he
mulled over her stinging words again.  This whole first encounter had
not gone according to his plan.  He figured he'd set a friendly
atmosphere, be incredibly polite and courteous - play up the chivalry
angle.  Then he'd question her about her personal life, like where she
grew up and why she'd chosen to become a security officer and stuff like
that.  Then after a few days of getting to know her and using his
natural charm he'd try to set up an arrangement to meet outside of work,
and that would be that.
	Well, that plan was ancient history now.  Certainly an inane
question such as 'Where are you from?' wasn't going to crack the thick
layer of ice she had put between them, and she definitely had no
intention of changing that situation.  She hadn't uttered a single word
to him all morning.  What he needed now was some way to influence her
perspective of him.  Unfortunately, as uncomfortable as it made him
feel, there was only one option available to him.
	"You know, Calloway, I don't know what you've heard about me, but
you should hear what I have to say about it."
	"We don't socialize while on duty, sir.  I'd advise returning to
work before we fall behind schedule further," she announced flatly.
	*O-o-okay.  That went well.*  He wasn't sure if this 'we' she
referred to was meant to apply to all security officers or just them,
but he wasn't about to push the issue at the moment.  If it was an
actual security ordinance he certainly didn't want to get into more
trouble.  He'd simply have to wait for another opportunity to attempt a
conversation with her.

	Tom now completely understood Harry's reaction to the mention of
her name at lunch time: Calloway was blacker than black.  Apart from
instructing him what procedures to follow as they tallied up the stocks
of Type II phasers and such, she never spoke a word to him all night,
nor would she address him directly to his face.  While he admired her
figure from behind, the constant view of the back of her head grew
tiresome.  It wasn't as if he hadn't expected this type of behaviour
from the Starfleet personnel at the beginning of their tour, but now?
	He looked at the steaming plate of food on his tray and grimaced.
If there was one thing worse than Neelix's cooking, it had to be
Neelix's cooking re-heated.  He could be at least thankful the Talaxian
himself wasn't here to dole out his high-spirited anecdotes along with
the meals: for an itinerant space raider he was awfully sensitive about
his culinary skills.
	"Hey, Paris, what are you doing working the graveyard shift
anyway?" Robert Fowler asked, spotting the lieutenant and waving him
over to a group of security officers.  He happily joined them,
recognizing a few familiar faces.
	"I decided I wasn't getting enough work on the bridge, so I
decided to take over the security department."  The quip earned a few
chuckles.  "Actually, I got into a bit of trouble this morning and this
is my penance for the next two weeks.  The best part is that I get to
work alongside of 'Chuckles' over there."  He nodded over to Leena, who
had perched in a quiet corner of the room alone.  Whether or not she
heard the conversation, she made no indication of paying interest to
them.
	Ensign Renehan looked around him to see to whom he referred.  "Oh,
so Leena's decided she doesn't like you, huh?"
	Tom sat down beside her.  "In a word, yes.  Apparently my
reputation means a lot to her."
	"What'd you get busted for to end up with her, Tom?" Fowler
inquired.
	"For being human, Rob," he answered vaguely.  "That's all you need
to know."
	He glanced over to where his current partner sat and ate by
herself.  She had openly and bitterly groused about being put eleven
minutes behind schedule, which of course was all his fault for
disrupting her work environment with his ineptitude.  To further stress
her displeasure she refused to sit at the same table with the other
security officers because of the invitation they'd extended to him.  He
figured she was purposely putting distance between them to avoid getting
to know him.  Harry was completely wrong in his assessment of her.  She
was worse than a Vulcan: a Vulcan could be incredibly stubborn, but you
couldn't make a Vulcan hate you.
	"I don't get it, Jackie," he remarked to Renehan, who sat beside
him.  "We've been out here for what, fifteen, sixteen months?  She still
thinks I'm the lowest form of life to be crawling around on this ship.
I thought I'd finally been accepted into this crew.  What gives?"
	Renehan cast a second look at Calloway, following Tom's gaze.
"Huh, I'm not surprised.  Leena's a real stiff.  She still doesn't
really trust any of the Maquis yet, and I doubt that'll change any time
soon.  In fact, she's pretty stand-offish with a lot of the other
Starfleet officers as well.  I know she has a few friends on board, but
there aren't many."
	Ensign Fowler picked up the thread.  "Yeah, whoever taught her at
the Academy did a really good job of brainwashing her.  She believes
that anyone who doesn't or can't live up to the principles of Starfleet
isn't fit to lick the mud off her boots.  She's pretty pig-headed about
it too; if she so much as finds out you bullied other kids in grade
school you're automatically on her bad list.  Holds a grudge better than
a Bajoran, she does."
	"Boy, if ever anyone needed to loosen up, she's the one," Tom
commented.  "Fortunately for her, I'm an expert at helping people loosen
up - particularly women."
	Renehan laughed heartily.  "You are a cocky bastard, aren't you?"
	"What?  You don't think I can do it?"
	"You're welcome to try, Paris, but I doubt you'll get far."
	He grinned.  "Just give me some time, Renehan.  I'll put a fire
under her."
	"Yeah, right."
	"Just make sure you give us a full account of what happens when
you do, Tom," Fowler prodded.  "An achievement like that will be a story
of legends."
	As the laughter drifted around the table, the focus of the
discussion finished her lunch and strode over.  "Break's over, sir."
	"What?  That couldn't have been half an hour already."
	"That's because it's only been about nineteen minutes, sir."
	Tom could feel his blood pressure increase.  "But we're allowed a
half hour for meal breaks.  I'm not even finished yet!"
	"I don't like it anymore than you do, sir, but since we have to
review all of the night's duty reports, we only have three hours to
complete the audit of the weapons locker on Deck 11.  To avoid falling
behind schedule *even further* it is necessary to shorten our break.
Might I remind you that you're the one responsible for putting us eleven
minutes behind schedule in the first place."
	*Easy, Tom.  Control your temper.  You don't want to cause a scene
in the mess hall.*  He had no qualms about striking a woman if the
situation required it, but it wouldn't help his cause to punch out the
woman he intended to get familiar with.  Calmly he set his fork down and
politely excused himself from the suddenly silent table.  Subdued
conversations started up again once the two officers had departed.
	Reaching the turbolift, Tom decided to address the situation.
"Lieutenant, the way you spoke to me back there was not only rude but
bordered on insubordination.  I'm willing to let it slide not only
because I wasn't trained to be a security officer, but because I'm a
nice guy."
	"Sir, I am merely following Lieutenant Tuvok's orders, which
clearly stated that I was to supervise your activities for the next two
weeks.  That is an assignment I take very seriously, and would hope you
take it seriously as well.  Your position on the senior staff may
entitle you to certain rank priviledges, but I still outrank you on
seniority.  For the next two weeks I expect you to follow my orders.  I
am not your baby-sitter.  So unless you want me to put *you* on report
for negligence and insubordination, you will abide by my schedule unless
I say otherwise."  With that the turbolift doors whisked open and she
took off down the corridor.
	Tom ground his teeth and tried counting to ten as he followed
three paces behind.  *She'd damn well better be worth it, that's all I
can say.*

Chapter 3

	Tom stomped into the mess hall telegraphing his mood to anyone
within visual range.  His face was so red one could have envisioned the
curls of black smoke pouring off his scalp, he was that hot.  He swiped
a tray off the counter before Neelix could get in a word and almost
hurled it onto the dining surface in front of Harry Kim and B'Elanna
Torres.
	"Hey!" the ensign snapped as the lieutenant's fruit juice sloshed
across the table, his breakfast and very nearly his uniform.
	"Bad night, Tom?" the engineer asked out of courtesy.  B'Elanna
hadn't heard about Tom's reassignment until Harry had filled her in the
previous evening.
	"I don't know who I want to kill first: Tuvok or Lieutenant
Calloway." he grated.  "Do you know what he did?  He gave that little
wanna-be-Vulcan authority over me for the next two weeks!  'To provide
proper tutelage in Starfleet protocol and discipline,' that's what he
said.  If I hadn't heard it with my own two ears I wouldn't have
believed it."
	Harry tossed a soggy napkin over his plate.  "Sounds like you and
Calloway got off on the wrong foot."
	"I was on the wrong foot way before I even took a step!  I think
she left her objectivity back on DS9 with the rest of my prison
sentence.  As far as she's concerned I should be riding out the rest of
our trip in the brig; she was busting my ass all night.  I tell you, she
was *this* close to putting me on report for not keeping up to her
schedule," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger two centimetres
apart.  "She's a narrow-minded, compulsive-obsessive freak."
	"She must be a load of laughs at parties," Torres said wryly.  "So,
clearly neither of you like each other.  Won't Tuvok change the
assignments?  He ought to know that most humans can't function with each
other efficiently when emotional conflicts occur."
	Tom gave her a sour, defeated look.  "Not a chance -- I asked him
already.  He says it's illogical to change the assignment because she's
the best person available for the job, and besides, Starfleet officers
shouldn't allow their personal disagreements to interfere with their
work.  I'll just have to stick it out and show her that I'm not the
complete screw-up she thinks I am.  And with a little luck I'll get her
to go out with me."
	Unfortunately for Harry, he was sipping his juice just as Tom
delivered the last line.  The comment instantly made him choke.  It took
him a few minutes to recover, with B'Elanna trying to lend assistance
and assess his state of health.  He waved her off, insisting he was
fine.  "Tom, you're kidding, right?" he sputtered out between breaths.
"You've done nothing but complain about her since you came in.  Why
would you want to ask her out on a date?"
	"I have to, Harry.  Have you ever met her?  She's a...a..." he
looked uncomfortably at the engineer.  "Uh... oh, hell, she's probably
the most gorgeous woman I've ever met."
	B'Elanna snorted derisively.  "Now why doesn't that surprise me,
coming from a pig like you?"
	"Hey, I feel I have an obligation as the most attractive man on
the ship to date her."  At B'Elanna's challenging look, he added "Okay,
okay.  I sort of made a bet with the rest of the night shift that I
could unwind her strings a little."
	Torres looked taken aback.  "Now that does surprise me, Tom.  I
think you've just sunk to a new low.  Wagering that you can get her into
bed?  That's disgusting!"
	Tom took offense.  "Did I *say* that?  My goal is just to get
her to mellow out; this has nothing to do with sex."  *Yet.*  "If I can
get her to go out with me she just might start opening up to other
people.  But before I can do that she's got to have her attitude
readjusted."
	"But you just said she hates your guts," Harry pointed out.  "How
are you going to change her mind about you?"
	"Well, I have a plan, but I'll need help from you guys if it's
going to work."
	"What makes you think I'd want to help a sleazy little worm like
you?" the engineer argued.  It didn't matter if he intended to sleep
with her or not, the idea of helping Tom catch a woman irritated her.
	"Because you're a nice person?"  Tom received only a pained look
for the lame remark.  "Look, I'm not just doing this for my own benefit
here.  As far as Calloway is concerned you and the rest of the Maquis
should be sharing prison cells with me.  You've got as much to gain from
this as I do."
	Harry and B'Elanna exchanged looks.  "What exactly did you have in
mind?" she asked.
	"How would you guys be interested in a dinner party?"

                             *     *     *

	The routine the following night changed very little, even though
the night's work consisted of a diagnostic and recalibration of the
internal sensors on every deck.  Lt. Calloway remained extremely curt
and totalitarian with Tom, dispensing orders without warmth, and
meticulously pointing out his errors every time she checked on his
progress.  Tom had to bite his tongue several times throughout the shift
to avoid blowing up at her as she continually picked apart his
procedure, but he at least managed to stay on top of his duties.  She
rewarded his timely efforts with absolutely nothing in terms of
reinforcement, but then neither did she complain about tardiness.  To
Tom, it was an encouraging sign.
	He carefully looked over the offerings for lunch and contemplated
the outcome of the situation he knew he had to face.  The results ranged
from bad to catastrophic, but he tried to keep a positive attitude -- no
one ever really accomplished anything with pessimism.  He took a quick
survey of the room in an effort to gain some form of confidence.
	The mess hall bore a smaller number of patrons than usual for the
night crews; either people were unusually busy tonight -- which, due to
their present situation, seemed unlikely -- or else a larger number of
people had decided to expend a few replicator rations on the same night.
Tom hoped it wasn't because of the organic enigma he currently carried
on his tray.  Ensigns Fowler and Renehan were at their usual table.  He
glanced over just in time to catch a look from Robert which implied,
"We're waiting, Tom."  Back in the corner sat Leena Calloway.  Tom bore
down and approached her table.
	"Mind if I sit down?" he politely asked.  She did not reply.  He
figured she meant to ignore him.  "I'll take that as a 'no,'" he
declared, seating himself opposite her.
	"You know, sir, there are plenty of other tables that are
unoccupied," she said churlishly.
	"That would undermine the purpose of asking to sit with you, now
wouldn't it?"
	Her irritation became even more visible: she abandoned protocol
when she addressed him.  "And just what exactly *is* your purpose?"
	"To talk, simple as that," he replied plaintively.
	She looked crossly at him.  "I thought I told you that we don't
socialize while on duty."
	Tom shot back a skeptical look.  "Since when is eating lunch being
on duty?  Admit it, Calloway, you're just trying to avoid getting to
know me because you just might discover that I'm a decent person, and
that you might like me.  You're scared of finding out the truth because
that would mean you made a mistake -- that you were *wrong* -- and you
can't accept the fact that you could ever make a mistake.  But the truth
is, Calloway, everyone makes mistakes.  You're no different from me or
anyone else."
	"I don't have to listen to this," she spat.  She grabbed her tray
and bolted upright to leave.  Tom had to react fast to grab hold of her
tray before she could take off.
	"Hey, take it easy!"  He kept his voice low to avoid attracting
even more attention than they were already receiving.  "Sit down before
you make a spectacle of yourself!"
	"If you don't let go of my tray this instant I'll file a
harassment charge against you," she hissed back.  She tried to yank the
tray free of his grasp but Tom wouldn't give.
	"Now wait just a damn minute here.  You may be the one in charge
when we're on duty, but the second our shift ends I get to crawl out
from under your thumb and throw my wieght around.  Personally, I don't
want to do that, but I will if I have to.  Now, either you sit back down
and act like a civilized person, or I might just decide to unexpectedly
drop by your quarters later this afternoon while your eating dinner.
It's your call."
	With an icy stare, Leena stopped her struggle and sank back into
her chair.
	"Thank you."  He very quickly swept a stern look across the room
as if to say 'Show's over folks, nothing more to see here; you can stop
staring at us now.'
	Lt. Calloway sat and sulked in silence for a minute, having the
minutiae of Starfleet regulations thrust in her own face.  "Just because
I'm sitting down doesn't mean I'll talk to you," she finally stated.
	"Fine with me; I just want you to hear out what I have to say.  I
know you've probably heard a lot about me from the other Starfleet
officers when you first boarded the ship, and back then I couldn't have
cared less what you or they thought about me.  It wasn't as if I could
deny anything they said.
	"But things have changed a lot since then, and I'd like to believe
that I've changed as well.  That's why it bothers me right now to find
out that someone still thinks of me as a self-indulgent mercenary.  It's
like comparing me to a person that no longer exists.  I don't think
that's fair.  At least give me a chance to show you I'm not who you
believe."
	"And you think that by telling me your great sob story you'll win
me over?" she retorted.
	"That, my dear Lieutenant, will be for you to decide, not me.  I'm
not the one who has to choose whether or not to accept me for who I
really am."
	"I already know who you really are: a pathetic excuse for a human
being who likes to talk his way out of trouble.  So go ahead, talk until
you're blue in the face.  You won't change my opinion of you."
	Tom raised his hands in conciliation and smirked in satisfaction.
"Hey, if you don't want to listen, that's fine.  I can deal with the
fact that you're not open to new ideas.  At least I'll have the
advantage of knowing you dislike me because you're prejudiced by a false
perception.  I'm afraid, however, the rest of the crew might not be as
forgiving as I am."
	Leena sneered at him.  He knew that last remark would irritate
her.  It was an attack on her integrity and professional character.
Even security officers were instructed on the importance of objectivity
and equity.  Whatever happened now, he knew he'd at least get her
audience.  "Okay, you've got ten minutes.  Spill your guts."
	The smirk on Tom's face vanished.  "No, you don't understand;
it'll take more than the remainder of our break for me to tell you
everything.  Besides, this isn't something I feel comfortable talking
about openly in public."
	She eyed him carefully.  "Then what was it you had in mind?" she
asked suspiciously.
	"I was sort of hoping I could explain it to you over dinner -"
	Calloway's face donned sudden realization.  "So that's it!  All
this talk about knowing the real you -- you're just trying to hit on
me!"  She was ready to explode.  "They were right about you!  How could
I think even for a minute that -"
	"Will you be quiet!" Tom hissed, looking about the room.  Once
again they'd gathered an unwelcome audience.  "Let me finish.  You have
to understand, this is difficult for me to do.  I haven't told anyone
about my past yet, not even my closest friends.  It's a part of my life
I'd rather forget, but I feel I owe it to my friends to tell them what
happened.  I mean, what are friends if you can't trust them to accept
you for all your problems, right?  So I was thinking of hosting some
sort of dinner party so I could finally open myself to them, and now
that I need to have this talk with you, I thought I might as well kill
two birds with one stone.  So you see, I'm not asking you out on a
date."
	The colour of anger in her face dissipated, replaced with a look
of skepticism.  "You want me to come your dinner with a bunch of your
Maquis friends?"
	Now it was Tom's turn to look annoyed.  "Boy, you never quit, do
you?  I'll have you know my best friend happens to be Harry Kim, one of
the best and brightest ever to come out of the academy, and this ship's
Operations Officer to boot.  He's not the only Starfleet officer I call
'friend' either; I can list ten more right now if you think it's
necessary."  He paused, allowing his words to settle in her mind.  "So,
what do you say?  In three days?"
	Leena frowned, realizing that he wouldn't relent until she
accepted.  It was a no-win scenario: either she went to the dinner or
risked tacitly admitting to being close-minded.  "What time?" she sighed
in resignation.
	"How does nineteen-thirty sound?  It may be a bit early,
considering we're working nights, but we shouldn't miss our shift."
	"Fine, whatever.  Now get a move on, our break ends in two
minutes."
	Tom allowed himself a small smile.  "Yes, sir."
	It felt like a huge victory, winning that verbal sparring match.
Tom could sense a brief rush of adrenaline surge through his system;
there was nothing quite like the feeling of getting the upper hand on a
competitive and argumentative person.  That was probably what he enjoyed
most in his friendship with B'Elanna Torres -- the continual rounds of
squabbling and slandering between them.  Despite its tenuous appearance,
it had evolved into a reassuring, familiar arrangement.
	There were still times he could rile up the strong-willed
engineer.  He needed only a look or an off-hand remark to get underneath
her Klingon skin and produce a rash that drove her into a mad frenzy.
He couldn't rationalize to himself why he did it, though.  Perhaps he
did it to prove to himself that he could still unnerve those who
considered themselves unflappable.  Whatever the reason, though, he'd
just found another subject with which to entertain himself.  Suddenly
Leena Calloway wasn't as bad as he had set her up to be.  *Well, whether
or not I can change her mind about me, she'll be a lot of fun to talk
to.  Still, I'd like it more if she can learn to tolerate me.  Now, to
organize this dinner....*

Chapter 4

	Tom felt supremely pleased with himself.  He realized soon after
his conversation with the security officer that he had an effect on her.
He wondered how he hadn't recognized it sooner.  Leena Calloway desired
him.  Why else had she reacted so strongly towards him?  She
intentionally rebuffed him because she could feel a physical lust for
him within her, but she had made up her mind not to like him.  To
protect herself she pushed him away even harder than necessary.
	The next three days passed by awkwardly for Tom.  He found himself
thinking about Leena Calloway more frequently as the hours dissolved
like so much ice in a glass of warm water.  During the night his
thoughts would drift from his work, recalling various images of his co-
worker, perhaps a facial expression or a pose in a particular light.
Sometimes he had to remind himself not to stare at her while they
worked, for her womanly appearance could easily distract.  However,
while he slept during the day his subconscious better than compensated
for his restraint.  The situations were almost always the same in his
dreams: they would meet at some location on the ship - the security
office, the bridge, the mess hall, a corridor, his quarters - and begin
a discussion.  The conversation quickly evolved into an argument over
things that made no sense to him, but before long the heated exchanges
would be resolved with more libidinous confrontations.
	At 1800 the adventure began.  Tom rolled around in his bed for a
few minutes trying to rouse himself from yet another Calloway dream,
cruelly cut short by the alarm.  Still dozy, he got up and readied
himself for the evening.  The sonic shower helped wake him, clearing the
cobwebs from his head.  Then he remembered his room in it's state of
disarray, and grumbled to himself for putting off the chore until this
morning.  He should have cleaned the room last night and slept in until
1830 instead.  He could feel the first rumblings of his stomach begin,
but he couldn't eat for another hour yet.
	He picked up the last article of clothing off the floor just as
Neelix arrived with the evening fare.  The wonderful aromas emanating
from the cart immediately prompted Tom to salivate, and his stomach
growled noisily.  The smell of the food surprised him as much as when
the Talaxian had first come to him with the offer of preparing the
private meal.  Tom hadn't even planned to include Neelix in the affair,
but somehow the effusive alien had found out and insisted on supplying
his services.  At the moment Tom was grateful for the intrusion, but he
had to get himself a drink to quell the hunger.
	At approximately 1915 the guests started to arrive.  Harry showed
first. "Hi, Tom."
	"Harry, right on time.  You can help me set the table."
	The ensign looked around the neatly organized room.  "Wow.  I
don't think I've ever seen your place this clean before.  In fact, I
don't think I've ever seen your place clean, period."
	"Very funny.  Just shut up and help me with this, okay?"
	Harry grinned and joined his friend beside Neelix's dinner cart.
"The food smells good.  What are we eating tonight?"
	"Damned if I know," Tom replied with a wry smile.  "Neelix told me
it was a surprise, and I haven't the courage to look yet.  You're right,
though; it does smell pretty good."
	Harry lofted a stack of dishes from the cart, counting them in the
process.  "Just four of us?"
	"Yep.  Just you, me, B'Elanna and Leena.  I want to take this
'baring of the soul' slowly."
	Tom recalled the conversation they had about the dinner party a
couple of nights ago.  Both Harry and B'Elanna expressed surprise when
he confided his intentions.  To them it seemed like a huge risk to open
up so soon to a person he didn't know well, but at the time Tom assured
them he had the resolve to pursue it.  However, as the moment of truth
drew closer Tom seemed less sure of himself.
	Harry noticed the lack of confidence.  "I'm sure you'll do just
fine, Tom."  Just then the door announced the arrival of another guest.
	"Come on in."  The door whisked open to admit Lt. Torres.  "Hi,
B'Elanna.  Harry and I are just finishing up here.  Make yourself
comfortable."
	B'Elanna also made the obligatory rounds of Tom's abode before
sitting down in a soft chair.  "Hm, not bad.  The decor's nowhere near
as piggish as I expected, though."
	"You haven't seen the bedroom yet, Torres," Tom kidded, placing
the last utensil on the table.  The two men crossed the room to join her
in the den.  "Now, can I interest you two in a beverage?"

	They sat and waited in relative silence.  Their aimless chatter
about work and other things gradually dwindled to nothing as everyone
became conscious of the time.  Tom's stomach groaned loudly enough for
all to hear, demanding more sustenance than the guava-pineapple juice he
was drinking.  For the sixth time in ten minutes he checked the
chronometer.  It was now 1935.  "I did say nineteen-thirty, didn't I?"
he asked anxiously.
	"Tom, relax," B'Elanna instructed.  "She's probably being
fashionably late.  I'm sure she'll be here any minute now."
	"No, it's not like her to be late, not even by a minute.  She
sticks to her schedules as if they were doctrine."  She was making a
point, Tom realized, demonstrating her displeasure at being coerced into
this function.  It was a discouraging sign.
	"Let's give her ten more minutes," Harry advised.  "If she's not
here by 1945 we might as well eat.  There's no point in letting all that
food go to waste."
	The sombre atmosphere blanketed the room once more.  Tom knew he
shouldn't be so distraught over the situation; Leena only hurt her
reputation further by delaying.  He supposed he just didn't want a part
in inflicting that damage.  He would be the one responsible for
ostracizing her from the rest of the ship, and she would probably revile
him for all their remaining days.  Despite all his charm and savvy,
there would be no chance of reconciling their differences.  There would
be no absolution from her, just complete and utter hatred.
	Finally, at 1941, she arrived.  Naturally she wore her Starfleet
issue; no doubt she viewed the gathering as more of an occupational
hazard than a social function.  Tom noted her irony of setting the
proceedings back by eleven minutes, exactly the same amount of time he
had put her behind schedule on the night they had first worked together.
He'd let her pettiness pass, though.  There were more important matters
to consider.  "I'm glad you could make it, Lieutenant," he greeted.
"Please, come in.  The table's ready for dining."  He ushered her in
politely but swiftly.  "Can I get you a drink?"
	"Vulcan spice tea, if you don't mind, sir," she requested stiffly.
Her voice then took on a slightly harder edge, noticing the wine glasses
in Harry and B'Elanna's hands.  "I hope you yourself haven't been
consuming alcohol, sir.  Our shift begins at 2200; it would reflect
badly on your performance report if I knew you were inebriated while on
duty."
	B'Elanna raised an eyebrow at Harry.  "I wouldn't dream of doing
such a thing, Lieutenant," Tom replied, showing her a glass partially
filled with fruit juice.  He dispensed with making jokes; he'd save his
wit for a more appreciative audience.
	The guests seated themselves and Tom began serving the food.  It
was an impressive display, resembling a carved beef shoulder roast,
mashed potatoes with butter, asparagus tips and Caesar salad.  Neelix
obviously took great pains to make the Delta Quadrant dishes appear
native to the Alpha Quadrant.  The last of Tom's reservations
disappeared when he sampled the alien roast.  Thankfully, the flavour
equalled the favourable aroma.  He glanced furtively in Leena's
direction as she took her first bite, and noted the expression of
surprised pleasure on her face.  He made it a point to commend Neelix
for an outstanding job and tell him to save the recipe.
	The meal abounded with small talk, primarily directed at Lt.
Calloway.  While they had waited Tom had entreated B'Elanna and Harry to
engage her in friendly conversation, hopefully to draw her out and make
her feel more relaxed.  Unfortunately Leena failed to live up to her
end of the deal.  The security officer persisted in her stubbornness;
her answers were short and concise, never giving out more information
than was needed to answer the questions posed.  She barely strayed from
her rigidly professional demeanour, addressing Torres as 'Lieutenant'
and Harry as 'Mr. Kim'.  By the end of the meal the duo could
sympathize with Tom's infuriation after that first night.  She really
made it difficult to get close.
	Tom cleared away the dirty dishes and quickly checked the time.
Less than half an hour had elapsed.  *Boy, she doesn't mess around.*
"Well, now that we've had a chance to eat, let's get to the reason I
asked you all here.  As I'm sure you're all aware, the last few years of
my life have been pretty colourful, going back to the accident at Caldek
Prime that led to my dismissal from Starfleet.  I imagine most of the
stories you've heard have been pretty speculative, and we all know how
gossip grows in the retelling.  I have asked you all here tonight so I
can give you a personal account of what really occurred.  I want to
share with you a perspective no one else can provide.
	"You might not believe me, but everything I am about to tell you
is the truth.  I am not seeking sympathy from you; all I ask is that you
listen to what I have to say with an open mind."

	Tom tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his uniform as he
stepped off the transport shuttle to Caldek Prime.  However, it belied
the nervousness he presently felt for his first off-world station
assignment.  He had been promoted to full lieutenant just two weeks ago;
the catch of the new pip still poked annoyingly into his neck.  The
brass at the Starfleet Training Centre on Caldek Prime desired flight
officers with experience and skill to pass on their knowledge to other
up-and-coming pilots, and Tom Paris' name was near the top of the list,
thanks to his natural abilities and his father's influence.
	Taking his first few steps toward the command centre, he felt a
mild pang of regret.  He had thoroughly enjoyed his post aboard the
*U.S.S. Renegade* as the ship's Conn, fulfilling a life-long dream of
piloting a starship.  His expert skills in navigation had earned him
great respect from his fellow crewmates, as well as a quick rise through
the lower ranks.  However, the offer of being a Starfleet flight
instructor was too tempting to pass up.  Tom saw it as an opportunity to
further his career as an officer.  With any luck, the audacious and
spirited young man would make commander before the age of thirty, the
first in his family to achieve such a mark since his great-great-
grandfather James.  His father would be proud.
	Tom eased into his new role as flight instructor with little
difficulty.  He always loved to showcase his talents before an audience,
and he never had a problem interacting with other people.  His pupils
responded well to his informal style of teaching, in part because his
loquacity and sense of humour made him easily approachable.  The other
instructors proved to be his biggest obstacle at the start of his
assignment: his impetuous behaviour and ad hoc teaching style received
much criticism.  Only when they assessed the performance of his classes
did they seem to relax.  Tom didn't win many friends in the faculty, but
his impressive results saved his position at the Centre.

	"Excuse me, but are you going to get to the point of this meeting,
or are you going to continue babbling about your illustrious career?"
Torres interjected whimsically.  "I thought this was only supposed to
take a couple of hours."
	"It's called 'establishing the scene', B'Elanna," Tom said sourly.
"You've got a thing or two to learn about public speaking.  Then again,
I suppose your idea of public speaking is a Klingon shouting contest."
	The engineer scowled.  "If you'd like a first-hand demonstration
of what Klingon orations *really* involve, I'll be happy to oblige."
	Tom leered at her.  "Is that a promise, Lieutenant?"
	Torres growled, but said nothing.
	Leena sat back and quietly observed the pair with some interest.
She agreed with Lt. Torres; it felt like the man was speaking merely for
the pleasure of hearing his own voice.  She also noticed the difference
in personalities of Tom's friends.  The engineer, a half-Klingon Maquis
rebel, seemed not to appreciate the propriety of Starfleet.  Ensign Kim,
on the other hand, retired into a neutral corner, patient enough to wait
out the entire proceedings in silence before making his evaluations.  It
was a pity he had chosen to make friends with that windbag.  She might
have been interested in getting to know him better.
	"Now," Tom resumed, "if I may continue, I was just getting to the
event in question.  It happened about eight months after I was assigned
to the Centre.
	"The only other difficulty I encountered during my tenure was the
students, the women to be exact.  Naturally, being among the most
skilled pilots in the Caldek system, they found me irresistible."
	B'Elanna made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh.  "Oh,
please.  Do you really expect us to swallow that nonsense?"
	Tom ground his molars together.  "It's true.  I can't explain the
reasoning behind it, but women have been drawn to pilots ever since man
learned how to fly, especially those who pushed the limits of aviation.
Now if you don't mind, would you refrain from further comments until
after I'm done?  It'll go much quicker that way," he asked irritably.
	Torres grinned and nodded her consent.  Harry attempted to keep a
straight face, but a muscle in his cheek twitched, betraying his
amusement at the reversal of roles.
	Leena made a small coughing sound to suppress a giggle, catching
the attention of the room.  She battled to keep a straight face,
dismissing the stares with a wave of her hand.  "Sorry."  She then
looked down at her lap before her face could betray her.
	It was amusing, watching the two exchange fire.  It seemed as
though they did it on purpose, intentionally trying to get under each
other's nerves, and right now the Klingon had the advantage.
	Tom fired a stern look at the crowd.  "Okay.  Now where was I?"

	Meeting women was never much of a problem for Tom while he was
growing up.  His mother always remarked how much he resembled his father
at a similar age: boyishly handsome and self-confident.  'Yes, he'll be
a real lady-killer' his father would say.  When he discovered his
passion for flying the girls practically fell over each other vying for
his attention.  His father once explained that this was inherent in
human nature.  In ancient times women sought mates who displayed
strength, courage and fearlessness in the face of danger, because they
would make the best providers for their family.  Tom didn't really
understand what it meant at the time, but he didn't care: he had the
pick of the most attractive girls in high school!
	The situation played out much the same at Caldek's flight training
centre.  Because of his rakish good looks and superior navigational
skills, dozens of women sought his company, a good many of them students
in his lectures.  At times he had to work to keep his focus while
teaching, as some of his pupils were amazing female specimens.  If not
for his career goals he might have transgressed a few faculty
regulations.
	Halfway into his first year the situation changed.  Tom
encountered a young ensign like none other he'd ever met before.  Unlike
most of his acquaintances, Marnie Fuller transferred to the compound as
an assistant to one of xenobiology instructors.  From the moment they
were first introduced she mesmerized him with her beauty and
intelligence, but it surprised him when she didn't immediately fawn over
him.  Her reserve drew him like a magnet; he *had* to know more about
her.
	His opportunity came a few weeks later, literally by accident.
	One afternoon Tom stopped by the replimat for a quick lunch.  It
had taken him six weeks to program the replicator to prepare his tomato
soup correctly, but this time he wouldn't have the benefit of savouring
the hot creamy broth.  Before he could take four steps toward a table
Ensign Fuller walked right into him.  She had been too preoccupied with
a PADD to pay attention to where she was going, but as the soup
saturated her tunic she woke up to her surroundings.  She yelped as the
hot soup scalded her.
	Tom's first reaction was irritation for having his lunch ruined.
However, when he recognized who had bumped him his brain numbed.
	"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't see you," she apologized once she
recovered from the initial shock of being burned.
	Tom stood there for a moment, tongue-tied.  He hadn't planned to
meet her like this.  "Uh, ah, no, don't apologize.  I should have been
watching where I was going."  He offered her the napkin from his tray.
"Looks like I got you pretty good, huh?"
	She accepted the cloth sheepishly and dabbed ineffectually at the
huge stain.  "Oh, this is so embarrassing.  I have to go change my
uniform."
	Tom saw his chance slipping away.  "Wait.  I feel really terrible
about this.  Is there some way I can make up for my carelessness?"
	Ensign Fuller appeared taken aback by his repentance.  "What...uh,
look, Tom, that really isn't necessary."
	"Please, Marnie, I insist.  Let me take you out to dinner tonight.
It would make me feel better."
	She didn't quite know what to say, but her damp, sticky tunic was
getting cold now as well.  "Oh, all right.  Come by my quarters around
2000."
	"Thank you," Tom gushed.  "You don't know how much this means to
me."
	Ensign Fuller left the replimat quietly, a sagacious look finding
its way into her profile.  Tom went back to get another bowl of soup, a
smile plainly etched on his face.  Both thought the same, though: she
had walked right into that one.

Chapter 5

	Tom appeared on her doorstep promptly at 2000, ready to beguile
Marnie with a dinner at one of the finest bistros in Teklar City.  His
jaw nearly dropped when Ensign Fuller received him.  She looked
fantastic in a uniform, but she looked even better in the casual attire
she now adorned.  Quickly he escorted her out before his hormones could
seriously betray him.
	The evening was pleasant and calm, perfect for a dinner at a
sidewalk bistro.  Tom and Marnie chatted away as the two moons of Caldek
Prime illuminated the night sky.
	"Admiral Owen Paris is your father?" she asked incredulously.  "I
don't believe it."
	Tom looked surprised.  "What don't you believe?"
	"My eldest brother went to the academy when your father was still
teaching.  He told me so many horror stories about Admiral Paris that I
didn't think he was human."
	Tom chuckled.  "Yeah, well, don't believe everything you hear.  My
dad spent a lot of time out in space before Starfleet asked him to teach
at the academy.  He was tough on purpose because he wanted his students
to know what they're getting into, but he also has a good sense of
humour.  He used to get a real laugh out of those stories.  Sometimes I
think he started those stories himself just to intimidate his
students."  He sipped at his wine.  "So, what brings you to Caldek
anyway?"
	"Research, mostly.  I'm here to assist Dr. Ellis with one of his
planetary surveys of Caldek Three.  Ever since they found those
trilobites he's been trying to find out how life could have formed
there, and why there isn't any there anymore.  We'll be making another
excursion in a couple of weeks."
	"That sounds really interesting."  Tom stopped to mull over
something.  "You know, my hiatus is coming up in a few weeks.  I could
be your pilot, if you're looking for one."
	Ensign Fuller cast a sly grin.  "You're not quite what I
expected."
	"Oh?  How so?"
	"Well, this might sound crazy, but when you invited me to dinner
this afternoon I thought you were just trying to pick me up.  Usually
when charming, handsome guys act so courteously to me they're looking
for some kind of reciprocation."
	*Charming?  Handsome?*  Tom smirked.  "And I'm not?" he probed.
	"Often I can tell within fifteen minutes whether or not a guy is
simply looking for a one night stand, but so far I haven't seen any
indication of that with you.  You haven't forced yourself into the
conversation at all.  Most guys I've been out with can't wait to tell me
about themselves, but you wait until I ask you a question before you say
anything.  Your eyes don't glaze over when I talk to about my work.
Most guys only feign interest in my career, but you seem genuinely
interested in what I'm doing."
	"Hey, just because I'm a pilot doesn't mean I'm two-dimensional.
I'm interested in a lot of things besides flying," he pointed out, a wry
smile slowly appearing on his face.  "And right now I'm very interested
in you.  You're not like the other women I've met either, Marnie: you're
the only one I've known who was indifferent when you found out I was a
pilot."
	She chuckled.  "You'll find you've got a lot to learn about me,
Tom Paris."
	He cocked an eyebrow.  "Is that an invitation?"
	Again she smiled, coyly.  "Maybe."

	Tom rummaged through his closet one final time to finish packing
his duffel bag for the Caldek Three survey mission.  It pleased him that
Marnie had asked him to come along after all.  He enjoyed her company
immensely from the many canteen conversations they shared.  In the last
two weeks they forged a respectful friendship, one he hoped could
develop into something more meaningful in the future.
	An hour later he rendezvoused with Ensign Fuller and her party
just outside the runabout he'd be flying.  He whistled in awe and
appreciation at the sight of the craft, the *Fraser*.  "Nice wings!  I
should volunteer for survey missions more often if these are the coaches
they're loaning out."
	"You wouldn't believe what Dr. Ellis had to do to secure all four
of them for this mission," Marnie replied.  "Tom, I'd like to introduce
you to Ensign Mek, our mineralogist, and Ensign Ianna Pulito, our
geophysicist.  Mek, Ianna, this is Lieutenant Paris, our pilot and
assistant researcher."
	"Don't be fooled: that just means I'm in charge of getting
everyone's coffee."  Tom joked, shaking hands with the Bolian and
Haliian officers.  "It's good to meet you.  Please, call me Tom: all my
friends do."
	"Now that we're all familiar with each other, what say we get
started?" Mek posed.  "It looks like everyone else is getting a jump on
us."  Even as he said so, one of the runabouts sailed past their heads
and darted up into the sky.  Tom could understand his eager enthusiasm:
he himself couldn't wait to get behind the runabout's flight controls.
	The three ensigns reviewed their final supply list while Tom ran
through the initial flight checklist.  By the time they finished the
runabout was ready for departure.  Ensign Fuller gave Tom the flight
plan and with a touch of a few buttons they were on their way to Caldek
Three.  The runabout lifted off smoothly and silently, and pitched off
into a graceful arc as it left the planet's atmosphere.  Tom thought it
was love, as the controls seemed to respond effortlessly in his hands.
	The first length of the trip was quiet and dull for Tom.  Marnie
spent her time hashing out the more mundane details of the geological
survey with the other members of her team.  It didn't help his boredom
any that he couldn't run the throttle open on the ship and perform a few
manoeuvres.  While he would have had the time of his life, the three
science officers in the conference room wouldn't have appreciated the
sudden jarring movements.  Maybe they would consent to a few aerobatics
after they finished their meeting.  He should have brought something to
read.
	About forty-five minutes later Marnie appeared in the cockpit.
"Hi there, handsome.  How are you doing up here?"
	Tom sighed wearily.  "Oh, fine, just fine."
	"Oh, how pathetic!"  Marnie couldn't help but laugh at his tired
expression.  "I'm sorry, Tom.  We've been so busy plotting grid areas,
and you're here bored out of your wits with no one to talk to.  You
didn't have to stay up here all by yourself, you know."
	"Yeah, I know, but what would I have done?  Joined you at your
briefing?"  He smiled wistfully.  "Sorry.  I 'm just a little crabby
because I wanted to take this baby out for a real test drive and I
couldn't.  I didn't know when you were going to need me and I didn't
want to disturb you by asking."
	"How sweet of you."  She pecked him on the cheek and sat in the
co-pilot's seat.  "Mek and Ianna are working on their itineraries, but
I'm sure that once they're done they won't mind giving you a few
minutes.  In fact, Ianna was quite excited to find out you were coming
with us.  I believe she was in one of your classes earlier this year."
	"I thought I recognized her," he admitted.  He looked over at
Ensign Fuller, who was smiling broadly.  "You're really looking forward
to this mission, aren't you?"
	"Yes, I suppose I am."  She appeared to hesitate, deciding whether
or not to say anything else, but finally gave in.  "I think Dr. Ellis is
going to recommend me for promotion once this survey is completed.  He
commented before at how impressed he's been with my work ethic."
	"Hey, congratulations!"  Tom wanted to give her a hug, but limited
himself to squeezing her shoulder.  "You'll make a fine lieutenant,
Marnie."
	She coloured slightly with embarrassment.  "He hasn't actually
done it yet, Tom."  Then she smiled cheerfully and clasped his hand
affectionately.  "But, thanks."
	Tom briefly considered the situation.  The signs were definitely
there, no doubt about it, but he still had some reservations about
taking the next step.  He knew he felt strongly for the woman next to
him, but would she be worth the risk?  He certainly hadn't known her for
very long.  Perhaps if this survey mission went well he'd ask her to
make a deeper commitment to their casual relationship.  Further
contemplation of the subject halted, though, when Ensigns Mek and Pulito
emerged from the rear quarters.
	"Hi, you two," Mek said cheerfully.  "Anything exciting going on
out here?"
	"No, not really," Tom answered.
	"Any idea when we'll reach Caldek Three?" Ianna questioned the
lieutenant.
	"About twenty minutes," he responded after checking the flight
plan's status.  He turned and looked at the Haliian, who responded with
a friendly smile.  Knowing the most likely reason why she smiled didn't
cheer him up any.  "Unless you guys wouldn't mind a short delay while I
practise a few manoeuvres."
	"I-I-I don't know," the Bolian hedged.  "We do have a lot of work
ahead of us."
	Ensign Pulito latched on to Mek's forearm.  "Oh, come on, Mek!"
she pleaded.  "What will ten or fifteen minutes hurt?  I've been in his
classes - Lieutenant Paris is probably the best flight instructor on
the base!  It'll be fun!"
	Mek clearly didn't like being put on the spot.  He crumbled like a
house of cards.  "Oh, all right!" he sighed.  "But no more than fifteen
minutes.  I'll hold you to that."
	Tom's mood uplifted considerably.  It seemed he would still get a
small amount of enjoyment out of this trip, even if things weren't
exactly going smoothly.  He scanned the outlying region of space and
fortunately found an asteroid field several minutes away.  "You have my
word as a Starfleet officer, Mek.  I'll have you on Caldek Three before
you know it."  He entered a series of commands into his console. 
"Everyone, take a seat and hold tight.  The ride is about to begin."
With a touch of a button the runabout *Fraser* leapt into warp.
	"What are you doing?" Mek cried out frantically.  "You're not
supposed to go to warp inside a planetary system!"
	"Relax, Mek.  At impulse speed it would take us about twenty-five
minutes to reach this asteroid field.  At warp we'll be there in a few
seconds."  Tom held his gaze upon the navigation console, silently
counting down.  "Disengaging warp engines, now."
	The first thing that registered in his mind was the strangled cry
of the Bolian ensign.  As the ship dropped out of warp, an enormous
fragment of rock loomed right in front of them and was closing fast.

Chapter 6

	Without even blinking Tom fired reverse thrusters, giving him the
spare few seconds he needed to check his instrument panel for the
satellite's gravitational pull and pitch the runabout into a steep
negative elevation.  The manoeuvre caught the three passengers
unguarded, tossing them from their seats.  Mek again shrieked at their
impending doom and prepared himself for oblivion.
	It never came.  When he finally opened his eyes he could hardly
believe what he saw.  Lt. Paris had somehow managed to harness the
asteroid's gravitational field and the craft's momentum to establish an
orbit around the rock - upside-down.  The man had only seconds to
determine the correct orbital distance of the asteroid and calculate the
proper angle and thrust to achieve a satellite orbit.  A skilled pilot,
indeed!  He either had to be an absolute flying genius or the luckiest
idiot to ever sit behind a helm.
	Tom caught Mek's disbelieving expression.  Indeed, all three of
them appeared to be in differing stages of shock.  "Not bad, huh?"
	"Incredible," Pulito gasped, caught somewhere between awe and
euphoria.
	"I'll reserve judgement until we reach Caldek Three, Lieutenant,"
the Bolian shakily remarked as he picked himself up off the floor.  "If
we make it there in one piece, that is."
	"That was...I've never experienced anything like that before,"
Ensign Fuller panted once her heart rate returned to normal.
	Tom grinned with perverse pleasure.  "You haven't seen the half of
it yet," he said.  He executed a smooth pitch-and-roll to right the
craft as it crested the asteroid, then engaged the engines, steering the
ship straight into the field.
	Over the next several minutes Tom piloted through the rocky debris
with such finesse that it seemed like experiencing a flight simulation
on a holodeck.  No matter how close the asteroids came to coming into
contact with the runabout's hull, Tom would dip or weave in time to
prevent a collision.  Mek even began to relax as Tom spun and twisted
the vessel around and between the behemoth boulders, so much so that
even he forgot about monitoring the time.
	Of all people, Ensign Pulito finally remembered the mission they
were supposed to be on.  "Hey, how long have we been out here?"
	Marnie checked the ship's chronometer.  "Oh, no!  It's been over
twenty-five minutes!"
	The sudden outburst distracted Tom for a moment.  "What?"  He
involuntarily checked the chronometer himself.  In the few seconds it
took to confirm the information, a small chunk of icy rock rolled into
the starboard nacelle.  Fortunately it struck only a glancing blow, but
the jolt took the crew by surprise.
	Tom's surprise, though, quickly turned into anger.  So many tough
manoeuvres, avoiding all of those asteroids, only to be blind-sided the
moment his eyes left the navigation console.  "Dammit!"  Immediately he
laid in a course out of the asteroid field.  "Marnie, scan the hull and
see how much damage we sustained," he ordered, a distinct note of
frustration in his command.
	"Looks like we took a bump on our starboard nacelle," she
reported.  "Major surface abrasion on the casing, a few microfractures.
Nothing serious, though."
	"Can we still go to warp?" Mek asked anxiously.  "If we miss our
first check-in we'll be in big trouble with Dr. Ellis."
	Tom checked his instrument panel and made a few computations.
"Well, the stress on the nacelle won't be too severe if we stay at Warp
1.  It'll take us a few more minutes to reach Caldek Three, but I
wouldn't want to chance going any faster."  That put Mek at ease, but
Tom was still mad at himself.  He shouldn't have taken his eyes off the
navigation panel.
	Steering the *Fraser* to a safe distance away from the asteroid
field, Tom punched the ship into warp without incident.  The ride back
to the planet was noticeably subdued, however, while Tom kept one eye
fixed on the stress indicator for the damaged nacelle.  His sour mood
was chiefly responsible for the silence, filling the cabin with an
uncomfortable atmosphere.
	Marnie finally decided to put and end to it.  She shared a look
with Ianna that indicated she wanted a private conversation with the
lieutenant.  Ensign Pulito looked at Mek and thought for a moment how
she could force him to leave with her.  "Mek, would you mind if we take
another look at those sector maps?  I have an idea that might improve
our chances of finding significant data."
	Mek grimaced.  "I thought we already made a decision on that."
With a nod of her head, Ianna discreetly pointed out that Marnie wanted
to be alone with Tom for a moment.  "Of course, if there's a possibility
of increasing the effectiveness of our survey, what would it hurt to
keep an open mind?"  The two ensigns beat a hasty retreat to the rear
quarters.
	Once they were beyond earshot, Tom broke the silence.  "So, now
that you've gotten them to leave, what did you want to talk about?"
	Marnie smirked.  "Guess I can't get anything past you, can I?"
She took on a more serious demeanour when Tom didn't reply.  "Look, Tom,
you shouldn't blame yourself for letting that rock hit the nacelle.
Things like that happen, even to the best of pilots."
	"Not to me, they don't.  It wouldn't even have touched us if I
hadn't stopped to look at the time."
	"Tom, if you want someone to blame, then blame me.  If I hadn't
overreacted I probably wouldn't have distracted you."  She took his hand
and intertwined her fingers with his.  "Don't let this eat you up
inside, Tom.  If you hold yourself responsible for every little random
phenomenon that comes along, then your career as a pilot is as good as
finished.  You'll be so busy second-guessing yourself that something
will happen and lives will be lost because of it."
	Tom watched his console as the long-range sensors picked up Caldek
Three.  For a few moments Marnie wondered if he had listened to her at
all, but when he dropped the ship out of warp he turned to face her.
"It's admirable that you would try to take the front for my
carelessness, but we both know that it's my responsibility.  I take a
lot of pride in my abilities as a pilot, so forgive me if I don't
dismiss our little accident quite so easily.  For what it's worth,
though, you raise a valid point.  I'll have to learn to deal with the
unexpected, and learn not to take it so personally when things don't
unfold exactly the way I expect.  You're a good friend, Marnie."
	Ensign Fuller cast an uneasy look at him and bit her tongue.  He
sounded sincere, but it seemed as though he capitulated to her reproach
a little too quickly.  In the few weeks they had known each other he had
been quite up front with his feelings, as far as she knew.  However, she
also knew him well enough now to realize that he had an ego.  Tom prided
himself on being the master of his own destiny.  He wore his reputation
like a uniform, the same as his Starfleet issue, and went to great
lengths to keep it in immaculate condition.  To him, the incident with
the asteroid was a nagging little thread along one of the seams.  He
craved pulling it off but feared causing a larger rent to take its
place, yet he still couldn't simply find the patience to sit down and
mend it properly.  She wanted to help him resolve this problem now, but
in his current state of mind she didn't know whether or not to push the
matter.  The real problem for her was trust: could she trust that he was
being honest with her?  Finally she made a choice: she'd give him his
chance to work it out on his own - for now.  She allowed Tom an
opportunity to validate her faith in him, but she would be ready to
provide a voice of reason and support if he asked.
	A small indicator flashed on Tom's console.  "Approaching
exosphere of Caldek Three, switching to thrusters for atmospheric entry.
Holding velocity steady at 300 kph."  According to Ensign Fuller's
mission log, their landing zone was located on the far side of the
planet.  To save time, Tom descended the runabout on a course against
the planet's rotation, a tactic not unnoticed by his co-pilot.
	"Tom, isn't it standard procedure to travel in direction with
planetary rotation to allow for a safe speed of entry?" she posed
uncertainly.
	"Just giving us a few extra minutes this way," he replied.  He
noticed her worried expression.  "Relax, I've done this at least a dozen
times before."  *In flight simulations.*
	"Have you ever done it without the aid of sensors?" she rebutted.
"Caldek Three is giving off so much ionic and ferrometric interference
that we're literally flying blind.  Maybe it would be a good idea to
reduce velocity."
	Tom already knew that fact the moment the runabout had entered the
ionosphere.  The instrument panels were going haywire.  "Marnie, don't
worry about it!  A good pilot doesn't rely on sensors alone.  As long as
I can see out the window we'll be fine."
	It certainly looked that way: their present exterior view
resembled an unobscured picture of tranquillity.  The light refracting
off the atmosphere's particulate matter blessed this planet with an
enchanting lilac-coloured sky.  With the sun positioned directly behind
them, it stretched out endlessly, intercepted at the horizon by a heavy
blanket of cotton-like clouds.  Off in the distance Tom could just
discriminate the peaks of mountains breaking through the cover, marking
the coastline of the south-east continent, their destination.
	The *Fraser* slipped effortlessly into the troposphere, its speed
held constant by the man at the controls.  Visibility was momentarily
impaired, but before long the runabout burst into the clear, rapidly
closing upon the range of craggy mountains.  Tom kept his usual cool and
confidence on the approach; Marnie looked ready to crawl out of her
skin.  "Tom, I really think you should slow down."
	"Suggestion duly noted," he replied flippantly.  He at least
managed to keep his attention in front of him this time.  With the
mountains this close, any distraction could be fatal.  He did not slow
down, however.  The craft roared past the first of the many mountains in
front of them and continued to descend.  Tom found it a challenge,
relying on his own line of sight to steer through the range, but he
always excelled in the face of a challenge.
	Marnie thought he had completely lost his mind.  There he sat, as
composed as a Vulcan, rocking the runabout from left to right and back
again as they rocketed by the massive rock outcroppings, sometimes only
metres away from striking them.  "Tom, are you trying to kill us all?
Slow down!"  She yelped with fright as they whizzed precariously close
past another mountain.  "I think you're letting your pride blind your
judgement!"
	*No confidence in me whatsoever.*  Her whining was really starting
to get on his nerves.  This time he refrained from replying.  He just
kept going until they encountered the last line of mountains.  Tom then
swung the runabout up alongside the one remaining rock face and nosed
the craft down, hugging the slope closely.  The *Fraser* tore down the
mountainside like a rocket-powered toboggan.  Tom noted with interest
the lack of vegetation as they raced downhill.  There existed nothing in
the way of trees or bushes despite the abundant source of water not more
than fifty miles away.  Not even weeds could find a place to flourish in
this area.  The terrain remained a constant steel blue colour.  That
could have been the most likely reason why it all happened.
	The slope gradually levelled out, until at last they reached the
base of the mountain.  In spite of Ensign Fuller's protestations,
nothing had happened.  He afforded himself a smug grin of triumph and
looked at her out of the corner of his eye.  "See?  I told you there was
nothing to worry about.  In another minute we'll reach the designated
co-ordinates."

	"The runabout continued on its mad dash along the valley floor,
taking no time at all to escape the shadow of the mountain," Tom
continued strenuously.  He could feel his throat constricting with
tension.  "The terrain ahead of us appeared smooth and unblemished, so I
kept the *Fraser* at a low cruising altitude.  It turned out to be a
costly mistake.
	"Five hundred metres from the landing site, a sharp rock protruded
from the ground by less than a metre.  It lay directly in front of the
setting sun, so the shadow it cast couldn't readily be seen.  We might
have avoided it, had we been travelling at half the speed.  As it was,
though, there wasn't enough time to react."
	Tom coughed hoarsely to clear the rasp in his throat.  "Uh, excuse
me for a minute.  Throat's a little dry."  He had to stop: the pressure
on both his psyche and his larynx had reached critical levels.  He sat
down in his chair and took a draught from his glass to soothe his
jangled nerves.  The juice was cold and tart, similar to the memories he
had yet to divulge.
	Harry picked up on his friend's discomfort, almost empathically.
"Are you all right, Tom?"
	"Yeah, Harry.  I'll be fine."  Tom wiped the perspiration off his
face with his hand, then smiled mutely, fortunate to have such
considerate friends present.  He had known it would be hard churning up
the painful memories, but that expectation still provided little relief
- particularly in the presence of a skeptic.  He wondered what Leena
thought about his explanation thus far.  Her neutral expression hadn't
changed much over the last twenty-five minutes.  Of course, much of
everything he had said up to this point was just a precursor to the real
story.  He would have to reserve judgement until she had heard every
last detail.
	B'Elanna decided to break the uneasy silence at the table.  "While
we're stopped here for the moment, Tom, would you mind if I asked you a
question?"
	Tom thought about it for a second.  He didn't know if he was quite
ready to continue with the story yet.  Perhaps it would help if he
fielded a few questions first.  "Shoot."
	"When Ensign Fuller asked you to slow down, why didn't you?  I
mean, were you trying to prove something or did you just turn off your
brain?"

	By the way she asked, clearly B'Elanna intended the question to be
a good-humoured barb at Tom's masculine ego, but he reacted to it
seriously.  "I...I don't know," he answered solemnly.  He restlessly
brushed a hand through sandy hair and attempted to keep a level voice.
"Maybe it was a little of both.  I was still kinda mad about getting
sideswiped and...and, I really wanted to show Marnie that I was someone
different.  Special."  He looked up and fixed a hard stare at his two
friends.  Leena clearly saw the earnest shine in his azure eyes.  "I
know I've told you guys how good a pilot I am.  You've also seen first
hand some of the things I can do, but...but that's only a *fraction* of
what I can do, the tip of the proverbial iceberg.  I've done things with
shuttles that seem simple to me but most pilots won't even attempt.
	"I know, it sounds like I'm bragging, but it's the honest-to-God
truth!  It's been like that ever since I was a kid: I don't know why,
but I've always had this knack for flying.  It came so easily to me, I
had to find ways to make it interesting.  I discovered that I could
excel even under the most difficult situations, and I enjoyed the
element of danger, so I went out of my way to put myself in those
situations whenever I could.  I - I'm not like that much anymore."  He
choked on his emotion for a second before recovering.  "I mean...well,
it's different when we're under attack or something, but I don't go out
looking for trouble anymore.  I was awfully careless back then."
	B'Elanna looked like she was sorry she'd asked the question at
all.  Harry didn't look all that well, either.  Tom's soliloquy hung in
the air for several minutes like a morning fog, the chill silence in the
room burning off slowly.
	Leena sat there, stunned.  Tom's last outburst came at her from
out of the blue, jarring loose all the impressions previously set in her
mind.  From the many stories circulated by the other Starfleet crew she
had thought him a selfish, egotistical womanizer.  Indeed, only a few
minutes ago he had confirmed those reports with absolute certainty.
Now, however, she began to see another side to him, one passionate and
forthright.  This man, so cocky and full of himself, was now choking on
his own tears.  She did not recognize him as the same person from those
stories.
	The revelation bothered her.  She didn't want to see this side of
Tom Paris because it would validate everything he had accused of her.
For heaven's sake, the man was a convicted felon and a traitor!  She
didn't want to feel compassion for a traitor!  It had to be a trick of
some sort, an act put on for her benefit...*something.*
	After several minutes of silence, Harry decided to test the
waters.  "Tom, do you think you can continue?"
	Tom jumped a bit as if startled out of a daydream.  He sucked in
one large breath and released it slowly, a classic technique for calming
one's self.  "Yeah, I think so.  Where did I leave off?"
	"You were just about to tell us how the accident occurred," he
answered.
	"Right, right.  The accident."  Tom took in and released another
breath and resumed.

Chapter 7

	The runabout cruised along the valley floor, hugging the
undulating terrain.  Tom sat and gloated in silence as he counted off
the seconds remaining before they reached the landing site, at ease with
his success in showing up Ensign Fuller.  'Distracted' indeed: if
anything, that lapse of concentration in the asteroid field only helped
focus his attention for the flight through the mountains.
	Flying through the mountains proved to be a great challenge.  It
made him appreciate those extra hours of holodeck time he spent
practising non-computer aided flying.  His academy classmates laughed at
him for wasting time better spent on studying astrophysics, as the
practical application of dead reckoning was relatively minute.  Today,
though, he would get the last laugh.  With the high levels of
interference the sensors' range was minimal; even this close to the
planet's surface they were only marginally effective past fifty metres.
With the runabout traversing over eighty-three metres a second, he may
as well have been flying blind.
	Tom glanced briefly at Ensign Fuller's map and their current
position.  "Landing co-ordinates 750 metres and closing," Tom reported,
preparing for final approach.  His eyes then darted over to the
navigation controls as his fingers danced across the interface.  He
didn't even have time to look up when the telemetry grid went hot.
	It took no time at all, but to Tom it seemed like hours.  There in
front of the ship stood a ragged sheet of rock.  It discordantly pierced
the smooth ground, an unsightly aberration disrupting the calm waves of
the terrain.  Its presence took Tom completely by surprise.  The
outcropping seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere, cleverly
shrouded by surrounding plateaux and cliffs like a sniper manning a
deadly vigil.
	Instinctively Tom slammed his hand down on the attitude controls
in an effort to pull the craft up, as if the computer could translate
the urgency of the blow into a faster response.  Unfortunately, the
LCARS interface was not designed for that type of input.
	The *Fraser* did start to lift.  The nose of the craft only just
cleared the obstacle, but the starboard nacelle did not have sufficient
clearance to avoid one of the stone's rough edges.  The rock cut a
groove into the nacelle housing at the point of contact, then punctured
its way through as it reached the structurally weakened area.  The
casing breached, the rock continued to tear a hole in the duranium alloy
for another thirty-six millimetres.  At that point the inertial stress
ripped the rest of the housing from the nacelle.
	Inside the cabin, Tom clutched desperately at the panel in front
of him as the turbulence threatened to throw him from his seat.  Caught
unawares, Marnie screamed as she crashed to the floor.  She landed
roughly, hitting her head and her elbow on the deck plate.  "Shit!" Tom
yelled, stabbing frantically at the controls in an effort to keep the
runabout aloft.  The controls, however, did not co-operate.  The ship
banked left from the impact and dove for the ground.  The port side
bounced hard off the rock, tilting the craft back to starboard where the
exposed nacelle lay.  The speed and force of the impact demolished the
components made vulnerable by the bare portion of the nacelle.  Even
worse, one of the plasma conduits, rather than being shredded open by
the contact with the surface, was pinched off.  The plasma, with nowhere
to go, backed up the conduit until the pressure forced a rupture.  It
couldn't have ruptured in a worse place.

	Mek slumped in his seat at the conference table, unhappy with the
course of events that had befallen their mission thus far.  Already they
were over half an hour behind schedule, and now they were at the whims
of a temperamental pilot.  He imagined the lieutenant would somehow
manage to screw up their survey as well, that's how smoothly things were
going.
	He disliked Tom Paris, simple as that.  Ever since that first
stunt in the asteroid field, he knew the pilot would be trouble.  Tom
both commanded and demanded attention.  The lieutenant knew the people
in his company regarded him as a virtuoso, and he wouldn't be satisfied
until everyone else acknowledged him for it as well.  That made him
dangerous, unbelievably talented or not.
	"Mek, lighten up," scolded Ianna.  "Lieutenant Paris knows what
he's doing."
	"Are you sure of that?" he shot back.  "Didn't you notice how the
runabout was rocking like a see-saw just a few minutes ago?  If you ask
me, I think he's slipped a screw or something."
	Ensign Pulito frowned.  "I'm sure there's a completely rational
explanation for that.  Really, Mek; you worry too much.  He'll make sure
we land safely: that's his job."
	The Bolian started a reply but was cut off by the sound of an
explosion, accompanied by what felt like a sudden earthquake.  Pulito
fell to her knees.  "Shit!" Mek cried as he pitched backward with his
chair.  Then the tremors subsided.
	Mek managed to roll to his knees.  "What the -" he started before
the runabout lurched again.  Something was terribly wrong: he could hear
the shrieking of metal, feel the deck plates buckling underneath him.
*I knew he'd find a way to screw up this mission.*  It was Mek's last
thought before the wall panel in front of him burst open with a shower
of blue-white flame.

	*We're all going to die,* Tom thought the moment he heard the
plasma conduit in the aft chamber explode.  *I've killed us.  God, what
a stupid thing to do.*  The helm grew increasingly unresponsive as
systems failed.  Tom desperately tried shutting down the antimatter
reactor and re-routing controls through backups, anything that would
keep the ship from blowing up.  He also worked on re-obtaining command
of thrusters.  The last thing he wanted was to hit the ground nose
first: if the runabout flipped over now there wouldn't be anything left
of them for identification.
	Somehow, miraculously, he kept the *Fraser* from somersaulting on
the next touchdown.  The runabout bounced again, this time more level
and not as damaging, but the impact still threatened to shake Tom's
bones apart.  He ground his teeth and wondered how Marnie was faring
through this.  All he'd heard was her scream and the thud of a body
hitting the floor ever since they struck the outcropping.  However, he
couldn't take his eyes off his panel to check.  "Marnie, you all
right?" he shouted, looking for confirmation of her condition.  He heard
no reply over the din of the emergency klaxons and grinding metal.  Tom
surmised she fared no better than he.
	Indeed, Ensign Fuller fared worse.  Semi-conscious from the blow
to her head, Marnie couldn't protect herself from the severe jostling of
the cabin.  Each bump took its toll on her prone form, tossing it
against the bulkheads, the deck plates, back and forth.  The buffeting
resulted in numerous broken bones and severe contusions.  She might have
survived to live a tortured existence, had it not been for the final
collision.
	This time he saw it coming: with failing emergency power and a
dead console before him, Tom had no other option but to sit and stare
out the viewport.  Approaching rapidly, an embankment lay before them. 
Friction slowed the *Fraser*'s velocity as it threshed and skated along
the hard surface.  Even so, the deceleration of the stop would be quite
abrupt.  Tom assumed the standard crash position and closed his eyes.
It would be a miracle if he lived through this.  *Sorry I didn't give
you the chance to present me those captain's pips like we planned, Dad.
Looks like I really messed up my career.*  Then everything went black.

	Tom stopped momentarily and tried forcing a large breath of air
into his lungs.  His chest felt tight, aching in response to the intake
of oxygen, and his eyes began tearing up reflexively.  He stemmed the
impulse to blink hard and proceeded.  "The *Fraser* slammed into the
embankment at twelve metres per second.  The nose seemed to retract into
itself, crushing everything inside for a full three metres.  The rear of
the craft vaulted upward, almost flipping over completely.  I lurched
forward from the momentum, and despite my precautions I struck my head
against the navigation panel.  Tragically, the momentum also picked up
Ensign Fuller and hurled her against the forward viewport."  Gradually
Tom's voice warbled and his face contorted as he forced out the next few
words.  "She, uh...her head was pulverized against the transparent
aluminum.  She...never had a chance."
	"My god," Harry murmured, his face ashen from hearing the grisly
description.  B'Elanna sat there in shock.  Now didn't seem like the
right time to ask how a piece of rock could have inflicted that much
damage to a duranium hull.
	Leena felt more courageous, however.  While Tom painted an
emotionally evocative picture, it shocked and appalled her that he had
managed to perjure the entire incident.  She trembled, partly in grief
for the deceased officers but mostly in fury.  She felt the sting of
emotion tickling the back of her throat.  She swallowed it, though,
determined to present an invulnerable figure to her nemesis.
"Lieutenant, forgive my bluntness here, but what on *earth* possessed
you to *lie* about this?  Frankly, I'm surprised you even got away with
it.  Didn't the investigators recover the sensor logs?"
	Tom cleared his throat.  "They tried.  Most of the data banks were
wiped out, either crushed by the collision or fried by power surges.
They couldn't find anything incriminating enough to justify a court
martial."
	"That still doesn't explain why you committed perjury," she
challenged.
	"Well, that can be explained, Leena, if not excused," he defended.
"I suffered a concussion when my head hit the control panel.  I wasn't
thinking at all clearly when I regained consciousness.  All I could
remember was throwing away my career."

	The world slowly came back into focus.  Tom clutched his temple
and grimaced; this was the worst hangover he'd ever experienced in his
life.  His head ached and spun, creating a sense of vertigo that made
him both sick and dizzy.  His mouth felt dry and his tongue felt like it
had swelled to twice its size.  He didn't know where he was or how long
he had been passed out.  Then he noticed he was touching something
sticky on his temple.  He lowered his hand to take a look.  Blood.
Definitely not a hangover.  The pounding in his head must be a
concussion then.
	Details of what happened languidly returned to him as his
dizziness receded: Caldek Three, the survey mission, the runabout
*Fraser*, the rock, the crash.  He survived the crash.  His father would
be proud.  He looked up, squinting with pain, to the viewport.
Something had hit it hard; cracks radiated from an impact point.  It
also left a wet mess behind it, streaking down the pane.  Tom followed
it to where Ensign Fuller's broken body lay slumped over the console.
He felt the gorge rise in his throat: he didn't need to check for a
pulse to realize that she was dead.  *Oh.  That won't look good on my
record, will it?*  He swallowed uncomfortably to force the sick back
into his stomach.
	Tom stewed there for a minute, wondering how he could fix this.
The circumstances of the accident were becoming clearer, and they
increasingly threatened to curtail his Starfleet career.  His dad would
not be happy.  Then he remembered Ensigns Mek and Pulito.  Fear gripped
him: if either one of them had also survived his career would be
finished!  He pulled himself up and hobbled his way to the aft section.
	His spirits lifted when he found the two ensigns in the conference
room, charred and blistered.  He wouldn't have to worry about their
incriminating disclosures.  Their deaths would have been quick, if not
painless.  Looking at the blast hole in the wall, Tom remembered the
explosion he'd heard and inspected the damage more thoroughly.  The
ruptured plasma conduit gave him an idea, one that could probably
exonerate him of any misdeed, but he would have to check the state of
the computer banks.  Hopefully they would be irretrievable.
	Going back to the cockpit, Tom scuffled about the floor removing
access panels.  The signs were encouraging.  Those he found were now
nothing more than scrap material, a smoking mass of twisted metal and
melted polymers.  He should have no trouble convincing his rescuers of a
mechanical failure, and the thought eased his sense of nausea.  He
climbed back into the pilot's seat and decided to take a nap.
	His nap didn't last too long.  Before he knew it people were
clambering into the cockpit.  A medic stopped at his side and began
looking for a pulse, but stopped when Tom groaned.  "Sir, he's
conscious," he reported to someone behind him, and a shadow appeared
over Tom.  He turned to look at its owner, Dr. Ellis.
	"My god, what happened here?" he asked.
	"I'm not sure," Tom replied, his voice fuzzy.  "All I recall is
assuming a vectored approach to our landing site, then an explosion.
After that the controls started failing, and we flew into a rock.  I
couldn't turn out of the way.  It felt like it hit the starboard side.
We bounced around for a bit, then slid into an embankment.  I don't
remember anything after that."  His brow creased.  "The others, are they
all right?"
	Dr. Ellis looked at him sadly.  "I'm sorry, Lieutenant.  You
appear to be the only survivor."
	"Sir," the medic interrupted.  "The lieutenant appears to have
sustained a concussion and a couple of cracked ribs.  He'll need to be
transported to the medical facility back on Caldek Prime."
	"Considering what happened here, he's lucky that's all he's got.
At least we've got a lead to investigate here."  The doctor then
addressed Tom.  "I look forward to reading your report, Lieutenant.  I
want every detail of your flight from Caldek Prime."  He turned to look
at what used to be Ensign Fuller, sorrow glistening in his eyes.
	"Yes, sir," he answered as he was escorted from the cockpit to the
runabout *Kolyma*, though it was doubtful Dr. Ellis had heard him.
	"Here," stated the medic, pressing a hypospray into the side of
his neck.  "This should relieve the headaches while we take off.  You
might get a little sleepy, but that's normal."
	The throbbing in his head dissipated, and Tom felt like he could
think clearly again.  "Thanks, doc.  I feel human again."  As they
settled in for take-off, Tom acquired a data padd and began writing up a
phony report of the accident.

Chapter 8

	Tom awoke to find himself in a small room sprawled on a bed.  He
had no idea how long he had been out.  "Quite a sedative," he remarked
to himself.  He righted himself rather gingerly in search of a mirror.
The only one in plain sight hung over the dressing table at the far side
of the room.  He flinched as he swung his legs over the side of the bed
and pushed himself to his feet.  Despite all their breakthrough medical
technology, they had yet to come up with a way to heal broken bones
without the complimentary tenderness.  At least his head no longer
ached.  Tom looked at his image in the mirror's reflective surface,
running a hand through his hair across the temple.  The cut had been
mended efficiently, but the regenerated nerves in his skin still
tingled.
	An orderly entered the room on rounds, brightening considerably
upon spotting Tom up and about.  "Good morning, sir!  How are we
feeling?"
	"Uh, fine, thanks for asking."  He stood there, befuddled.
	The orderly smiled.  "Good!  I'll inform Dr. Ellis that you're
awake."
	Tom just smiled at her as she turned and left the room.  He had
absolutely no idea what to say or do.  He had fallen asleep on the
*Kolyma* shortly after writing his disquisition of the shuttle accident.
His eyes bugged.  "The padd!"  He searched the room with a glance,
looking to spot the data padd resting on one of the end tables or the
bureau.  He couldn't locate it.  He then actively searched for it,
rifling through drawers and such.  "No...oh, no...it has to be here
somewhere...this can't be happening, not now!"
	"Lose something, Lieutenant?" the geologist queried curiously.
	Tom jumped to attention so hard he almost threw himself to the
floor and winced as his ribs protested to the jarring manoeuvre.
Preoccupied with the search, Tom had failed to notice Dr. Ellis'
arrival.  "Dr. Ellis!  I was just...that is, I -"  How on could earth
could he explain that the padd was missing or misplaced and that he had
no idea where to find it?
	"Could it have been this, I wonder?" he posed, holding up a padd
previously concealed behind his back, and grunted in amusement.  "Sorry
for startling you like that.  Nurse Young delivered your report to me
yesterday.  How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"
	Tom didn't know whether to feel relief for finding the padd or
indignation of having been scared out of his wits.  He exhaled the
breath he had been holding.  "A little sore around the middle, sir, but
nothing I can't handle."
	Ellis grinned and patted him on the shoulder.  "Good, good."  He
shifted the padd into his field of vision, his crooked grin fading in
the presence of more serious material.  "I take it this statement is
final?" he asked sombrely.
	Tom felt a ragged stone lodge in his throat and did his best not
to let it show.  "Uh, something wrong with it, sir?"
	The older man appeared to roll a comment around in his mouth as he
inspected the padd's information, his lips bunching and tightening into
odd expressions, before he finally spoke.  "Hm, no.  Your report seems
to be quite thorough.  I only wish we could have retrieved something
from the runabout's computer.  The crew in the maintenance bay are
jumping like bullfrogs to find a more recent flight plan and maintenance
report for the *Fraser*.  The only thing they have so far is a
maintenance checklist from four months ago, and they insist there wasn't
anything wrong with the runabout.  I'd feel a whole lot better if we had
more information to corroborate your testimony."  He looked back up at
Tom.  "If you wouldn't mind, Lieutenant, I'd like you to come to my
office.  I want to put the proper authorization on your report before I
send it to Admiral Karr - he'll be presiding over the hearing, by the
way."
	Tom could feel butterflies in his stomach.  It could simply be a
case of hunger, but he supposed there was a little more to it.  Putting
a seal of confirmation on a bogus report probably had that kind of
effect on a person.  "Okay.  I'll just put on my uniform, sir.  If
you'll excuse me."
	The doctor smiled.  "Of course."  He unobtrusively slipped out of
the room.  Tom made a quick change of clothes and joined the older man
in the hallway.
	Walking down the quiet hallway, Tom brooded sullenly about the
unfolding events.  Naturally, Starfleet would conduct a formal hearing
into the matter, even just for the sake of formality.  After a few
minutes he grew uneasy with the silence.  "They couldn't find anything
salvageable at all?" he idly asked.
	"Nothing," the doctor frowned.  An old, tired sigh escaped him,
and suddenly he aged fifteen years.  "Such a tragedy, losing those
three.  Mek and Ianna Pulito showed real promise in terrestrial earth
sciences.  I was even going to recommend that Ensign Pulito be assigned
to the *Cartier* when they commission it next year.  And Ensign Fuller
- well, Marnie.  She had a bright career ahead of her.  One of the best
assistants I've ever had the pleasure to employ."
	The first little flicker of guilt began to burn in the base of
Tom's skull, although he didn't fully recognize it just yet.  "Yes, she
was certainly a special person all right, and she'll be dearly missed.
They all will, sir."  Thankfully, they finally reached Dr. Ellis'
office.
	It only took a few short moments for Tom to commit the act, with
Ellis' temporary assistant serving as witness.  The notion of perjury
already disconcerted him, but with an impartial observer involved Tom
felt like a cornered animal, trapped and unable to defend himself.
	Without delay, Dr. Ellis opened a communications channel to
Admiral Karr.  Apparently, the admiral had taken passage on the *U.S.S.
Valiant* for the purpose of attending a conference on Altima II.  Being
in the vicinity of the Caldek system, the higher-ups at Starfleet
Headquarters deemed it affordable to divert the admiral to Caldek Prime.
Dr. Ellis' display terminal flickered to life, centred on the peppery
haired profile of Admiral Karr.  "Ah, hello again, Dr. Ellis.  Do you
have that report for me yet?" he asked brusquely.
	*He's nothing if not direct,* Tom speculated.  "Indeed I do,
Admiral," the doctor replied.  "That's actually the reason why I
contacted you."  He transmitted the document across the channel.  "In
fact, I also have the officer who wrote the report with me, Lieutenant
Thomas Paris."
	"Let me see him," the admiral ordered.  Tom's courage fell into
the pit of his stomach as Dr. Ellis swivelled the display to face him.
"You certify the veracity of this report, Lieutenant?"
	"Yes, sir," he responded automatically.  If he paused to think
about what he was doing, he would have stumbled.
	Admiral Karr nodded crisply.  "Good.  That should speed things up
considerably.  I don't plan on being late for that conference."
	"Admiral, just how long are you planning to stop here for?" the
doctor inquired, swinging the screen back into his visual field.
	"No longer than I have to, doctor," he answered curtly.  "If you
want an approximate figure, no more than twelve hours."
	Ellis looked about as shocked as Tom himself felt.  "That's
certainly isn't very long, Admiral.  When were you planning to convene
the hearing?"
	"Well, the *Valiant* is due to reach orbit of Caldek Prime in
about an hour," he stated, pausing to check the chronometer.  "We should
commence the proceedings fifteen minutes after that, unless there's some
valid reason why we shouldn't.  Can either of you provide such a
reason?"
	Tom exchanged looks with the geology professor.  "I suppose not,"
Ellis said at last.
	Admiral Karr almost allowed a hint of a smile to appear.
"Excellent.  I'll contact you when the *Valiant* establishes orbit.
Admiral Karr, out."  The channel closed just as abruptly.
	Tom searched for the archaic expression that described how he felt
at that moment.  *Oh, yes, now I remember.  'Railroaded'.*  If there was
a positive to this, however, at least the ordeal would be over quickly.

	'Quick' was an understatement, an inadequate descriptor for the
proceedings.  Admiral Karr walked into the conference room and took the
centre seat of the head table.  "Before we start, I want to inform you
all that I've read all the reports pertaining to this investigation, so
there's no need to give me verbatim descriptions a second time.  In the
sake of keeping this short, simply present a summary of your statements.
I'm sure we'll all be happier to get this over with as soon as
possible."
	Tom looked at Admiral Karr blankly and blinked.  *Man, I knew that
admirals tried to keep the red tape down to a minimum whenever they
could, but this guy is something else.  That conference must really be
important to him.*
	The hearing couldn't have lasted more than twenty minutes in full.
The rushed proceedings clearly miffed chief maintenance engineer, but
even given the proper amount of time he wouldn't have been any happier.
His staff failed to locate any flight plans or repair schedules recent
enough to invalidate Tom's claim that a faulty plasma conduit had been
the primary cause of the runabout crash.  Tom felt as though he was
participating in a kangaroo court rather than an official inquest.
	"Lieutenant Paris, it is my decision that this accident occurred
through circumstances beyond your control, and therefore you will not be
subject to penalty," decreed Admiral Karr.  "A note of this incident
will be added to your service record, in which I will submit that you
receive commendation for outstanding performance in the course of duty.
This hearing is adjourned."
	By the time the admiral's verdict had finally registered, Tom
found himself in an empty conference room.  He had done it.  He had just
gotten away with crashing a runabout.  And he was going to be decorated
for it as well.  He could hardly believe it.  Tom traced a memory back
to the runabout just after the crash, recalling the sorry state of the
computer systems.  That was the only thing that had saved him.  Without
the sensor logs or the flight plans, there was no reason to question
what had happened.  He wouldn't have given one to a million odds that
anything like that would ever occur again.
	It still bothered him that he had just lied to an admiral of
Starfleet before an official inquest.  He thought he could handle it,
though, put it behind him.  After all, his career, his reputation was on
the line.  To anyone else that would sound like an incredibly selfish
reason to commit perjury, but the Paris family prized their tradition of
distinctive service in Starfleet.  His ancestral lineage carried seven
generations of decorated and dedicated officers.  The way Tom saw it,
his place in that order seemed only a natural progression.  His father
also saw it that way - his only son, following in the footsteps of many
Paris men and women who bore the Starfleet emblem with pride and honour.
This was not a trivial matter.
	Ultimately Tom decided to suppress the issue, hoping that somehow
the problem would go away as long as he didn't dwell upon it.  For a
while, it appeared to work; he began to feel more like his old self as
he charmed his way around a few attractive single women in the cafeteria
at supper.  Unfortunately, the problem resurfaced later that evening. 
As Tom prepared to turn the bed down for the night a display terminal
alerted him to an incoming transmission.  The worry-lined face of
Admiral Owen Paris greeted him.
	"Dad?" a surprised lieutenant responded.  Since his graduation
from the academy, Tom seldom communicated with his father.  Admiral
Paris' position at Starfleet headquarters demanded a great amount of his
time and resources.  If anyone from his family called him, it was almost
always his mother.
	"Thomas," greeted the admiral.  "I called as soon as I could when
I found out.  How are you, son?"
	Tom puffed some air through pursed lips.  Understandably, his
father would be the first one to hear about the accident, working at
Starfleet headquarters.  "Fine, Dad.  A little shaken, but fine.  How's
Mom taking it?"
	"I haven't called her yet, Tom.  I wanted to check with you first
and see that you were doing all right.  You know how she worries about
you and your sisters."
	Tom smiled fondly and snorted a laugh.  "Yeah, I do.  Well, you
can tell her not to worry.  I was lucky enough to walk away with a few
cracked ribs and a bump on the head."  The smile died.  "Wish I could
say the same for the other three, though."
	The admiral noticed the twinge of regret.  "I know, Tom," he
commiserated.  "It's tough losing people under your watch.  It's
happened to me, too, many times.  Let me tell you, son, it doesn't get
any easier, but you have to work through it.  A crew must be alert and
focused at a moment's notice, or things can go wrong.  Now I'm not
saying you should ignore your grief, son.  The best officers aren't the
ones who bottle up their emotions.  You have to prioritize.   Put your
grief into the context of your career.  Mourn for them on your own
terms, and in your own time; you can't put your life on hold while you
mourn for theirs.  There are going to be times when you and your
shipmates will be faced with a crisis, and people will die.  It is those
times when you'll be depended on, and you can't afford to be
distracted."
	Tom grimaced.  His father meant to console him with those words,
but they instead served to remind Tom of how his inattentiveness led to
the crash.  "I guess so.  It's just, well, I feel guilty about the whole
thing."
	"Guilty?" puzzled Admiral Paris.
	"I, uh," Tom writhed under his skin.  He desperately wanted to
confide in his father, tell him about Admiral Karr and the ruling and
the commendation he would most likely receive.  Somehow it didn't feel
like the right time.  "You know, being the only survivor.  How fair is
that to the other three people in the runabout?  I mean, I was the one
flying it.  I was responsible for the crash."
	The admiral frowned, clearly upset by what his son told him.  "I
will *not* sit here and listen to you question what happened.  How you
can hold yourself responsible for a malfunction beyond your control is
beyond me.  The Thomas Eugene Paris I raised wouldn't cower behind self
pity and doubt.  He always recognized the limits of his abilities, drew
a distinction between what he could handle and what he couldn't."
	The admiral's expression softened at Tom's look of turmoil.  "I
know, son.  I wasn't there, but according to your report there was no
way you could have averted the conduit explosion that killed those two
ensigns.  Nor could you have prevented Ensign Fuller's fatal injuries in
the crash; the moment she fell out of her chair her chances of survival
were severely diminished.  I'm certain that all three of them wouldn't
want you to punish yourself for something that was out of yours hands."
	Tom's insides withered.  "But, Dad, I -"
	"No 'buts', son," his father interrupted gruffly.  "I don't want
to hear any more excuses.  I taught you better than that."
	Tom sighed, exasperated.  He couldn't confess now even if he
wanted to.  To his father, the conversation had ended.  "Yes, sir."
	"That's my boy."  Admiral Paris softened his expression.  "Now you
take it easy, son: your mother and I will want you in the best of health
for your homecoming party when you return to Earth," he added with a
cheerful wink.
	Tom felt as hollow as the smile on his face.  "Sounds great, Dad.
I'll see you then."
	"Good night, son."  The subspace link winked out of existence,
leaving the monocrystal display as dark as Tom's spirits.  His decision
to uphold a false testimony seemed much less clear-cut now.  How ironic
that his feelings of doubt should surface after talking to his father,
considering the admiral was one of the main reasons why he'd done it in
the first place.  Preserving his service record and the legacy of his
family name had once seemed the most important goal in his life.  To
protect that goal at the cost of his moral integrity - Tom didn't know
if he could live with that.
	Tom felt a hot, tickling itch spreading from the back of his neck.
He scratched it, but with little relief.  Perhaps he had developed a
rash of some kind, although he had little idea how.  Physically and
emotionally spent, Tom retired for the night.

Chapter 9

	Tom fought panic as the runabout continued on its rocky descent.
He chewed his lip and flayed his fingers across the attitude controls.
The vessel resisted, bucking even harder against the turbulent
atmosphere.  Tom couldn't understand why he couldn't manage the craft;
the alarm klaxons warned him of trouble, but he couldn't get a clear
reading from the controls.  Without warning, a console near the co-
pilot's chair blew apart, throwing a shower of sparks and polyduranide
across the cabin.  The pilot shielded his face from the flying debris
and redoubled his efforts to keep the ship aloft.
	"Tom, do something!" Ianna shrieked from the aft cockpit.  "We're
going to crash!"
	Tom slammed a fist on the panel in front of him.  "I'm trying!
The controls aren't responding."  Now smouldering, the co-pilot's
console emitted an acrid, noxious smoke.
	"You and your stupid flying stunts!" an irate Mek bellowed.  "I
knew you'd get us all killed.  This is all your fault, Paris!"
	Tom sputtered and choked on the polluted air as more consoles
erupted with sparks and flame.  "No!  It was an accident, honest!  There
was no way to avoid it in time."
	"That's a lie, and you know it," the Bolian charged.  "We wouldn't
be in this mess if not for your selfishness.  We would never have been
late for our rendezvous, and you wouldn't have been in such a rush to
ground the ship."  The heat and fire swelled with the growing anger in
the ensign's voice.  "You just had to show off one last time because you
couldn't bear the thought of being seen as fallible."
	Tom's eyes watered, though not necessarily from the smoke.  "N-
no...that's not true...not true...."
	"You would sit there and lie, even to yourself?"  Tom gagged, at
last hearing the voice of Ensign Fuller.  It sounded marshy, wet - not
the rich, clear timbre he'd fallen in love with.  "Is your career that
important to you, that you'd deny responsibility for the lives you
destroyed?  Why, Tom...why?  I thought I meant something to you."
	"I...didn't mean to, Marnie," Tom whimpered, his eyes stinging
with tears.  "I swear, I never meant for it to happen."
	"Thanks, but you're a little late for apologies," Mek spat.  "It
doesn't change the fact that we're dead, and that you're to blame.
You're an egoist: everyone you meet has to know how perfect you are.
Well, I've got news for you, Lieutenant: no one is perfect.  The more
you deny your frailties, the more they can hurt you."  Mek pulled Tom
from his seat and spun him around.  "See what happens when you disavow
responsibility?"
	Tom recoiled in terror as he finally looked upon his passengers.
The three corpses he had left in the *Fraser* confronted him with the
fire of life burning anew in their eyes.  His blood froze at the sight
of Marnie's shattered frame.  A pair of eyes, bright green and filled
with haunting agony, returned his stare from a face smashed beyond
repair.  He tried to back away, but Mek's charred, blistered hand
inexplicably held firm to his shoulder, the burnt flesh grotesquely
crackling and crisping from Tom's resistance.
	"Say good night, Lieutenant," the Bolian jeered.  "Your time has
just run out."
	Tom suddenly realized what Mek meant.  With no one at the
controls, the runabout was plummeting nose-first toward the surface.
Tom twisted around and looked out the viewport in time to witness the
runabout's impact with the ground -

	- and woke up with a start.  The last remaining images of the
nightmare echoed in his mind, his heart pounding so hard he thought it
would burst.
	He knew what the dream was telling him.  His conscience was
overburdened with guilt, and retaliated in the only way it knew how.
Tom would never find solace unless he honoured the memories of Mek,
Ianna and Marnie by confessing.  He reached for the comm line to the
head desk.  "Nurse.  Nurse!" he barked.  "This is Lieutenant Paris.
Tell Dr. Ellis I need to talk to him right away."  Tom checked the
chronometer.  "And see if you can get a hold of Admiral Karr on the
*U.S.S. Valiant*, too.  Tell them it's urgent."

	Tom stopped and took a drink of his fruit juice.  The room was a
dead calm, the three guests intensely focused on his saga.  Despite his
emotional fatigue he had to stifle a grin.  He never thought the story
of his defamation would generate so much interest.
	B'Elanna, characteristically impatient, finally broke the tense
silence.  "Well, what happened?"
	Tom brushed away the perspiration from his forehead with a cloth
napkin.  "Well, naturally Dr. Ellis and Admiral Karr were somewhat
surprised when I admitted what happened.  To tell the truth, I think the
doctor almost had a heart attack when I told him.
	"The admiral made a pretty quick ruling.  'For submitting a false
report into an official investigation, disregarding proper safety
protocols in the operation of a Starfleet flight craft, reckless
endangerment of Starfleet personnel, committing perjury and three counts
of manslaughter,' my position at the Caldek Training Centre was
immediately terminated and I would be placed into a detention cell until
the *Valiant* returned from the Altima conference.  I would then be
transferred to Starbase 25 for arraignment.  Five days after Admiral
Karr announced my sentence I was stripped of my rank and disgracefully
discharged from service."
	Tired of wringing it in his hands, Tom tossed the napkin onto the
table.  He smiled wistfully.  "In one week my life had gone from being
on the rise to being completely destroyed.  What's more, I not only
ruined my career but three others that hardly had a chance to go
anywhere.  For months I kept going back to that day, when Marnie
confided in me of her anticipated promotion, and beat myself up for
taking that away from her.  I still don't think I've completely forgiven
myself for that.
	"Then there was my dad.  My court-martial crushed his faith in me.
He was convinced that I had intentionally deceived him, too cowardly to
face him.  As I'm sure I've mentioned, family pride means a lot to my
father.  I shamed him by putting pride before duty and honesty.  I
violated a sacred family trust, and for that I no longer deserved the
Paris name.  I'd no longer be welcome to set foot in his home again.
That was the last time he ever spoke to me."
	"Tom, I'm sorry for you," Ensign Kim consoled.  "It must have been
awful having to go through all that without the support of your family."
	"I managed.  It took me about six months before I even tried to
make amends with my family, though.  I was mad at my father for being so
unreasonable and for turning his back on me.  I was mad at Starfleet for
taking away everything I had worked so hard to obtain.  I was even mad
at myself for getting stuck in that situation in the first place.  Then
I realized that he was right, I was a failure.  I didn't deserve his
respect.  I had a chance to tell him and I folded.  I was just too hurt
by his lack of support at the time to see it."
	"Tom, you're not being fair to yourself," the chief engineer
admonished.  "Your father never gave you an opportunity to tell him what
really happened.  You say he's a proud man, but it seems to me that your
accomplishments meant more to him than your character.  He's not proud,
Tom - he's prideful."

	By now Leena had become oblivious to the conversation.  Indeed,
since hearing of Admiral Karr's sloppy handling of the inquest she had
virtually tuned out.  The revelation that a Starfleet admiral would
demonstrate such disregard for protocol appalled her.  Lt. Paris would
likely have received a similar sentence anyway - he had still behaved
deplorably and caused the deaths of three Starfleet officers - but she
couldn't say for sure.  The lieutenant had been pressured into
submitting a false document and subsequent false testimony because
Admiral Karr couldn't be bothered to give the matter the proper
attention.  Given the proper time, he might have had a chance to rescind
the report before official proceedings occurred - if Tom Paris had as
much conscience as he'd led them to believe.  She still couldn't ignore
the possibility that he was merely spinning tales, attempting to pull
the wool over her eyes, but this option seemed more and more unlikely as
the evening wore on.  The fact that he had turned himself in even after
he had gotten away with his atrocities suggested that he wasn't an
entirely despicable person.
	Had she misjudged the navigator?  This notion struck a blow to her
belief system.  She had condemned Tom Paris based on official records,
only to discover that the records were not honestly manufactured by due
process.  She had thought Starfleet to be a noble institution, a
stabilizing force for the United Federation of Planets.  How could she
maintain this faith when even the most influential members could be
capable of serving their own personal agendas?  How could she ever trust
her own judgements anymore?  She still didn't trust Tom Paris because of
his allegiance with the Maquis, but his motives now seemed less devious,
a by-product of situational factors rather than personality.  Leena
returned her attention to the discussion; the matter confused her too
much to try to deal with it at the moment.

	Tom smiled, a flash of his usually confident, merry self
returning.  "Trust me, I've put it all behind me now.  I've learned that
what's happened in the past is out of my hands, so I might as well live
for today."
	A glint of humour appeared in B'Elanna's eyes as a grin pulled at
the corner of her lips.  "Well, that certainly accounts for a lot,
doesn't it?"
	Tom's smile grew wider.  "You bet it does.  *Voyager* has been the
best thing ever to happen to me.  I have a new life, a lot of great
friends, and a new respect for myself as a valuable contributing member
of the captain's crew.  Right now I couldn't be happier."
	All three jumped at the dichotic sound of glass striking metal.
Leena fumbled a bit trying to set her drink on the table.  Agitation
blotted the skin on her face and hands.  "I have to go," she said
bluntly, pushing herself away from the dining surface.  "Excuse me."
She retreated from Tom's quarters before anyone could say a thing.
	"Huh."  Tom fingered his glass, continuing to stare at the
entrance long after the doors had closed.  "How do you like that?
Didn't even stay long enough to thank me for breakfast."
	"Probably because she doesn't share your current outlook on
life," Torres remarked.  "Not that I blame her; for a long while I
wasn't too thrilled with being so far from home.  You think she would
have adapted by now, though."
	"Well, whatever the reason, I'd say my plans are working.  She was
pretty white there for the last bit there.  Maybe she realized I'm not
all bad after all."
	"Maybe," the Klingon acquiesced.  "Then again, maybe she ate a bad
asparagus and was too frightened by the thought of using the disaster
area you call a bathroom."  Tom gave her a hurt look.
	"Tom, there's still one thing bothering me," Harry pondered,
diverting the topic of conversation.  "If you listed in your report
'mechanical failure' as the cause of the crash, why did you tell me it
was pilot error back when we first met?"
	The lieutenant laughed.  "I told you the truth back then, Harry.
It *was* pilot error."  He flashed a waggish grin.  "I made the mistake
of not listening to Marnie's advice.  If I hadn't been so concerned over
the damage that meteorite did to my self-esteem the accident would never
have happened.  But like I said, there's no point in living in a world
of 'what-if's.  To quote an archaic, if crude saying, 'Shit happens.'
Whatever happens, you just keep going; if you look back, you're liable
to trip over your feet."  He sucked in a huge breath, refreshed and
exhilarated.  "You know guys, I'm actually feeling better.  I'm glad I
decided to do this, and I'm glad you guys were here to lend a hand."
	"Hey, anything for a friend in need," Harry quipped, giving the
pilot a friendly slap on the shoulder.  "And thanks for sharing this
with us Tom.  It's not often people, even friends, open themselves to
others the way you did this evening."
	"Stop it, will ya, Harry?  You'll make a guy blush."  Tom glanced
at the chronometer once more.  "And while we're still on the subject of
sharing, would you be a pal and return Neelix's dinner cart to the mess
hall for me?  I have to report for duty in ten minutes, and you know how
my guest of honour feels about tardiness."
	"Sure thing, Tom" Harry chuckled, passing his soiled dished to the
lieutenant.  "But you'll owe me for this."
	"Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Just help me load up the cart."

	There was no mistaking it now: there was something amiss with
Calloway.  She was deliberately changing their work assignments to avoid
him.  He thought it strange last night when she had him make rounds on
Decks 7 and 8 by himself, even though her explanation that patrolling
two different decks at once to make more efficient use of time sounded
reasonable.  He found out the hard way a new reason why security teams
always deployed in pairs: making rounds alone was incredibly tedious and
boring.
	The second night mimicked the first, much to Tom's growing
irritation.  He arrived at the office to find his schedule prepared on a
padd and his so-called partner absent, a convenient and obviously
premeditated method of avoiding confrontation.  He finally clued in what
Leena was up to.  Tom paced down a corridor on Deck 5, tricorder in
hand, searching for any and all signs of trouble and thinking about the
motives for her current behaviour.  By lunchtime he determined to get
the answer from the lieutenant herself.
	"Lieutenant, we need to talk," he announced as he put his tray
opposite hers.
	Calloway dropped her head into her palm in defeat.  "I knew you'd
be coming sooner or later."
	"Good.  Then you should also be anticipating the question I'm
going to ask."
	She didn't move.  "I think I have a fairly good idea.  You're
wondering why I'm distancing myself from you."
	Tom nodded.  "Sounds like a good place to start."
	She looked up, but not at her partner in conversation.  "I can't
tell you - at least, not yet.  You must understand, it's very difficult
for me to talk to you right now.  What you said the other night really
upset me.  I need some time to sort a few things out."
	Tom frowned.  Her response didn't exactly surprise him; naturally
she would try stalling for time.  However, he could relate to the
turmoil she claimed to be experiencing, having been through traumatic
events of his own.  "All right, look: I'll back off for a couple of
days, but I want a guarantee that you'll tell me what's going on before
my two weeks of night duty are up."
	"A reasonable request," she replied, still speaking to the
bulkhead.
	He picked up his tray and took a step from the table, then
stopped.  Tom cast another look in her direction.  "And no more solo
assignments.  I don't care if you have to pair me with someone else, but
I refuse to do any more security sweeps without a partner.  The solitude
is driving me nuts."
	She finally afforded him a miserable glance.  "I don't know if I
can do that.  Lieutenant Tuvok left very specific instructions, and he
checks the duty rosters every day."  She held Tom's gaze for a few
moments, but the intensity of his glare gradually wore her down.
"But...I'll see what I can do."
	The pilot nodded stiffly.  "Thank you."  He turned and walked to
the table located on the other side of the mess hall, a triumphant smile
gradually solving his features.

Chapter 10

	To Tom's surprise, the ensuing engagement occurred sooner than he
expected.  Following his first night of exchanging witty banter with
Ensign Fowler - a gratifying alternative to Calloway's no-nonsense
approach to work - Leena showed up at his quarters unannounced.
"Lieutenant, this is a bit unexpected!  What brings you by?"
	"Orders from Lieutenant Tuvok, sir," she answered grimly, taking
Tom's invitation to enter the room.  "He noticed the changes I made to
tonight's roster, particularly your reassignment.  He asked me why I
wasn't supervising your activity as directed by his instructions.  I
told him that I was experiencing some personal conflicts in working with
you, and that I required some time off from my current assignment to
resolve them."  She dropped herself into an armchair.  "Unfortunately,
Lieutenant Tuvok thought the best way to resolve my problems would be to
confront you, so here I am."
	"So I see."  Tom had been preparing to visit one of the holodecks,
attired in his civilian clothes.  Leena looked in dire need of
relaxation, but an invitation to Sandrine's for a drink probably
wouldn't have been well received just now.  A public setting might not
be the ideal place to discuss private issues.  Instead he walked over to
the replicator.  "Can I get you a drink?"
	"No, but thank you for asking," she replied, for the first time
with a smile.  It took Tom aback for a fraction of a second; it
definitely made her face more attractive when she smiled.  His legs
began to function again as the smile disappeared.  "Sir, I've done a lot
of thinking over the past three days...."
	"Leena, we're off duty now," Tom interrupted.  "You don't have to
call me 'sir'.  In fact, I insist.  If you're not going to address me by
my first name, then just use my last name."
	She looked ready to snap something at him, then stopped herself.
The reaction caught Tom's interest; he wondered what was on the
irascible woman's mind.  The two opponents settled into a staring match,
both waiting for the other to break the silence.  The moments passed
with increasingly uncomfortable quiet.  "Okay...Paris," she said at
last.  "You're not making this any easier for me, you know."  Tom merely
smiled back at her.  "First, I should apologize for running out on you
like that.  You behaved like a gracious host and I acted horribly.  I
didn't even thank you for your hospitality."
	"Apology accepted and your thanks welcomed, even belatedly."  His
grin melted into a more neutral expression.  "I have to admit, though,
we were all wondering why you suddenly excused yourself."
	Leena flushed slightly.  "Well...there were actually two
reasons."  Her hands fidgeted in her lap.  "I was more than a little
disturbed when you said how much you enjoyed being out here."  Tom
nodded absently, not surprised.  "Unlike you, I had a very bright future
waiting for me in the Alpha Quadrant.
	"I've worked under Captain Janeway as part of Lieutenant Tuvok's
security staff for five years now, long before the incident in the
Badlands occurred.  The lieutenant appreciated my work ethic almost from
the beginning of my first mission with them and sort of took me under
his wing.  He taught me the merits of vigilance and meticulous
observation, and his guidance paid off huge dividends for my career.  I
earned a number of commendations and citations for exemplary service.
Other people in Starfleet - important people - noticed my service
record and invited me to consider some offers, some of them even
involving promotion to commanding rank."  She surprised him with a look
of excitement.  "I mean, think of it: I had only just been promoted to a
junior officer, and I was being asked to take positions that would make
me a lieutenant commander!"
	"You must have quite a resume," the pilot commented.  "Why didn't
you accept one of the offers?"
	Leena seemed to remember to whom she was talking and reigned in
her enthusiasm.  Her expression darkened.  "I was about to, but when we
caught word that the Maquis vessel Lieutenant Tuvok was on had
disappeared I delayed my transfer.  I felt I owed it to my mentor to
find out what had happened to him.  If he needed help I was determined
to give it to him."
	*Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Tom.*  He shrank back into
his chair.  "Oh.  So...*Voyager*'s mission to the Badlands...."
	"...was supposed to be my last mission with Captain Janeway,
yes," she finished for him.  She didn't sound angry when she said it,
just tired.  "Needless to say I was a little resentful.  Not only had my
career been upended, but I also lost a lot of friends to the damage
caused by the displacement wave.  Then when the captain decided to take
those Maquis on board as part of the crew something in my head just
snapped."
	"The captain didn't have much of a choice, Leena.  As it stood we
didn't have enough people to run the ship by ourselves.  Asking the
Maquis to become part of the crew was the only option we had available."
	"But to give them command level positions?  It's one thing to have
to work alongside people who have no respect for Starfleet and
Federation policies, but it's another thing entirely to have to take
orders from them!  How would we know they could be trusted to make
decisions in a professional manner?  I'd sure sleep a lot better at
nights if I knew they weren't poised to take command of the ship without
question."
	Tom frowned.  Not exactly a healthy attitude she had.  "So I
suppose having to deal with the threat of a mutiny every day would be a
fair exchange?  Oh, now there's a thought to help send you off to
dreamland!  Wake up and smell the roses, Leena!  Do you think the Maquis
would have consented to just being second-class citizens on this ship?
Besides, don't you think Janeway knew what she was doing when she asked
Chakotay to be her first officer or made B'Elanna Torres the chief
engineer?  Their assignments filled a dual role: to keep the masses
happy and to give the job to the most qualified people.  Just because we
were Maquis doesn't mean we're uneducated or untalented.  B'Elanna may
not have graduated from the academy but she's probably the best engineer
you'll find in the Delta Quadrant!"
	Leena startled at the bitterness of his response, then fidgeted
nervously as she absorbed the full implication of his emotion.  "I'm not
saying I condone my feelings, Paris - I know it's unfair to selectively
judge or categorize people because of their political beliefs - but
that's how I felt at the time.  I thought Captain Janeway was betraying
her loyalty to Starfleet, and the fact that Lieutenant Tuvok was
allowing it to happen only made it worse.  I felt like I was the only
person I could trust on the ship.  I asked Lieutenant Tuvok to reassign
me to night security, but I knew that wouldn't be enough to shield
myself.  I decided to interact on a purely professional basis only; I
thought that by removing all social or emotional involvement I'd be able
to deal with those recreants.  It took me months to finally accept their
actions and restore my commitment to them."
	He chewed on a few thoughts, thinking of how best to broach the
subject.  "I don't know quite what to say, Leena, that couldn't be
interpreted as an insult.  I can kind of understand how you felt.  I
spent a long time trying to assign blame to people for the way my life
turned out, but eventually I moved on.  You've got to move on too,
Leena.  It's not healthy, and it's not fair to the others on the ship.
Almost everyone who's served on this ship since the destruction of the
Caretaker's array has accepted their role on *Voyager* and learned to
reconcile their differences.  We are a living example that change is
possible."
	She shook her head, amused but exasperated.  "Before you intruded
my life I would have been surprised by what you said just now.  That's
part of the second reason why I left your dinner party early.  I...you
upset everything I believe in."  She shifted her weight.  "I never
questioned the choices and judgements I made because I was so sure that
everything I believed in was right.  Then you came along with your
incongruent nature and cast doubt on all my principles.  At one moment
you would confirm yourself as the self-serving nihilist I assumed you to
be, the next moment you would do or say something that completely
undermined my expectations.
	"But you didn't stop there.  You also put into question my
commitment to Starfleet when you spoke of Admiral Karr's blatant
disregard of proper procedures.  I joined the academy because I always
thought Starfleet was an unshakeable institution, a force of great truth
and responsibility.  Yet you showed me that it can be corrupted by those
who would take advantage of its virtue, even people whom I thought
represented the very definition of Starfleet, people who possessed
better character than...well, you."  She blushed, knowing how offensive
that sounded.  "That didn't come out right.  What I mean is, I found it
appalling that a Starfleet admiral would act so irresponsibly as to
allow another officer to be unfairly tried, guilty or not.  It disturbed
me even more to think that I myself was doing the same thing now.  I
used to think I was a fairly good judge of character, but now I'm not so
sure.  I mean, if I can't even depend on the validity of official
Starfleet records how can I trust myself to base judgements on them?"
	"I wouldn't be too hard on myself if I were you, Leena.  You're
not the first person to experience disillusionment with Starfleet."  Tom
put on a canny smile.  "Just ask any one of our Maquis contingent.
Seriously, though, why not use some common sense when making decisions?
Relying on hard data may feel safer, but you can't expect the data to be
infallible.  People can manipulate data to say anything they want."
	Calloway returned a hard stare.  "And did you use common sense
when you flew the *Fraser* into the ground?"
	Tom frowned; her barbed question stung like a slap to the face. 
"No, I didn't.  I made a careless, selfish mistake.  But I don't see how
this is relevant to what we're talking about.  You're not making a level
comparison here."
	"Aren't I?" she asked bitterly.  "Every cadet enrolled in the
academy is taught the importance of self-sacrifice: to selflessly risk
one's life to ensure the safety of others.  We learn to trust our fellow
officers because we know they would just as willingly cede their lives
for us as we would for them."
	She turned away, unable to look at him further.  "I've been
selfish, Paris.  I don't trust the people on this ship.  That's why I
turned my back on them.  I betrayed my oath of loyalty to this crew.
How can they rely on me when I won't even give most of them the time of
day?
	"Tolerance, equality - the most basic of Starfleet ideas.  I
turned my back on them ever since we lost our way in the Delta Quadrant.
I've selectively used only the principles I desired to serve my own
pettiness.  I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I see now that I'm
just as intractable as you used to be.  I don't deserve to wear this
uniform."
	Tom definitely did not like where this discussion was going. 
Calloway was digging herself into a pit of despair so fast she wouldn't
ever climb her way out.  " That's a little harsh, Leena."  He held up a
hand, begging continuance.  "You're beating yourself up over
circumstances that are completely normal."
	The security officer looked quizzically at him.  "I don't follow
you."
	"The way you isolated yourself from the rest of the crew.  The way
I see it, you sacrificed your career advancement to scout for someone
you respected a great deal.  You took a gamble and forfeited more than
you bargained for.  You lost friends, family and your future.  You feel
cheated."
	Tom hunched over, crossing his arms and resting them in his lap.
"I know that feeling.  After I was cashiered from Starfleet I was very
angry.  I wanted to rebel against everything that had made me the person
I had become.  I drifted, hopping from system to system, looking for any
excuse to show people what the Paris name was really worth.  I ran away
from my problems, just as you did.  The only difference is that I had
the entire Alpha Quadrant at my disposal.  You didn't have anywhere to
go except within."
	Calloway's brow creased.  "But...you're making it sound as though
it's a good thing to be self-absorbed."
	"It's a fact of human nature.  Sometimes we need to be selfish.
The hard part, however, is knowing *how* to be selfish."
	Leena looked at him dubiously.  "You mean there are different
kinds?"
	"Well, sort of."  Tom twiddled his thumbs.  "I guess what I'm
trying to say is that self-interest can be applied in a number of ways,
both productive and destructive.  For example, personal ambition,
nurtured appropriately, breeds excellence.  In my case it also bred a
reckless arrogance.  It's a tricky balance.  We must temper our selfish
impulses, but we have to be careful.  If we reject our impulses
altogether, more than likely we'll find they've merely been subverted.
In the long run it's better to use the power of desire to fuel our
actions than to deny it."
	The security officer crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly.
"And I suppose you've found the 'perfect' balance?" she threw out
skeptically.
	"Hell, don't I wish," Tom laughed.  "I'm not sure I'll ever find
it, but I'm probably closer to it now than I was a couple of years
ago."  He leaned into the back of his chair, a cheeky grin suddenly
forming.  "I'm probably closer to it than you are, too."
	Calloway stopped dead in her place and sunk back into the chair,
dumbfounded.  "You really think you're better than me, don't you?"
	"I meant every word.  You've been locked into a mode of mistrust
and self-serving isolation for so long that you don't know how to break
out of it.  You've become too dependent on form; you have to learn to
make decisions for yourself again."
	Silence overtook the room swiftly.  Leena wordlessly sat and
stared blankly at the man who had all but completely disassembled every
facet of her life in the span of a week.  The same man she once
considered a moral reprobate.  A man now more her equal than she cared
to admit.  The healing had to start somewhere though, didn't it?
"Well...I suppose you have a point...."
	*Mission accomplished!*  Tom smiled sincerely.  A breakthrough of
this magnitude deserved a well-earned reward, for both of them.  He
stood up, walked over to Calloway and offered her a hand.
	She looked at him askance.  "What?"
	"I was just about to go to the holodeck before you came.  Sandrine
serves up a good synthale.  I think you could use one right about now."
	She pushed his hand away, anger unexpectedly rising to the
surface.  "I don't believe this!  I spend twenty minutes airing the most
confidential and vulnerable parts of my life just to repair my
professional relationship with you, and already you're asking me out on
a date.  You are such a slime!"
	Tom sighed.  "Oh, brother!  Calloway, why does everything have to
be adversarial with you?  I'm not asking you out.  I want you to go to
Sandrine's and, for once in your life, relax.  Have a drink and loosen
up.  Forget about work and all that 'who-belongs-to-which-group' stuff.
Just go and talk to people, find out for yourself if you really like
them or not.  Be yourself.  Be *selfish*."  Again he stuck his hand out.
	Leena switched her gaze between the hand before her and the face
of its owner, wondering if she should really take his advice to heart.
She didn't loathe him anymore, but she wasn't exactly sure if she liked
him enough to forgive him.  She just didn't have enough grounds to put
her trust in him yet.  Still...trust had to start somewhere.  Leena took
the offered hand and Tom helped her out of the chair.  "Let's get one
thing straight first, Paris.  Just because I'm accepting your invitation
doesn't mean we're friends.  We're just working acquaintances, that's
all."  She walked to the cabin door, which responded by whisking open.
"And I still don't like you," she threw in unnecessarily.
	With her back to him, Leena couldn't see the smirk on Tom's face
widening into a huge smile.  "Yes, ma'am.  I understand completely."

End Stage I