Title: Guerdon.
Part: III:  Poetry and Plasma.  Interviews and incubi en route to Podala.
Author: D'Alaire M.

---

 

 

III.  Poetry and Plasma

 

"Morning, Tom." 

Tom nodded to Jerod's greeting as he paced groggily into the lounge.  Their operations technician was rubbing his eye with his arm as he tinkered with a small juncture, probably a part of his work to come that day.  Jerod liked to bring his smaller projects to breakfast, not for being prone to overwork, but simply because he couldn't resist a puzzle.  Tom honestly didn't want to know what his quarters looked like.

"You mind getting me a mug of coffee while you're there?"  Jerod asked, leaning in closer to see inside an open module. 

Tom didn't answer but with a blink to himself.  Crossing to the food replicator, he reached up to tap in the code for coffee, thinking belatedly to make his double strong that morning.  It'd be another long day under the consoles and his "good night's sleep" had left him foggy-eyed, a little weak in the knees.  He had the feeling that rum was not quite the "find" that the vendor had told him it was.  Not that he was angry or surprised about it--he didn't pay much for the case, after all--but he knew his day would be that much longer if he didn't wake up a little. 

Looking at the panel to reprogram the consistency, he blinked, squinted. 

The same device was burrowed in the bulkhead--a replicator old enough that some of the standard LEDs had begun to flicker from too many taps on the surface.  Or at least it had been. 

The LEDs weren't flickering.  His first impulse told him they were going to burn out once and for all, after that last ditch effort at functionality.  But they were pretty steady.

He looked over at Jerod again.  "Did you mess with the replicator?" 

"No.  Why? Something wrong with it?" 

He shook his head to jog his eyes, then rethought what he saw.  "Anyone else been in here?" 

"Maryl and Ridge were already on when I got up here," Jerod told him, then remembered, "Torres was on her way out when I came in."  He glanced back at the captain.  "Why? What's up?" 

"Nothing."  He turned back to the replicator and programmed in two mugs, one extra strong.

"You going to hire her?"

"See if she's a fit first, then I'll decide."

"Tom, we need an engineer--and she's definitely that." 

"I noticed.  And for the moment, we have an engineer."  Considering that again, he finally shrugged.  "I'll send Maryl after her, give her the treatment.  If she doesn't drive her off, you can have her for a while.  Will that shut you up?" 

Jerod grinned.  "You're starting to sound like a regular recruiter." 

Tom ignored the joke.  His head was starting to throb slightly and whoever fooled with the replicator hadn't made it any faster.  "I just don't want another Livich," he said.

"Point taken."  Jerod resumed his work.

The computer finally decided to go through with the command and two mugs appeared.  Tom ran his hand over the brightly colored panel again before picking them up.  Moving to the table, he set one in front of Jerod, who nodded his thanks as he pulled a swing bolt out of the latch.  Tom then pulled a chair for himself across. 

"So what's up for today?"  Tom asked quietly, pulling the mug to his lips. 

---

"Hey Torres!" 

The engineer looked up through the cloud of plasma coolant vapor she'd discovered on deck two only a minute after arriving that morning.  On the upper deck overhang, a tall form stood, leaning slightly forward.  Between puffs of steam, B'Elanna saw the woman's earring glint in the light of the churning warp core. 

"Maryl?" 

"Yeah.  Can you come up here when you're done? We need to meet." 

"I don't think that's going to be too soon, with these vents spitting like this.  We'll lose compression--"

"Oh, it does that all the time," Maryl dismissed.  "It'll still be there when you get back--and so will the warp core.  We need to meet.  --Or don't you want this glamorous job?" 

B'Elanna wiped her hands on her tool vest as she walked through the steam to see the Bajoran more clearly.  "You're not the one doing the hiring.  What gives?" 

"Standard procedure, Torres.  Forward communications room--second door down the left forward corridor, deck one.  Sooner you get there, the sooner it'll be over." 

With that, Maryl turned and left.

B'Elanna blew a breath, shook her head and moved to stow her tool vest for the time being.  "Better be necessary," she muttered as she went to tell Ridge.

As the young woman moved across the deck, she didn't notice the captain near the top of the forward access staircase, a load of isolinear wiring looped over his shoulder.  Watching her small boots thump each step, her hands balling up, he pulled himself up the last few steps.

"I have not loved the world, nor the world me," he said, aloud without meaning to.  Glancing around, he breathed a humorless laugh, then crossed behind the engineering bulkheads to the narrow corridor which lead to the field sensor platform.  "...but let us part fair foes..."

He couldn't get it out of his head, now that it'd come up. 

Not that it'd ever really gone away.

---

"There are ten trade stations along what used to be the Federation-Cardassian border--what's now the Demilitarized Zone.  All of them deal in latinum, and they largely keep their business with non-Federation races between Ecelor and Andal, and Irtrin and Zarilar.  Our shares are paid in latinum for the same reason: Federation credits aren't usually worth anything outside the frontier..." 

Seeing a slightly tired stare above a straight mouth in response to her start, Maryl nodded quickly.  "Yeah, yeah, I know you've been around the block already, and you engineering sorts don't care about where you're going as much as much as the crate that's getting you there.  But there are things I'm obligated to make you know if you're sticking around." 

"I really don't see the point in wasting our time here when I could learn it along the way," B'Elanna insisted.

"The point is, while Tom doesn't mind answering stupid questions, he doesn't like us to be left open for mistakes or missed opportunities--and that can happen as soon as Podala.  As for myself, I do mind stupid questions, and I will make you miserable if you screw up station-side and ruin one of my deals.  Anyone who's dealt with me can vouch for that." 

B'Elanna ground her teeth together, feeling the undeniable will to bite back at Maryl's hard line.  No matter why the contract liaison's so-called rules existed, the engineer who could care less about the route as much as the boat didn't appreciate being treated like an idiot.  Worse was that she had no idea what had changed between yesterday and the present that had inspired Maryl to turn into some self-styled professor. 

Still, Maryl had been fair with her, upfront from moment one, and B'Elanna keenly understood her distaste for idiots. 

"Fine," she finally replied, though coolly.  "This is your department."

The clipped response seemed to soften Maryl, who decided to take a seat on the next stool rather than walk around the tensing engineer.  Seeing the woman relax a little at that, she laughed lightly.  "You don't like that, do you?"  she said.  "People pacing around you?" 

B'Elanna blinked herself out of her frown to consider that.  "I guess I don't," she admitted.  "I never really thought about it." 

"I don't like it, either.  Makes me feel like I'm on the chain.  --And here I'm doing it to someone who's probably less inclined to put up with it." 

"What do you mean by that?"

"Probably about what you think it means.  --Don't worry about it.  I'll try not to do it again."  Giving B'Elanna's shoulder a pat, she turned the chart and highlighted their last year's routes.  "So, let's start with the usual suspects: Minjau and Velir Prime."

"Federation friendly, planet-based, run by native populations," B'Elanna recited. 

"That's what the Federation database would tell you," Maryl smirked. 

Her stare turned askance.  "What is it, then?" 

"Native populations who otherwise keep the hell away from our kind of business.  Minjau's not only good because it's centrally located on the route.  You won't get any pain in the ass Minjans hitting you up for a deal or selling their wares.  You only have to worry about the crooks at the station." 

B'Elanna snorted.  "So I've noticed." 

"We've all been hit once," Maryl shrugged and drew a circle in the air before the highlighted route.  "Minjau is in Federation territory, though, so we usually pick up and drop off pre-paid cargo there, but try to get paid at Irtrin or Velir Prime, which doesn't have to follow the Federation trade standard."  She ran a finger around the hairpin of Cardassian territory, which was buffered by the new Demilitarized Zone.  "The Federation's granted us a license to deal with all the rim stations in their territory, we're registered at all the independent stations outside the border.  We have a regular Hidirin deal that we drop off at Velir, for instance, which pays us in latinum though Hidirin is a Federation member.  We're also licensed to deal through Cardassian space.  --I prefer we don't for all the obvious reasons, though it's nice to have the ID with them.  We're usually on the route running from Zomir to DS-Nine, because the business is mostly there--middleman shipping, really.  Not the good stuff I'm hunting for, but it keeps us running.  Beral, Miga, Sicira and Gimol-2 are our common stops outside Federation territory on the Bajoran side of the route, depending on what we're doing or if the climate's not good." 

"The what?"

Maryl snorted.  "You've been out of the loop.  The Maquis." 

"I've heard of them.  I just didn't know what you meant by 'climate.'  Now I do." 

"I'll give you the Federation newsfeed, let you get caught up on that side of it.  Suffice to say, since the Federation outlawed the colonies' resistance, the stations around the Federation border have become dicey." 

"Dicey's nothing new." 

"True, but now there's a new agenda behind it, not to mention some certain retribution.  It's why Tom was so spooked after we found Mesler's barge, having to deal with that Maquis ship.  They know who we are now." 

Nodding, B'Elanna noted Maryl was almost sympathetic for the captain, there.  "Ridge told me you and the captain had to do a lot of talking to get what systems you did." 

"The Maquis are like Gobaran vultures--and twice as tenacious," Maryl acknowledged.  "I understand the mentality, though.  I know why they rat around for whatever they can get and grab whatever they can.  They even tried to get their hands on you when you were out cold in the lab." 

B'Elanna's frown slackened to see Maryl wasn't kidding.  "Why me? I've never met any of them." 

"The Maquis captain spotted Ridge carrying you out of the holds, Tom said, so they wondered if you knew anything about them." 

"I wouldn't have known what quadrant I was in, for all Mesler cared."  B'Elanna told her.  "I was there to keep the ship at warp." 

"That's what we figured.  --Don't worry.  Tom covered for you, said you were with us, told Jerod to wipe your records before the Maquis got Mesler's memory core." 

If her attention hadn't been piqued by the first admission, B'Elanna's stare was locked on Maryl with the next one.  "He did?" 

"He wasn't about to let those snakes pull you off his ship.  He's a little funny about things like that." 

"And the other captain bought it?"

"Enough to get out of our hair." 

"What would they have done if he didn't cover for me?" 

"They'd probably have just talked to you, tried to find out if you knew anything about their business with Mesler.  Even in that case, I don't think Tom would've let them take you off the ship, though I can be sure they'd have been tempted, especially if they'd found out you were an engineer.  They need engineers and doctors more than weapons, I've heard." 

B'Elanna stifled the cold shot in her spine.  It wasn't as frightening a thought as it was insulting. 

Maryl only shrugged.  "As they say: Whoever has the guns usually feels it's their right and has a tendency to get their way."

"They don't have anything big enough for me," B'Elanna insisted. 

"You don't know that," Maryl told her and met the stare aimed back at her.  "Trust me, as a Bajoran, I know you don't know what you will or won't do to keep going, not until you get there."

"Well, I can say what I think about right now." 

Maryl snorted.  "Yeah, and you're good at it.  In any case, it doesn't matter, because you're here and they've gone back to their lair, such as it is.  But it's a good lesson to keep in mind: Any person around these stations could be trying to sell you or your services into the Maquis these days.  They're more paranoid about strangers than we'll ever be, but that doesn't mean they won't use the system to get what they need, either." 

"How so?" 

"By using the border stations as a go-between, slipping the materials into the DMZ while no one's looking.  The Ovisar's a good example.  Captain Pachig thought they were making routine runs from Irtrin to Dirud before Starfleet pulled them in to interrogate them.  Seems they'd been helping supply the Maquis with materials to build weapons systems, but the parts were so scattered on other ships doing the same thing they didn't realize it.  Happened not two weeks ago."

"What'd Starfleet do with them?" 

"I heard they were let go with a warning and a free escort out of the area to cool off.  Pachig could have lost his freighter for it, though, if his record hadn't been as clean."  With that, Maryl shook her head.  "But we're getting off track.  You can hear all this gossip in the lounge.  Must be that coffee Ridge is feeding me." 

B'Elanna smirked.  "Well, I feel like I've learned something.  Can I go now?" 

The Bajoran nodded slowly.  "Oh yeah, you'll fit in just fine around here.  --And no, not yet.  Sorry, but we're not done until I know I've gone over the route with you."  She pulled up a set of specs.  "Okay, then, here's where we're off to now: Podala.  Standard free-floating space station.  You've been there?" 

"Once, for an overnight," B'Elanna replied as she slumped back into her chair.  The sooner I let her get on with it... she reminded herself. 

"The station manager is an ass," Maryl stated, "but they're on the distal end outside the DMZ and it's five light years to Dirud, two to Starbase 211--though we don't go there--and ten to Ulinas, so Podala's always on our schedule.  They usually stock supplies you'd probably be interested in.  Tom likes to hunt for supplies there, too.  I'm sure he'd take you around, get you connected to the better vendors, if you wanted." 

"I'd like that." 

"What we're usually there for, though, is to pick up the canisters of tellerium that goes to Gimol-Two." 

"Well, I might be interested in that too, for the reactor regulators." 

"Sit through the rest of this waste of your time," Maryl grinned, "and I'll see what I can do." 

B'Elanna pursed her lips to consider it, then gave the other woman a nod.  "You've got a deal." 

---

"There you are!"  Ridge laughed as the narrow-eyed engineer stomped onto the lower engineering platform.  "I thought for a minute there Hana had gone into the history of Bajor."

"She did everything but that," B'Elanna snapped, ducking into a cubbyhole for her tool vest.  "We were in there at least three hours!" 

"Four and a half, actually," Ridge grinned, then held up his hands to the glare B'Elanna shot back.  "Hey, it's just a part of the job." 

"I'm starting to rethink it," B'Elanna growled.  "There are a lot better things I could be doing with my time.  What's the deal with locking me in a room for the better part of the day just to tell me about the routes I've been working on for two years? If I wanted a lecture, I'd have stuck around Starfleet." 

Again, Ridge laughed.  "Come on, it's not like she had you hauling crates and reciting the Federation trade regulation ordinance.  Not all of it could have been useless." 

B'Elanna pulled out her hyperspanner to adjust the frequency.  "No, not all of it.  --But it could've waited." 

"You never know, B'Elanna."  Patting her shoulder, he jerked his head towards the impulse generator.  "Come on.  We'll not waste the rest of the day and get these guys tuned up before we get to Podala for a change.  What do you say?" 

B'Elanna cracked a little grin.  Ridge was definitely a source of light on that barge.  "That's the best thing I've heard all day." 

As they treaded through the section, which darkened with every meter for the lack of extraneous lighting, Ridge popped on a portable work light.  "Look, you're coming on the Guerdon at a relatively good time.  We got some salvage parts that we can use, a little extra latinum with the junker and a part-timer who's competent.  We're relaxed right now, got fun stuff to do.  But I have to be honest with you B'Elanna, we've had some tough times." 

"You forget where I've been recently."

Ridge snickered.  "Yeah, I don't think it'll ever get that bad.  Tom's too stubborn to let the Guerdon go to hell if he can help it.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that things do get a little rough, supplies get thin and we're scraping for repairs or swerving around more trouble than we can handle.  So, someone who can't take the lows isn't going to fit.  Know what I mean?"

"Pressure doesn't get to me."

"Yeah, but we don't know that." 

B'Elanna considered him for a moment, his matter-of-fact grin, and finally relented.  "I guess I'm just used to working alone, not having to go further than the captain's interview--which is bad enough." 

"I remember those," Ridge acknowledged.  "Look, kid, just let us get to know you a little and then you can bury yourself in this pit as much as you like.  Wait and see.  You've got nothing to worry about." 

"But what if I put up with all this crap and the captain decides he doesn't want to hire me in the end?" 

Another chuckle rumbled out of the burly technician.  "Then Hana'd kill him and we'd need a new captain, too." 

Finally, B'Elanna laughed.  "Okay."

Arriving at the impulse generator, she immediately crouched on a knee as Ridge sat on the floor and unlocked the driver coil cover.  Heaving it up, he glanced at B'Elanna, who had already pulled a demagnetizer from another pocket.  "Sorry we don't have replacements for these."

Shrugging at first, B'Elanna coughed when she saw what Ridge was talking about.  The coils were badly corroded and she could see in the work light alone a few cracks in the shell.  Tracing one with a finger, she could feel a little excess electric charge leaking through, growing stronger as her finger moved down.  "What kind of filters do you have on your plasma relays?" 

Ridge bit a lip.  "I don't know." 

"They must not be much.  Who in the world had these engines before? Trilateral filters aren't hard to get." 

"If that's the case, we can pick them up at Podala." 

Sighing, B'Elanna shook her head and ran the tool over the apparatus again.  "That won't help these coils, though.  They need to be replaced." 

"Now those are hard to get."

"Well, Maryl says the captain has some connections."  Resetting the frequency on her tool, she glanced up at Ridge.  "Do you have a multispectrum fuser? I can patch it for now." 

Ridge nodded.  "Yeah, I'll go get it.  Thanks, B'Elanna." 

"Thanks?"  She furrowed her brow.  "For what?" 

He shrugged.  "For helping--doing something.  It's just thanks." 

She glanced up at him again.  His round, friendly face, looking down from far above her, was as easy as before.  "You're welcome," she replied then went back to the coil. 

As Ridge pulled himself to his feet, a set of lighter footsteps echoed behind her.

"Hey, Torres."  It wasn't Ridge. 

"Yes?"  She didn't look back. 

"When you get a chance, can you meet up with me in the aft subprocessor access juncture?" 

"Which one are you? Jerod?" 

"Yep.  I'll be there the rest of the day.  Come when you can." 

"I've got a repair on these coils underway."  She bent a little further down to reach the base of the driver manifold.  She didn't feel like experiencing any more surprises.  A jolt from the base of that piece of junk would definitely be that.  "You sure you'll be there that long?" 

"You can't replace them," he assured her.  "I know because I control the parts inventory; there's not a coiled snake in there, much less a coil you can install in this scrap pile.  So all you're doing is sealing them up--again.  That only takes an hour or so." 

B'Elanna finally looked back.  The lanky operations technician stood leaning on a strut, holding his hands behind his back as he looked at her. 

"Livich sealed those suckers about a hundred times," he finished. 

"I can tell.  They're crap." 

Jerod snorted.  "You haven't been here long.  You'll find much worse once you really dig in.  Livich was the queen of patch-and-go.  She was more interested in power...  Heh.  Never associated it like that before."  He pushed himself off the strut with his elbow.  "Anyway, when you're done, have Ridge point out the aft subprocessor access platform."

With that, he turned to go.

"Can't we do this tomorrow?"  B'Elanna suddenly asked, stopping him.  "I'd like to make sure this is done right, if we can't replace the coils." 

"Got to do this before we get to Podala," Jerod answered, grinning again.  "Captain's orders--and don't tell him I called him that." 

"Captain's orders?"  B'Elanna retorted before she could check herself, remembering the serious face on the young captain as he escaped engineering the day before.  "He told you all to check me out?"

"Got to haze the rookie before we give them a jacket," the man shrugged.  "Don't worry, Torres.  No classroom, no boring lectures.  In fact, bring that fancy tool kit of yours.  It's way better than mine." 

Ridge approached with a small case.  "At least it wasn't Savan," he chortled, putting the requested tool in her waiting hand. 

B'Elanna rolled her eyes and flipped on the fuser.

---

Four hours later, Ridge finally convinced B'Elanna to get something to eat.  To her surprise, as Ridge described a host of selections that they could get out of those cut-rate replicators, she felt her stomach grumble a bit.  Then she remembered that she'd only had a cup of coffee that morning and a sandwich the night before--and maybe being on a ship that didn't have her running and screaming throughout the shift was shocking her system into considering regular nutrition.  Then again, Ridge did seem to know the menu pretty well and was good at describing it.  The only thing he didn't recommend was plomeek soup. 

"Makes my fried oysters sound like fine cuisine," he snickered. 

Either way, she finally assented to Ridge's suggestion, and was glad she did when she remembered she'd be helping install Mesler's communications array into the Guerdon's core subprocessor--a cruel little irony, that.  She knew she should have at least a snack while she had the chance. 

For that matter, she had a little time.  Jerod had been right.  Patching the impulse coils was as good as it could get without ripping the whole assembly out.  There was nothing more she could do to them for the time being.

Maybe I can reconstruct the lateral drive conduits, take some of the pressure off... she mused as she climbed the access staircase, ignoring the remaining twinge in her knee, which had gotten worse since that morning.  She'd tried not to push it, not wanting to end up in the lab again.  She could tell the Vulcan was watching her gait every time they crossed paths.  The ship doesn't need all thirty.  I can re-route the port conduits, pull three and weld them... 

Just as she'd expected and somewhat designed, she was neck-deep in repairs and plans, as she liked to be, but with one lingering problem: It wasn't really her job--not yet, according to their circumspect captain.  Ridge and Jerod seemed happy to have a new engineer on hand, though; Maryl told her outright already that she wanted her there.  B'Elanna didn't see anything negative in Savan so far.

In fact, she found herself liking the crew already, which was as surprising as it was...nice.  Not that she could say she'd call any of them a friend so soon, but they were all agreeable and didn't seem fazed by her forthrightness.  Rather, they seemed to appreciate it. 

That didn't matter, though.  The captain made the final decision.  No matter what Ridge said about it, how Maryl felt about, they all admitted that the captain had the final say--the captain, raised Starfleet according to Ridge, and who could polish off whole bottles of scotch for dinner.  The captain, who wouldn't give her a clear answer when they met, never asked her name, hardly met her eyes, escaped as soon as he could all three times she'd seen him, then sent the crew to "interview" her. 

She could have cared less about his spotty appearances if she knew what was going to happen to her when they got to Podala, if she'd have to go sign in on the for-hire list or go hunt parts. 

She hated that.  Really hated it.  Maryl had warned her, told her upfront what she was in for, but she still hated it.  What made it worse was that Maryl had turned right around and played along with it--meaning, in the end, they'd be on his side.  No surprise, that, though: They'd been a crew for a while, knew each other well, had gotten through a lot together.  She was just "a guest." 

Passing by a dry sink, she stuck her arms in and tapped the initiator in the back.  Gradually, the contraption whirred to life and began to peck the grease and soot off her hands and arms.

"Great," she said to herself, bouncing her sore leg as she waited.  "One more for the list."

But at least they have one here, she answered herself.  Sighing, she waited the four times longer then it should have taken, then turned the unit off. 

She finally resolved herself to go ahead and just ask for the job, get it done with, as Maryl had first hinted she should.  The captain would have to be an idiot to not see she was capable, and she didn't take him as one so far.  Much as she hated the idea of having to, she wasn't too proud to ask for what she wanted.  It was a lot more dignified that signing the for-hire list and sitting around like cattle waiting to be called to a dabo table of potentially rotten jobs.  With the Maquis situation she'd been told about, it might not be a good idea to stick around there as it was.  Podala, Maryl pointed out, was one of the nearest stations to the outer end of the DMZ. 

She wanted it.  It was just a matter of getting it. 

Moreover, she wasn't going to make the same, old mistake again--get into a lousy situation with her eyes shut hard, act off her quick feelings rather than her head.  This time, she knew it'd be a right decision.  She'd watched the crew working before they knew she was there, listened to their conversations and even overheard communications in passing.  They spoke to her much as they spoke to each other--casual, matter of fact, without any airs or false courtesy or tiptoeing.  As for the Guerdon and its systems, while it needed a lot of work, it wasn't a total piece of garbage, either.  The captain at least scored points for being interested in upgrades, too. 

Instead of her Klingon temper getting her kicked out of a place, a little of that temper had finally gotten her in to a situation that she couldn't have expected a week ago, the way things had been going. 

Nodding to herself, she crossed into the main corridor to get to the lounge.  She could eat and formulate an approach that wouldn't piss the captain off and at the same time wouldn't be embarrassing. 

Arrogant bastard just needs to feel important, she concluded.  Fine.  I'll hardly see him once it's over.  If he rejects me, that'll be his problem.

More determined with every step, B'Elanna entered the lounge and turned straight for the replicator.  Checking it first to see if her spot repair was holding, she clicked through the choices.  She chose a pasta salad--it'd fill her and stay there, she figured--and coffee.

Maybe get that comm system and sensor relay installed first, then arrange to talk to him.

Waiting for the replicator and ticking through her priorities, B'Elanna turned to lean on the wall, rest her knee a little.

Her back didn't touch the wall before she jumped away from it.

Across the lounge, she saw a man slumped over on the table.  His arms were hanging flaccid below him and his feet were sprawled in such a way that he was dangerously close to sliding off the chair. 

"Captain...Tom?"  B'Elanna moved across the room and quickly investigated the table.  There was nothing there but him.  Careful not to push him off his seat, she shook his arm.  "Tom?" 

If he was breathing, she couldn't tell.  B'Elanna drew a quick breath and decided to pull him up.  Readying herself to catch him, she moved behind him and got him under the arms to haul him back.  His head slid off the table and his chin hit his chest.

"Damn," B'Elanna hissed, checking her breath as she eased the captain away from the chair, lifting him to the ground as gently as she could.  Kneeling on the deck, she put her hand in front of his nose and open mouth.  Relieved to feel some air, she looked him over again.  He was paler than he had been the day before, but not ghostly.

With a few sharp breaths, thinking quick and hard in a place still new to her, B'Elanna got to her feet again and left the lounge.  She looked right and left--engineering, bridge--then crossed the corridor when she recalled another option.  Retracing a few more steps from two days ago with Maryl, B'Elanna passed the forward cross-corridor and hurried to the doors to the right.

Tapping the door control, she looked inside and found Savan at work on a plant. 

"The captain's passed out in the lounge," she told her.

Peering back at B'Elanna, the Vulcan woman rose from her bench and moved to the counter at the side of the room.  Opening the cabinet above it, she pulled down a flat case and spread it apart.  "Has he injured himself?"  she queried. 

B'Elanna blinked.  The ship's so-called medic wasn't in any rush.  "Not that I can see." 

"Thank you."  Selecting then loading a hypospray, Savan gestured to the entrance.  "I will need your assistance.  Please return with me." 

B'Elanna did, two steps behind the Vulcan as they moved down the middle of the ship.  Arriving at the lounge, she watched Savan walk across to where Paris laid, just as she had left him.  Kneeling beside him, Savan placed her hand on his throat and tapped the control on the hypospray.  Moments after she administered a dose, the captain coughed, then gagged on his bile.  Savan nodded. 

"Assist me in supporting him," she told the younger woman, gesturing to his right side.  B'Elanna moved all the way in and bent over to take an arm and a shoulder.  Together, they pulled the tall man to his unsteady feet and secured his arms over their shoulders.  He began to breathe normally then, though still a little rough.  "We will take him to the lab.  Please remember to put the weight on your opposite leg when we do so.  I notice you are favoring your left leg again." 

B'Elanna snorted.  The last thing she was thinking about was her knee.  "What's up with him? Is he drunk?" 

"He will not be soon," Savan answered, then exhaled when her captain's long legs buckled underneath him.  "Tom, please help us lead you to the lab." 

With a groggy shake of his head, he managed to keep his feet under him as they moved forward.  His eyes remained closed, though, as they maneuvered him around the table and towards the door.  "Gimma break, Cass," he slurred, then choked a laugh.

"Tom, we are taking you to the lab," Savan repeated.  "Please maintain your pace." 

"Yeah...some grieve...sincerely grieve..."  He shivered a little, jerked a foot forward, then the other.  "Snares..."

B'Elanna scowled over to the flailing head beside her own.  "What the hell is he talking about?" 

"Gimme a break, Cass..." 

Savan turned them once they were in the corridor.  "He is delirious." 

"I...not loved the world...fair foes..." 

"I got that much.  Why is he delirious?" 

"He makes the occasional mistake of purchasing poor quality alcohol.  He will recover." 

B'Elanna shook her head at the explanation.  "How can you not be concerned about this? What if he's flying the ship and he has one of...these?" 

"It has not happened, and the ship will respond appropriately if it should." 

"Does he know this happens?" 

"I have been careful to inform him."

"I...do...believe...Cass...don't..."  With a groan, he quieted.  His feet stumbled under him and the women yanked him up again.  "Happy...no dream...don't..." 

B'Elanna breathed a laugh as they came into the lab with their burden.  "Well, there's the one thing wrong with this job--a suicidal captain."

"That is an incorrect assumption," Savan replied, moving around a medical table to pull Tom onto it. 

Taking her cue from there, B'Elanna pulled his feet up and around to rest on the bed.  "Hasn't anyone tried to help him?"  she asked as she pushed his boots to the middle.  "Not that I know him or anything, but I think I have the right to ask if I might be offered a job here." 

"In a case such as this," Savan told her, "the decision to tend to his health is his.  There are complexities of which you are ignorant and which I am not at liberty to disclose.  Your concern, though admirable, will be of little consequence until he chooses how he will treat himself in the future." 

B'Elanna took a step back from the table, still staring at the man, who was unconscious again.  He looked younger than when she saw him last, almost innocent there, though without a doubt strung out.  The memory of him sucking down that bottle of wine the night before, his heavy eyes intent of only what was right in front of him and little more, flashed behind her eyes.  He might have been handsome if he took care of himself.  He was apparently intelligent, good at what he did, well liked by his crew for what she could tell.

She definitely didn't understand it, and she chose not to try to figure it out.  Savan seemed confident about what she was saying and used to what she was doing.  For that matter, B'Elanna had no problem agreeing that it wasn't her problem.

"I should get my lunch," she told Savan with a nod.  "I have to meet Jerod later."

Savan blinked in assent.  "Thank you for your assistance.  Tom will recover presently." 

"Okay."

"I would like to meet with you tomorrow morning." 

B'Elanna was halfway out of the door when the request was made.  She closed her eyes for a moment, somehow managing to swallow her first response.  "I'll try to be unbusy.  Any particular time?" 

"Eight hundred hours would be convenient." 

"I'll be here."

B'Elanna returned to the lounge, still shaking her head at the strange event and not nearly as hungry as she'd been.  She couldn't even remember what she'd ordered to eat.  Whatever was the issue with the captain wasn't upsetting, but it ticked at her, stuck to her.  It was just weird, maybe a little unnerving.  She didn't know why. 

On top of that, the "interview" process had finally swung over to the Vulcan. 

Nevertheless, as she'd told Savan and reminded herself again, she did have a long night coming up, so she set her mind back on getting something to eat, having the break that she should have before starting another shift.  Turning into the rectangular room, first glancing at the place where Paris had been to see if anything was dropped, she spotted Ridge on the other end, pulling her selections off the replicator tray. 

"Hey there," he said cheerfully.  "All that talk about food got me hungry, too--not that I'm on any diet."  He watched her cross her arms as he put her meal down.  "What's wrong, kid?" 

"Nothing," B'Elanna replied and moved to the table.  "Thanks."

---

"Here we go.  Finally in.  --Heh.  You'd think since this is a Bolian ship that they'd make these conduits a little more accommodating." 

"Just because it's Bolian doesn't mean a Bolian designed it." 

"Damn, do you always make sense? --Ah, yeah, shine it right there.  Great." 

Cameron Jerod was a spare-set man, about her age; not too tall, not short, with long, muscular fingers, an average face and an expression that only straightened when he was concentrating.  In B'Elanna's eyes, he was about as normal as normal could be for a human, everyday without being plain.  She'd gotten unused to that sort of person in her travels. 

It was a nice change, as was the nature of that "meeting."  Even if she was just holding the light like some level-two tech assistant, being in the guts of a ship was far more her speed than sitting in a bright, boxy room staring at star charts.  Rather, to her pleasant surprise, the time passed quickly as they lay on their backs in the aft juncture crawlspace.  He chatted and prodded at the ancient comm assemblies with the tools she'd brought while she watched and pointed the light where he needed it. 

"I still can't believe Tom's not got you signed yet," he said, a light chuckle in his voice.  It seemed to be the norm with him.  "I gave him hell about it this morning, but he really wants to make sure it's a good fit, you know--on both sides.  Savan feels pretty strongly about it, too--a decent fit for the engines and for the rest of us.  But they were brought up in the Starfleet system.  They consider things like that pretty heavily, when they can." 

Drawing a cool breath, B'Elanna said nothing to that, but angled the light a little closer in as his attention turned into another part of the shaft section.  "Your last engineer must have been a rough experience." 

"Livich? Eh, she was fine--when things were going okay.  When they weren't, she'd make life a living hell for everyone.  Made Maryl look downright giddy and she drove Tom crazy, much as he made an effort to piss her off.  It was about all he could do besides kill her--when he felt like giving a damn, anyway.  And oh, she hated him.  I never saw anyone so venomous about a fellow human--ever." 

Jerod snorted, pushing the laser wrench into the open slot.  "But in the end, she got us good--told Tom and the rest of us she'd be signing on a new contract then jumped ship without a word.  Here we were with a crapload of repairs to be done and a haul to DS-Nine coming up--the run we're on now--and all that was left of her was a poof of smoke.  She had a good job lined up even while she had Tom updating her terms, so she managed to grab her share from the Hidirin job and make him look like an ass.  --Give me another relay switch?"

B'Elanna reached over and felt for it, then handed it over. 

Jerod continued, "It was tough on Ridge.  He's a great tech--and I'm a good tech--but we're neither engineers.  Tom had to hire a station hack at Hidirin to get us going, swearing he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.  Tom's a great guy, but you can only break his trust once.  Livich did a pretty good job of that." 

B'Elanna thought about that for a moment and the first question that came to mind with that explanation.  Peering over at Jerod, she figured he wouldn't mind telling her--or not answering.  "So Paris doesn't have any other problems besides that?" 

Jerod returned her glance.  "If he does, I don't know about it.  Either way, he's going to be careful.  Desperation doesn't make him do what a lot of people do--solve a problem with the first available solution."

B'Elanna snorted despite herself.  "If you say so." 

Jerod adjusted the laser wrench.  "Yeah, I heard he ended up in the lab again.  Sorry you had to go through that so soon.  He can be a mess." 

"It was nothing."

"Still no fun to deal with.  Believe me, B'Elanna, he's--can you move that over there a little? Thanks.  --He's usually a fully functional drunk."  Squinting at his work, he looked over at the case B'Elanna had dragged into the conduit with her.  "You have a phase calibrator in there?" 

B'Elanna put the light down and got onto an elbow to look inside her kit. 

"It's no secret on the route," he continued, nodding when she handed the tool to him.  "He can outlast just about anyone at the table, though I'll admit we sometimes have to drag him home, too.  But despite what it can do to him, I'd pour his glass any day of the week without a blink." 

B'Elanna smirked, readjusting the light's setting so it would cover more area.  "Even if you're the first to criticize him?" 

"Eh, that's not criticism.  I'm just joshing around with him, which he sort of prefers.  Keeps his brain alive, so he says, and it's good for the rest of us, too.  If he's not in the mood for it, he'll say something or leave.  He doesn't hold a grudge.  Even Maryl gets to mess with him.  He doesn't care." 

"Maybe that's the problem," B'Elanna observed. 

"Yeah." 

B'Elanna glanced over at Jerod.  His agreement was casual, almost unconcerned.  He set aside some relay wires and began to plug in the new ones.  She went back to fiddling with the light.  It wasn't an effective model to use in such a tight space.  Too much glare.  Thankfully, it had some resolution adjustors.  "And so he drinks because he doesn't care?" 

"Nope.  He doesn't care if people give him hell.  He's had to deal with much worse from people who you'd expect would be a little more courteous.  What he can't deal with, can't get out of his system, is why he drinks.  Nothing new.  But don't mistake that for him not caring in general.  He'd put his life on the line for any one of us, including you, if it came to that.  You can count on it." 

"Well, he doesn't have to worry about me," B'Elanna asserted. 

"Yeah he does." 

She looked at him again, not asking--not having to.  Jerod had already turned a look back at her. 

He held her attention several seconds before asking, "Hand me the next bundle?"  She jerked her stare away to the tray they'd pulled in with them, grabbed the isolinear bundle.  Taking it from her, Jerod gave her the end with the connector rods.  "Just set the light on the floor.  I can tell you're bored."

"It's going in by your spec."

"Screw the specs.  You could do this in your sleep."  He chuckled.  "Hell, you could probably throw together a robot that could do this better than I could, seeing how you work so far."  He gave the calibrator back to her.  "Plus, it'll make it go faster."

"Thanks," B'Elanna said, meaning it.

Gladly reaching up into the assembly Jerod had just cleared, B'Elanna cleaned each of the plugs with the laser, and then rechecked each connector for the correct converter.  With so many alien systems working together, she knew she couldn't be too careful. 

"So, why does Paris have to save my life?"  she asked.  She didn't necessarily like to talk while working--usually didn't--but as Jerod had pointed out, it was a simple job.  For that matter, he had already made her curious. 

"Aside from his being the captain?" 

"That's what I thought you meant." 

"Yeah, it is," Jerod replied with a short nod, then answered, "Because a few people under his command got killed.  It wasn't pretty, screwed him up bad.  He feels responsible." 

That was much simpler an answer than B'Elanna had expected, but it was the most understandable thing she'd heard about the man so far. 

"So how'd a mechanic like you end up on Mesler's old garbage pail?"  Jerod asked as he tapped a few commands in the adjoining panel.

"Wrong station at the wrong time," B'Elanna said.  "I'd been through a lot of assignments and didn't feel like hanging around.  Mesler made an offer and I took it."

"Mesler.  Hate to say it about anyone who gets whacked off by the Cardies, but he got what was coming to him." 

B'Elanna breathed an ironic laugh.  "Did Mesler have any allies out here?" 

"Hell, no--not with the independent traders, at least.  He had a knack for trying to double shift his deals--use one deal to pay for another before following up on the first one.  The fact you're here is a result of it...so maybe we can't be too sorry.  His cousin was the original owner of this ship, actually.  It's why he kept ticking at us for a deal, because apparently we were legally bound by Trusket's old contract.  Tom had to follow through sooner or later." 

"So he hasn't had the Guerdon for long." 

"A couple years," Jerod answered.  "And trust me, it's a hell of a lot better than it was without him.  You think it needs upgrades now?"  Jerod blew a whistle through his teeth.  "We were missing nacelle plating when Tom got the Guerdon dumped on him.  But then, Trusket was trying to run the ship down so he could get out of his contract.  The only reason he picked me up was because he was contractually obligated and was sure I couldn't cut it." 

He caught B'Elanna's stare again and shook his head.  "I wasn't mad about it.  I knew I wasn't experienced.  I needed to work to support my family on Ronara, pay for protection, all that.  I didn't really care what I was doing.  Stupid old bastard didn't count on Livich and Ridge training me, or the fact that I knew how to read."

"Your family still lives in the DMZ, then?" 

"Yeah.  They're among the groups who don't want to give it up.  I mean, I grew up there, so in a way I can't blame them, but if it were up to me, they'd be taking a nice, long vacation on a no-charge Federation colony, hell and far away from there.  But since they won't go for that, I decided to come out here and do what they can't right now.  It's been working out pretty well, though it's been a little thinner for them since the Federation cut off their support.  It's hard rationing your everyday life when you've never had to, you know? The Federation believes that'll get them to change their minds, when what they're really doing is just pissing everyone off." 

"And they're their own people," B'Elanna growled.  She hadn't heard about that part of the issue yet. 

"Well, also they're trying to avoid another bloody war and help secure Bajor," Jerod shrugged.  "Sounds about right.  The treaty's crap, of course, since the Cardassians could care less about it--and get away with not caring about it.  That's the real problem.  Anyone could argue about parsing off the colonies like they did, but the Fed's intentions were good." 

"Cutting people off because they won't leave their homes isn't exactly a charity." 

"True.  But I can see how they'd be ignorant enough to do it.  They don't live out here.  They sent stuffy old captains to survey the region and send back reports.  They didn't know anything.  Anyway, it's a long, old fight they'd been fighting for years before we came around and started yelling about it, and we can curse it all we like.  In the end, I'll have my family.  After all the knots are settled out--either by the Maquis or someone else--we'll all be together and home, wherever that is." 

She blew a breath in the air, setting the laser down so she could inspect the node one last time.  "It's still not fair," she said, adjusting the light a little. 

"Nothing's really fair, when you get down to it.  Just got to make the best of what is good about it, as they say.  You're the only one who can do that--and I'm happy with what I've done.  Life could be a hell of a lot worse.  --Done already? Give me another minute and we'll get to the fun part." 

"Okay."  She couldn't help her grin that time.  He certainly knew her brand of fun.

"Actually, while I finish, could you go back out into the access juncture and grab another row of seals? I've still got some, but not enough, I think." 

B'Elanna flipped onto her belly.  "No problem.  One or two packs?" 

"Two.  Better too many than too little.  You remember your way around?" 

"Yes.  I'll be right back"

Crawling out the way they came in, B'Elanna grinned to realize why Jerod had taken over so many of Ridge's small maintenance tasks.  The bulkier man wouldn't have been able to fit an arm in those tubes, much less the rest of him.  Like everything else on the Guerdon, everything was a little out of place.  She was already starting to enjoy discovering them--including the realization that the upper access tubes' juncture was right above the lounge.  As she neared it, she could smell the coffee and hear the voices... 

She couldn't make out the words at first, but as she dug into Jerod's parts box, she recognized Maryl's voice, a drawl like a cat's with clips at the ends of her sentences.  It was unmistakable.  The other voice wasn't as easy at first because it was so quiet, but then she heard:

"You want coffee before we go forward?" 

"Yes.  Thanks."  The replicator whirred to life and added more coffee smell to the air.  "So, when is it going to be final?" 

"Can't say.  It's still in the air." 

B'Elanna blinked.  It was the captain.  Savan was right.  He recovers quickly. She pulled another pack of seals and stuffed them in her work belt. 

"In the air? What do you mean by that?" 

"I mean I don't know if she's right for the job yet.  I'm waiting on Savan." 

B'Elanna froze. 

"Come on, Tom! It's not like she's not good enough." 

"That's my problem, Maryl: She's too good.  Smart as she is, how long do you think it'll take her to realize that? She's busy for now, but after the coils are repaired and the shields are reworked, once the routine starts setting in, she's going to be bored as hell."  Sighing heavily, he continued, "She needs a job now, but what about after she looks around and realizes she's got nothing better to do?" 

"I see your point," Maryl admitted.  "But wouldn't that be her problem?" 

"It'll become everyone else's soon enough." 

"You don't know that--"

"Maryl--"

"You can't tell me that you--"

"Hana!" 

Silence. 

"Have I asked much since I became the captain?" 

A pause.  "No.  --Except that we didn't call you that." 

He snorted softly, then said, "I'm asking this--just this.  I refuse to fly another circuit in a fight.  When Livich left, I swore I wouldn't put up with that crap again.  I'm going to hear what Savan's impression is, and then I'm making up my mind.  If I have to make do for the time being and drydock at Ulinas until we find the right person, I'll do it.  You and Ridge can decide not to re-up when your contract comes.  Much as I'd hate it, that'd be fine, too.  Either way, I'm not going to put up with another engineer who takes her hostility out of everyone around her, no matter how good she is at keeping this ship going." 

Another pause.  "Okay." 

"You see what I'm talking about, right?" 

"Yes.  --But I'll still say you're an idiot." 

"Well, seeing as you already think it, that won't take much more effort, will it?" 

B'Elanna realized she was sitting with her back to the juncture wall, barely breathing.  Her blood felt frozen.  All the work she'd been doing, everything she was planning, and he couldn't see for a case of bad scotch and what an incompetent bitch had left behind--a far worse situation than she'd thought. 

"Did you get the checklist from Podala yet?"  the captain asked, obviously changing the topic as they moved out of the lounge. 

"No.  Gil's probably sitting on it, ignorant bastard." 

Their voices continued to fade as they continued to the bridge.

B'Elanna numbly turned on her knees and returned to the tubes and to Jerod, who was putting down his tools as she approached.  She handed him a case of seals.  "I have the other pack in my belt," she told him. 

"Great.  Thanks.  Now, how about I get a look at how that fancy field-dichrometer works?" 

B'Elanna pulled it from its bearings in her kit.  "Node four first?" 

"Yeah, that'll be a good start."

Silently gnashing her teeth, B'Elanna activated the tool and gladly let their sounds be replaced by the dicrometer as it remagnitize the matrices one by one. 

---

The sun, clear and cool, the sky was sapphire blue.  Stone buildings, and that lawn... 

"Give me that! --Hey!" 

She was so pretty.  She probably knew it. 

"Come on, Macarden, you're faster than that!" 

His laugh almost made her laugh, too.  Over the green grass--so green it almost hurt her eyes...It glinted in the sun as they ran over it, turning sharply, laughing so loud she started a bit and looked back. 

It could be like that.  She could be like that.  She just had to...If only she would...All she had to do was... 

B'Elanna's eyes shot open in the dark room for the third time.  A quick, deep breath followed that disruption of the dream.  "Lights," she ordered and scooted her feet off the bed.  There, she stilled. 

They were probably off for the transport, ready to set their hopes and dreams into action.  But they played on the grass before they went, free, happy, ready for the galaxy to come and find them... 

She shook her head, shook it out from behind her eyes.  It wouldn't go. 

"Damnit." 

Moving to the corner sink, she activated the tap and dipped her hands in to scoop the water onto her face. 

She had calluses on her hands.  The calluses were stained with soot.  She had a blister on her index finger. 

She looked up. 

Her face was a little thin, showing her cheekbones more than they used to a couple years ago.  Her eyes a little sleep-swollen, a little dark, were plainer than ever. 

I can't screw this up.

She could feel the hot steam sticking to her bare, dirty arms, crouching deep in the belly of a ship, screaming at every part she yanked away to replace with a captain or first mate screaming at her over a comm or a few meters behind her.  "Get it done, Torres! What's the matter with you?!" 

She got herself into those situations.  She fed on it, felt so dark sometimes that she wanted to hurt, to scream, to be challenged and berated so she could fight back.  On worse days, she wanted to chuck it all and give up.  Give up for what--go where--do what? End it? No.  Just get out, get away, move on...To go where--do what? But she got up for the next shift, got to work, started over.  When they dumped her, she'd start the pattern all over again. 

Nine assignments in eighteen months.  The same thing every time. 

I can't keep doing this.

She pulled a few deeps breaths, calming her quickening heart.  Leaning down, she splashed her warm cheeks with a few more handfuls of the water, breathing the cool air in the basin before tapping the plug off.  Looking at her reflection again, she gave herself a nod. 

She turned took the few steps back to her bed. 

"Deactivate lights." 

---

"Hey B'Elanna!" 

She jumped a little at the cheerful greeting, but then saw Jerod ahead of her in the corridor, one foot into the bridge. 

"Nice work last night," he told her.  "Feel like giving it another shot later?" 

"I..."  She thought quickly, then finished, "I'll have to check with Ridge, see how long we'll be today." 

"Going after those inverters?" 

She shook her head.  "Impulse generator, then we plan to go after the inverters." 

"Don't get sucked too far in.  They really are crap.  Just let me know when you're free a while and we'll give the sensor network a go-through.  --And thanks.  Your help with the comm systems really helped get it done." 

She gave him a brisk nod, then remembered to reply.  "You're welcome." 

"Getting some breakfast?" 

"Yes.  --Coffee." 

"Don't order Ridge's brew," he chuckled.  "Keep you up for days straight.  See you later." 

With that, the comm tech disappeared. 

B'Elanna shook her head, a little smile finally reaching her as she continued forward. 

"Morning, B'Elanna," said Maryl when the half-Klingon entered the lounge.  "Grab some coffee and come sit down.  I've got the latest newsfeed." 

She paused.  Much as she preferred quietly gearing up for her work when she had her first cup of coffee, and though Maryl's expression gave no indication of her conversation with the captain the evening before, there was something nice about being treated like a person.  Maybe Maryl had worked on him some more? Maybe she had a good facade.

"I don't have time to read it," she said as she tapped in her order for a mug.  "I'm about to see Savan, then I've got to help tune up the impulse engines with Ridge." 

"Meeting with the professor, hmm?"  Maryl scrolled down a little.  "Well, next time you have a break, let me know and I'll give it to you.  They're finally talking about something besides the Maquis this time around." 

Pulling her coffee off the replicator shelf, B'Elanna turned and reconsidered, seeing the flaxen-haired Bajoran bent over her cup, a blue-cased PADD in her slender fingers.  Inviting her over to share a cup of coffee and the news...like anyone on the crew... 

"Like what?" 

Maryl glanced over and grinned.  "Well, Tagra's in the middle of some deals to open up their inner colonies to the circuit.  That's for me to remember, though you'll probably like to know they mine some good boronite out of the cluster--at a very low cost.  If they open their plants up to general trade, we could get licensed there, get in on the good deal." 

B'Elanna pulled a chair for herself and sat down.  "When do they expect that to happen?"  she asked and took a sip of her coffee. 

She had a little time, she figured. 

---

When she entered the lab, she was greeted by as plain a gaze as she'd ever seen on a Vulcan.  That particular one was seated on a stool, a set of tweezers in her hand, perched over what looked like a blue dandelion.  Her brown eyes floated up from the bloom to take B'Elanna squarely into focus.  Her mouth was ruler straight.  Her fingers did not so much as twitch from her work. 

Not the warmest welcome, though B'Elanna didn't expect her to be Ridge in a lab coat.

"Please be seated.  I am almost finished." 

B'Elanna chose a stool at a nearby table and waited.  Her stare drifted over the hearty wall plants and instrument tables.  She remembered waking up to them days ago.  It felt longer than that--though the moment she thought about that, it didn't seem like much time at all.  By the time she brought her stare back down to the business in the room, Savan had plucked several white buds out of the fluffy flower and placed them in a tray. 

Setting the tweezers onto a dish with a light clink, Savan turned on the bench to face her visitor.

"I have been told by Ridge and Maryl that you still desire the position in engineering."

"Still? Why would I have changed my mind?" 

"I did not think you would, in spite of the unfortunate event yesterday."  Savan examined B'Elanna another long moment.  Then, she continued, "When I examined your file from the central database, I noticed that you were raised on the colony at Kessik-Four."  B'Elanna pulled a breath, already a little put off by the other woman's studious gaze.  Suddenly, it was starting to feel like a real interview, starting with the dive into her history.  "I was," she answered slowly, slightly warning the Vulcan not to go any further on that topic.

With a slow blink, Savan seemed to read her, and so she asked, "You also attended Starfleet Academy." 

"Yes.  I was there for two years." 

"Your concentration was in physics and engineering, your minor in quantum mechanics." 

"Yes." 

"An ambitious course of study," Savan commented.  "Yet you chose not to graduate."

"I quit." 

A blink.  "I am curious why." 

"I was having trouble there."

"Trouble." 

"I didn't agree with my instructors."

"May I ask about what?"

"A lot of things."  B'Elanna blew a short breath.  "Look, what's the point in asking me any of this? I quit and got a job doing what I wanted to do." 

"I was not interrogating you," Savan replied.  "I only thought your record ironic, as I too was raised on an outer colony and attended the Academy for two years.  I did not see their regimen as one I could prescribe to.  However, I left without incident.  As Humans like to say, it was not for me." 

B'Elanna couldn't help the stare she gave the Vulcan for that.  Though the other crew had each managed to surprise her, she'd at least expected Savan to be...ordinary.  "You're an Academy dropout?" 

Savan came as close as she could have to rolling her eyes.  "Yes.  Vulcans are permitted to 'drop out' of our studies.  It does not please our parents, but the right and decision is ultimately ours.  It is curious to me how shocking this information is." 

"I guess I'd just never heard about it before," B'Elanna shrugged.  "Sorry." 

"I was not insulted."  Letting an appropriate pause pass, she moved on.  "Your record also states that your first position after leaving the Academy was at the facility on Cabol-Five."

"Yes.  I started as a shift technician, then I was promoted to first assistant." 

"Impressive.  You learned a great deal in your year there." 

B'Elanna nodded, a little thoughtful.  "More than I expected.  They had a good system for training their employees.  I took courses in my spare time and worked on a lot of different designs and ranges of models.  It wasn't a perfect facility, but it was good experience." 

"It is unfortunate that the Cabol-Five facility was forced to close." 

B'Elanna shrugged.  "We were expecting it after the scuttles in the rim colonies, and when we heard about the petition on Cabol-Three, after Starfleet had to come and mediate.  The Caboli decided the station was a liability." 

"You enjoyed your work there and did well.  I assume you were not happy to leave." 

"I thought the Caboli were idiots," B'Elanna responded, not nearly as subtle at Savan chose to be, dredging up the not-too-old memory.  "They put over three hundred people out of work and refused to place them.  It's how I ended up on crates like Mesler's." 

"The departments were all disbanded?"

"The whole facility was taken apart the day I left.  Only the Caboli workers were given positions on the homeworld.  The non-Caboli workers were released, as I said." 

"I remember their facilities manager--Caron Rial," Savan continued.  "He was not Caboli." 

"He moved on to Sorvos-six after the shutdown," B'Elanna nodded with a smirk.  "He was glad to go." 

"Did you know him well?" 

She snorted.  "Well, I fought with him every day I was there to get my section supplies on time and I had to show him a couple doors to get my point across.  If that's knowing a person, then I knew him very well." 

A pause, and then Savan gave her a single nod and reached over to pick up her tweezers.  "Thank you, B'Elanna.  You have been more patient with this process than I expected." 

B'Elanna blinked at the quick dismissal and felt a small burn in her gut to realize that Savan had ended the meeting on that--that. "Is something wrong?" 

"No.  You may remain, though it is not necessary.  I believe I have taken enough of your time." 

B'Elanna slid off the stool to her booted feet.  They thumped dumbly on the metal deck.

The Vulcan returned to her pod collecting as though she hadn't stopped. 

"That's it?" 

"Yes." 

B'Elanna turned her stare.  "If I've said something wrong, I'd like it if you'd tell me." 

"You have not.  I have enough information to make my recommendation to the captain." 

The engineer, blinked a nod, turned, paused, and then walked out of the lab.  As soon as she did, the doors swished shut behind her.  She felt the slight breeze on her nape. 

Her conversation with Jerod began to echo in her ears, how their former engineer made "life a living hell for everyone.  Made Maryl look downright giddy."  Then, the captain's, "I'm not going to put up with another engineer who can't resist pissing everyone off."  B'Elanna realized a minute too late that she'd just shown herself to be capable of just that, even as she'd warned herself not to let that happen, been aware of what they were looking out for.  Worse than that, she'd revealed it to the one person who not only would look poorly on such flairs of "emotion," but would be looked to by the captain for a final opinion.

"Stupid," she hissed.

Looking to her right, the bridge was only five meters away through an open passage.  She could hear the captain talking to someone over the comm, something about trade shares.  She vaguely made out some parts from Mesler's ship she knew had been stored but weren't going to be installed and something about Maryl's arrangements.  He sounded like he did in the lab, when she woke up and he told her where she was, that was sorry she was out of a job, that she'd get a share from Mesler's ship.  All business and just wanting to get it done.

To the left, a set of open grate doors thirty meters away promised engineering as it pulsed and whined.  She knew that Ridge was there, still tuning up the impulse drive per her suggestions. 

It still wasn't her job to do even that--and she just screwed up the meeting with the Vulcan.

With a breath, she started towards her left, pacing her breath and grinding her teeth against the humiliation she could feel down to her boots.  She could hear her footsteps thrum in her ears, her pulse picking up. 

She just screwed up the meeting with Vulcan.

She didn't even care that she gave a damn anymore--she'd have lost nothing if she had to get dropped at the station as a for-hire--but it was a point of pride to land that position to spite her inability to keep her stupid tongue straight.  She'd let the other crew relax her, let Ridge encourage her, make her think she had the job by default. 

Arriving on the overhang above engineering, B'Elanna continued along the guardrail towards the access staircase, looking over the main control panel wall below to the various systems behind it, the open casings and wiring, makeshift bulkheads, catwalks and hammocked emission tubes.  Beyond, hidden by protective bulkheads, the light of the warp core and the steam from the coolant assembly bathed the deck.  Her heart slowed; the feeling in her gut began to fade. 

She slid her fingers along the rail then let them drop to her side.  Slowly, her hand reached over to her other arm, gently encircled her wrist.  Taking another look around at some of the systems she'd inventoried a couple days ago, mentally noted as immediately repairable, her hand tightened slowly and began to push the sleeve on her arm up to her elbow.

Then, she moved again.

---

"Done already?" 

Savan looked up from her project, her tweezers held precisely inside the flora.  The captain had poked his head in the door, serious but curious and on his way somewhere else. 

"Yes," she answered. 

"How'd it go?" 

"As expected," she replied.  "My original recommendation stands." 

Holding her stare for a few seconds after she spoke, Tom nodded, left her to her work and likewise returned to his. 

"I have not loved the world, nor the world me," he whispered, his eyes following the subtle pattern on the carpet as he moved over it, "but let us part fair foes..." 

"Captain, my captain!" came her voice in his head, clear and loud and ready for his rejoinder, ready to go.

Tom's eyes screwed shut as he paused in the corridor.  "Go away," he muttered then started off again.

---

"Captain, my captain!"  she sang from the copilot's seat of Starfleet's latest pet project.  She peeked around a moment later, her round, green eyes shining with her smile.  "About time you decided to show up.  Do pre-flight from your bunk?" 

"Got sidetracked," Lieutenant Paris grinned as he slid around to his seat and sank in.

"Was that Ensign Nicole Sidetrack? Or Lieutenant Lisal Sidetrack?" 

"I couldn't tell you, Ensign Wishyoucouldgetsome.  --Hey, what's that doing on the bulkhead?"  He squinted up at the block of type attached with a magnet across from him.  Focusing, he groaned.  "Oh, no." 

"Oh, yes.  You know I never go anywhere without Byron," Ensign Macarden grinned.  "I brought a whole canto, just so you know how special you are." 

"Did I forget your birthday again?"

"No, I like to bug you for no reason at all.  Keeps you fresh."

Paris sighed and began clicking on the controls of the new shuttle.  "This study's going to be boring enough--"

"For you," she cut in.

"I still don't know what I did to tick off the commander." 

"Considering how often you do that, I can see why."  Her grin twisted.  "At least you've got a day to think about it."

"Shut up."  He grinned and flipped on the new initiators.  "Wow, they really souped up this model.  Look at those output levels.  Smooth." 

She nodded.  "Yep.  It checks out."  Macarden eyed him.  "Too bad, no hot-dogging for you." 

"Well, maybe eventually, she'll get a proper ride."

She shook her head as she began to tick off their test list against the equipment Drake and Farrow had loaded on.  "You should have been a test pilot, Tom." 

"You know," Paris responded as he continued to tick off his checklist, "I think I should have, too.  But that wasn't a part of the 'plan.'"

"You're almost twenty-three years old.  How long are you going to stick with 'the plan?'"

"Long as I need to.  Long as I..."  He reached up to adjust the thruster response, a manual control on the shuttle to his pleasant surprise, "...need to get what I want." 

"You've decided what that is?"  she queried. 

"No.  Should be interesting when I do, though." 

Macarden rolled her eyes and nodded behind her at Drake and Farrow, strapped in the back compartment.  "We're all in." 

"Locked and ready," he nodded, then hit the comm.  "Paris to Copernicus, Viking away." 

"Aye, Viking.  Captain advises you keep the comm open until signal blackout around Persedi moon's plasma fields and reinitialize after completion of orbit." 

"Copy, Copernicus," replied the pilot smoothly.  "Estimated blackout in ninety-two minutes."

"Good luck, Viking." 

"Thanks, Edon.  See you on the other side." 

The shuttle lifted off its sleek feet and cruised forward from the bay.  The closing doors soon blocked the glare from the ship, revealing the pristine space beyond.  He turned them as soon as they were clear of the Copernicus' shield range to get the full effect. 

"In the mean time, Cass," Paris smiled at the view of the sunrise over Caldik Prime, "I think I'll just enjoy this..." 

---

Tom's eyes opened to a gray viewscreen.  With a blink, he glanced down to his status monitor. 

Three days to Podala.  Finally. 

He stretched in his seat, shook his head of his catnap. 

It wasn't that he was unused to the legs.  Despite the Guerdon's tenuous speed capabilities of late, it was usually just under a week between stations on that end of the route, which wasn't too long, really.  They'd only done a few speed runs--top-warp legs back and forth between points--since he'd been there.  He remembered a few more on his former assignments, too...a little.  Still, despite the added "excitement," he didn't like putting the Guerdon through that.  It usually burned out systems that the pot couldn't pay for. 

It still inspired a smirk, that he'd become so conventional and careful.  Somewhere between his disgrace and disillusionment, a modicum of common sense had crept in without his trying for it. 

In any case, they trudged along as quickly as they could; warp five inside the Federation border, warp six outside it when the engines were operating and warp eight when they could get away with it.  They waited and worked and kept up communications, did repairs and other housework, made plans for the next stop--and the one after that, and so on.  It was an easy pattern to get caught up in once one's mind was set on it.  For his part, Tom had spent the better part of the last few days setting up for their arrival at Podala, getting the latest vendor list for his usual rounds of supply scraping, preparing for inspections and looking over what Maryl had set up for them to load into decks three and four.

This time out, they were transporting organic materials for a cook on Deep Space Nine, which a cross-core tradesman had brought to Podala from Merak by way of Irtrin.  Tom turned that inventory over to Savan and moved on to the heavy materials and technological cargo.  Atmospheric condensers, geothermal stabilizers and core processor distribution networks en route to Gimol-Two would be the Guerdon's burden until they got to Zarilar, where a Gimolian ship would pick up its requested items.  The mildly xenophobic race did not travel widely and did not care to roam into Federation space.  Their stations were well furnished, but transports to their planets were strictly forbidden.  This was fine with Tom and the rest of the crew.  The Gimolians paid well enough for Federation equipment.  That cargo was already slotted for the deck four forward hold, ready and waiting.

Three days from Podala, and he had just one more thing to take care of: The Guerdon's guest. 

The day wasn't going to get any shorter if he didn't get it over with.

He pushed himself up from his seat.

---

Paris closed his eyes as he pulled the turn behind Caldik's third moon.  His finely turned equilibrium could feel the slight shift.  The dampers couldn't hide everything, on shuttles or even starships--something he was genuinely happy about.  It was the feel, he believed, that helped him be as good a pilot as he was. 

"How the intermix ratio holding up?"  Macarden asked, tapping the dilithium output specs up. 

"Right on the money," called Drake, far aft.  "They did well when they designed this reactor." 

The tiniest dip made Paris' eyes open.  A sub-particle disturbance.  He tapped on a scan and grinned to himself.  Any other day, he'd have taken that shiny new shuttle surfing, skim along the waves and see how close in he could get.  He used to do it at the academy between Plutonian exercises.  Unfortunately, it wasn't another day.  "Sub-particle eddies ahead, Cass.  You want me to skirt it or go around?" 

"Let's see..."  She looked over the engineering readouts again, pulled up some other numbers.  "I don't want to go too far off this run.  We've got almost seventy percent of our data."  She punched up another roll of numbers, then looked at him.  "How close can you get without hitting the waves?" 

"Wanna find out?"  Paris grinned. 

"Seriously." 

"Oh, seriously, I think I can hold us at about five hundred meters if I kick in the filters.  Will that interfere with what you're doing?" 

"Actually, yes." 

"Then it'll be about fifteen hundred meters."

Macarden nodded.  "That's still pretty close, but manageable.  Let's do that, then...Sir." 

Paris pulled the shuttle off the wave, finding a comfortable place in between, where he could still feel the little tugs, but far enough that their sensor data wouldn't be corrupted.  Certainly, he didn't want to sit through another day like that one was turning out to be.  He glanced at the chronometer.  Eight more hours before he'd meet Ensign Neal in the lounge for dinner and hopefully disappear afterwards.  Eight very long hours, made longer still by Macarden's easy torture--revenge, he knew.  Eventually, he'd figure out for what.

With a call behind her for Farrow to activate the new lateral sensor grid, Macarden began another diagnostic and continued from where she'd left off several minutes before:

"I have not loved the world, not the world me; I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed to its idolatries a patient knee, nor coined my cheek to smiles, nor cried aloud in worship of an echo; in the crowd, they could not deem me one of such; I stood among them, but not of them; in a shroud of thoughts that were not their thoughts, and still could, had I not filled my mind, which thus itself subdued."

Paris turned an eye her way.  "So, he's feeling pretty good about now?"  he quipped.  He tapped the impulse engines up a notch, correcting their speed. 

She smirked.  "Really, Tom, you need to read more poetry." 

"Only if it comes with pictures."

"Hmm...No, Blake would probably twist your brain out of its bearings." 

"Wouldn't be too terrible, that."

"Yeah, probably would improve you."  A beep.  Macarden glanced down.  "Tom, that eddy's coming pretty close." 

"Not a problem.  I just corrected-- Oh.  I see it.  Just a minor ripple.  Correcting again." 

"Maybe we should move off a little more," Macarden suggested.  "I know you like playing it tight, but I don't want this data to be compromised." 

"We can hold here," Paris assured her, glancing her way as he nudged the shuttle back onto their original course.  "It's not too rough." 

"We can still go around."

"Oh no, I don't want to be here long enough for you to finish the canto." 

"So, you do have a date." 

"Sure do.  You?" 

She turned back to her console.  "Shut up." 

"I will if we can keep on schedule."

Macarden turned back to the scans.  "Your luck's as good as ever, then.  Looks like we've just about got what we need.  Pull this orbit out, we'll finish the diagnostics and then we can head home." 

"Sounds good to me." 

" Let us part fair foes, I do believe," Macarden began again.

"Give me a break Cass.  I'll give you my next shore leave if--"

"...I do believe --"

"You skipped a line," Paris cut in.

"It's my reading," she insisted.

He chuckled, giving up.  "Okay."

"...Though I have found them not, that there may be words which are things, hopes which will not deceive--"

A jolt stopped her; she looked down when a beep followed.  The shuttle lurched, then, making both Paris and Macarden grab their consoles as they heard equipment crashing aft.  The creak of bending hull echoed through the forward hold. 

He released a console to check his bleeping panel.  "Plasma wave came up out of nowhere," he reported.  "Knocked inertial dampers offline a second.  Compensating and adjusting course.  --Fiddling with my knobs again, Cass?" 

She wasn't amused that time.  "Let's just get on course." 

"Really, Cass, you need to enjoy more of the unexpected," he grinned, tapping them back onto their original trajectory. 

Macarden turned in her seat to call back to Drake and Farrow.  Her words were hardly formed before the unmistakable pull of a low gravity surge tugged the loose contents of the shuttle into the air and the pilot cried out--

"Plasma wave on top of-- Hold on!" 

"Tom!"

---

"Tom! Pull it around!"

"Impulse is offline! Thrusters on! Navigation--"

"The moon's gravity is dragging us into a spin!"

"I can't pull us out of it! We're going down!"

"Keep trying, Tom!"

Tom stopped in the middle of the corridor. 

"Stop," he whispered to himself. 

He blinked slowly, willing down his fluttering heartbeat, thinking a moment.  The forward lift to the crew quarters below was only a few meters away.  His quarters was a minute's walk from there.  The flask he kept on the shelf behind his table was just inside the door and a quarter full. 

Or he could wait. 

He drew another breath. 

He'd be down to his quarters within another half hour to fill out the reports.... 

"Really, Tom, you need to read more poetry." She'd smiled at him, fingers on the diagnostic board.  They'd slept together once, then decided they'd be much better off as friends--and friends they stayed, with pleasant tinge of intimacy always there but never bothersome.  It remained as such until the end.

Why was I screwing around? Why couldn't I have just been serious and gotten the job done right, taken the safe route, taken another thirty minutes out of my precious life? Watch what I was doing when I corrected course? Why couldn't I have just done it right?

The old cycle of questions, four years old, never answered, took another turn as he turned back for the midship ladder. 

It wasn't much of a detour, he figured. 

---

"Copernicus won't hear us! We're in the pocket! They won't know--"

Persedi spiraled in the viewscreen as the klaxons screamed.  Their voices barely rose above the chaos. 

"Sending distress signal!"  Macarden cried out.  "Check-in's not for...five more hours.  But maybe they'll get it!"

Paris' gaze hung on the view.  His hands had stopped on his offline panels, he was dizzy watching the view and privately wished it'd render him unconscious.  There was nothing he could do, nothing to stop what he'd gotten them into.

Good thing he wouldn't have to live with that one. 

He couldn't imagine living with that one. 

---

Coming down the starboard corridor and looking into the center engine room, the first thing Tom noticed different from a couple days ago was that a couple of the panels that had been inactive the day before were now blinking with relative cheer, displaying specs and layouts as they were supposed to.  Then, he noticed that the air in the room was a little clearer that morning.  They'd been at warp five for nearly five days straight despite an engine in crap condition and it wasn't chugging like his old Charger, either.

Shaking his head to himself, he moved a few more steps down the corridor. 

The third thing he noticed as he came around another support pylon was that B'Elanna was wearing the same clothes as she had on the day before and she looked like she'd just crawled out of an Ilaran tar pit.  Sitting in the middle of the lower engineering deck, bent over a disassembled injector port relay, her hair was sticky with sweat and grime.  Her clothes were smudged with engine soot; her hands and nails were an unforgiving tint of black. 

"She's been up all night.  Can't tell if she's eaten.  Every time she gets one thing done, she plows into something else." 

Tom glanced behind him.  Ridge only shrugged. "I tried to ask her why, but she wouldn't answer me.  Just ordered me to get her some bolts." 

Tom looked back into the section.  He knew from his sorted travels that Klingons had great hearing.  Either she didn't inherit that part of it or she hadn't bothered to notice them.  "She's an engineer and she's in her element," he said, holding back the rest of what he thought. 

"You going to talk to her soon?"  Ridge asked. 

"It's why I'm here." 

"Okay." 

With that, Ridge returned to impulse control.

She did hear that--not that Ridge's heavy steps were hard to miss.

"Where are those housings?"  she demanded.

"They're still in the decompiler," he answered dutifully.  "I'll bring them as soon as they're done, B'Elanna.  Don't worry about it." 

"I'll never get this thing back together if the decompiler runs as fast as everything else around here." 

Unbothered, Ridge went to check on them. 

He needs that, Tom knew, watching B'Elanna growl at yet another chunk she pulled out of their one spare inverter.  He needs a leader.  --Though he can do without the veil of blame and hostility, too. She was doing too much--trying to prove herself.  He could tell from experience.  Every terse move she made told him she was pushing it, every word--

"These wing casings are crap," she snapped.  "Ridge!" 

"Yeah, B'Elanna?" 

"You do have some wing casings back there that weren't bought at an archaeology dig, don't you?" 

The technician laughed.  "I might.  Let me check." 

"And bring me a charge.  This spectrometer's already dying on me." 

If I wait too long, Tom smirked to himself, Ridge will lose half his body mass for chasing parts around.

"Sorry.  Got to put some juice in it.  Give it an hour." 

"Damnit, don't you know you're supposed to keep the charges on active standby so they're ready when someone needs it?!" 

"It's usually juiced, B'Elanna.  We've just never had anyone use the tools for as long as you have." 

"Obviously!"  Shaking her head furiously, she set back into what she could do with the remaining power.  "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." 

Tom backed up to one of the repaired panels and gave it a couple taps.  It was eleven hundred. 

---

"Do something!" 

"I can't!" 

"You can't fly this shuttle like the hotshot you are?!"  Macarden screamed.  She tried to reach out and smack his arm, but the g-forces held her arm in mid-air.  "You're the best pilot I know! Do something! Anything!" 

"There...There isn't anything!!" 

"The hell there isn't! Do it! Tom, please! Please!" 

"The moon's gravity's too strong! Engines are down, the controls aren't responding!"  Paris shot her a look as his temples swelled.  Her eyes were bugging from the pressure, her knuckles were white, clawing at the consoles.  She was trying not to cry.  He wished he could comfort her.  He'd have done anything to be able to touch her, hold onto her.  "I can't stop it, Cass!"

"Try again!"  she pleaded. 

Round, round, round, round... 

He could only stare at her.

"Anything!"

Round round round round round... 

"Prepare for impact, Cass! Close your eyes and get your head down!" 

They were just formalities.  Paris knew they were all dead. 

Dead. 

So much for getting back on time for his date. 

Dead. 

Because of him. 

Dead. 

When Macarden managed to pull herself into crash position, he stared full on at the viewscreen.

---

He blinked.

Drawing another breath, Tom started himself towards the entrance to the section, around another row of pylons and a corner support bulkhead, his hand sliding along the half-frame, until he was in the same room with the engineer.  She still didn't see him.  From there, Tom could see that her jaw was clenched.  The muscles on her slick arms flexed with the otherwise delicate work of manually reconfiguring the inverter poles into the drive housing.

One more breath, one last look, and he said, "Torres." 

Her head came up and she turned around to find the captain standing only two meters away.  Cool and clean, hands in his pockets, his expression was intent.  The toe of his boot turned slightly and tapped the edge of the plasma manifold. 

"When you're at a stopping point, we'll need to talk."

B'Elanna was silent for several seconds, then asked, "About?"

"You," he replied simply.  Taking another couple of steps towards her, he motioned to the spectrometer and offered his hand.  "May I?" 

Glancing at it, she placed it in his waiting fingers and watched as the captain took it across to a distribution access panel.  Flipping back the instrument's casing, he folded out a converter box and connected the spectrometer to the unit.  Waiting several seconds, he walked it back to the mess in the middle of the deck. 

"Ridge!"  he called.  The technician leaned out of the systems closet.  "Jerod's got some wing casings in storage room two.  Tell him how many you need." 

"Sure, Tom.  Thanks." 

Looking back to B'Elanna, he offered her the spectrometer, waiting patiently until she took it.  "You couldn't have known about the built-in charger.  Neither could Ridge.  Livich liked to keep things like that to herself." 

"How'd you know about it, then?" 

"I keep my eyes open." 

She nodded.  "Thanks."

"Meet me in my quarters at sixteen hundred.  I'll be there by then.  Have Ridge show you--"

"Maryl showed me around."

"Good."

"Why not somewhere else?"

"What?"

Her brow rose slightly.  "Your quarters?"

"There are things I need to work on there.  You can leave the doors open.  It won't take long."

"Okay."

With that, he turned and left the way he came, slightly hunched over as he turned around the opening at one end of the section.  Moving forward down the corridor, he soon disappeared.  Her last glance at his face revealed the same offcast stare and a slight frown.  He was back to square one, she knew immediately--as was she...once she got his ship's backup plasma inverter put together again.

B'Elanna turned back to her furious project, though the passion had dissipated, now that the captain had come and gone.  Closing her eyes, she breathed, pulled her shoulders down.  Usually when a captain graced her with the bad news, her mind would immediately set itself on her next immediate priorities--getting to the station, signing the for-hire list, getting quarters, getting another job.  She'd done it enough times already to know the routine.

To her surprise and frustration, she couldn't that time.  None of it was coming to her, even if she had a little currency and a better chance for a recommendation.  All she could think about was putting that mess back together...making at least one thing right about the four days she'd let herself hope things would change. 

Pulling another breath and letting it go, she started back into the inverter poles. 

"Should have known better," she muttered to herself as she activated the newly charged spectrometer. 

---

The quarters she'd stayed in weren't all that great.  Better than she'd had in a couple years, but she could do better elsewhere. 

She treaded numbly in and crossed to the back of the room to the corner sink in the sleeping area.  She didn't look in the mirror. 

In spite of the fact she was to be kicked off the Guerdon, B'Elanna had forced herself to take an hour to clean up and get a fresh change of clothes.  Not only did she feel lousy, but also showing up looking like a strand of coil grease wasn't going to do much more for her ego.  She did have some pride.  She did know she was better than she'd made herself look...again. 

Her hands in the basin, she looked at her fingers.  Soot and grease had burrowed so deeply into the crevices of her cuticles and tips that the dry sink on deck one had barely touched it.  Her nails were broken down to the quicks.  She had a nagging cut on her middle finger.

She looked up. 

Her face looked little better than her hands.

You do this to yourself.

It wasn't a loud voice, but a steady one.  It'd been with her a long time through many versions of what she had gotten herself into.

You bring this upon yourself.

Again.  She'd done it again.  Not that it mattered there and then.  She had other things to do...even if she had to admit, she'd wanted it.  She'd tried. 

Maryl got it right: The captain was an idiot.

Pulling off her vest and then her shirt, she looked around for the reclamation basket and tossed the items in.  Slowly, her boots and the remainder of her clothes followed.  Moving back towards the bathroom, she caught her reflection briefly in passing and stopped.  The grease had been so heavy in spots that it'd stained her skin through two layers of clothing.

The last time she changed clothes on Mesler's ship, she remembered noticing the same.

B'Elanna's eyes turned away, then aimed at the waiting shower stall.  "Well, at least some of it can be fixed," she muttered, taking herself inside.

Forty minutes later, she brushed her hair neatly to the side, checked herself in the mirror.  The stains were gone; she was dressed, neat, the same way she'd looked her first day aboard the Guerdon.

Her tool kit sat by the nightstand, along with her duffel bag, packed but for the outfit she had on and the clothes she needed to take to the reclamator before finishing the inverter, which still lay half-assembled on the center engine room deck.  If anything, she owed Ridge that much for giving him so much hell when he really didn't have to take any of it.

Pushing the opening of her duffel aside, she tossed her brush in there, though she knew she'd use it again.  She just wanted it in there.  It didn't matter why. 

Blowing a breath through her nostrils, she checked the time on the chronometer Ridge had given her that morning--a gift he joked she probably wouldn't need.  Kind as it was, she didn't want to take it with her.  She probably would, anyway, lose it somewhere along the line.  She tended to do that. 

It was fifteen hundred fifty-five.

"Get this over with." 

The corridors on the Guerdon were pretty much the same as the quarters: Flat, dark blue carpet, light walls tinged gray blue, though a little in need of a cleaning, she mused, noting for the first time the slight haze of soot, residue that had crawled up the center corridor from the main engine room.

Turning there, she straightened her back as she walked the short distance from the forward intersection to the single door in that hall.  She pressed her finger on the panel beside it.  The door opened immediately. 

A moment after that, B'Elanna breathed a little sigh of relief to see the lights were only a little dimmed and there was no sign of flowers or décor not spartan.  In the center of the living space sat a dark, oblong table and two chairs.  The only addition to the arrangement was a bowl of what looked like peanut butter, a small box of crackers, a glass of milk and a stack of beat up PADDs. 

She couldn't help but continue to suspect something was wrong.  Not that the captain gave off that sort of bad vibe, but the request to meet a captain in his quarters was a first for her, and she really didn't know him at all.  So, she stood at the entrance, looking at his unusual dinner. 

"Computer, hold door," came the captain's voice just before he rounded the corner from the bedroom, wiping his hands on a towel. 

He too had cleaned up and changed, she noted; shaved, brushed his hair.  Otherwise, he looked as he did the other times she'd seen him, just as straight with a purposeful stare when he chose to aim it at something.  At that moment, they were fixed on her. 

"I have not loved the world, nor the world me," he said quietly, holding her gaze, "but let us part fair foes; I do believe, though I have found them not, that there may be words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, and virtues which are merciful, nor weave snares for the failing; I would also deem over others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; that two, or one, are almost what they seem, that goodness is no name, and happiness no dream." 

Silence held the room for several seconds upon his completion. 

"Byron--what I was quoting yesterday," he told her, waiting for her to catch on.  She did after a few more seconds, he could tell, when her lips parted slightly.  He ghosted a grin to acknowledge it.  "Thanks for helping.  --Yeah, I remember.  I sometimes do." 

B'Elanna shrugged.  "It was nothing."

He nodded and moved to the table.  He did not sit though, but placed his hands on the chair back, contemplated the bowl and plate sitting before him.  Then he glanced askance to her.  "Read much?"

"What?" 

His attention returned to the table.  "Poetry.  You read any?" 

B'Elanna reared her head a little and answered before she thought the better of it, "I like prose." 

"Romantic?"

"What?" 

"Romantic period--or even just romances."  He offered her another glance, appraising her briefly.  "Or I should ask if you like old literature at all." 

"A little."

"Earth literature?" 

"Sure." 

"Like what?" 

B'Elanna shook her head to herself, squinting her eyes as she tried to figure out why he suddenly felt like so much conversation--just then--and worse, small talk.  Despite that, she answered him again.  "I've read some Fielding, Dumas--but I don't--"

"Dumas?"  His brow flicked upwards.  "I'm impressed.  Did you know several of his pieces were turned into movies a century or so later? Some were a few times--and some are really good.  I'd love to see holosuite programs go there sometime--"

"Look, as mu--"

"I like Collard, too."  He leaned forward to prepare a cracker, continuing offhandedly, "It's better than history books a lot of the time, fiction that reads like real history.  Though I know the Byron a little, I don't like poetry much, either.  I never really knew why--"

"Excuse me," B'Elanna finally cut in.  "Enthusiastic as we may be about literature, I don't see what that has to do with anything right now." 

Tom's expression straightened and he set the cracker aside.  "Yeah.  Sorry.  I don't know why I do that."  Switching gears with a step around the chair, he gestured towards the table.  "You're right, we should get to business."

"I'd like that," she replied, training the dryness from her tone.  She'd wasted enough time as it was.

"It's pretty simple, really, though I'd like you to take as much time as you like to think about it--even if you need to stay on with us for another leg." 

B'Elanna furrowed her brow.  "To think about what?" 

"The contract."  Tom tipped his head to see her eyes twitch then widen slightly with realization.  He resisted the sudden urge to snort when he realized where her mind was.  "You thought you were disembarking at Podala?"

"I was getting that impression," she stated, still reigning in her reaction to the flip in her mindset.

"You got the wrong impression, then."  Watching her stiffen, he shrugged.  "You have been pretty hard core the last day or so, though.  I had to wonder if hiring you would be the right decision."

"It's just the way I am," she replied, crossing her arms.  "I'm determined and I can be tough.  I'm sorry if that bothers you." 

"Actually, it does sometimes, but I think I can handle it."  Watching her expression continue to shift as she furiously reassessed her situation, he found himself engaged.  "That said," he observed, "I thought you might be trying to force the issue by taking apart half an engine room you really weren't obligated to touch." 

"When I see a repair that needs to be done," she responded, starting to feel the weight of his stare, "I do it.  I don't stop until I'm done." 

"Are you done with that secondary plasma inverter?"

She pursed her lips.  "Almost.  I stopped so I'd have time to clean up and come here.  I plan to go back to it when we're through...if that's all right." 

"So you're saying I shouldn't worry about the shadow of effect?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"  she returned, then a little defensive that he'd imply what he just did. 

"Nothing, really.  To get to the point of my problem, I just don't want to be disappointed down the road."

"Why do you think I'll disappoint you?"  she demanded.  "I've worked my ass off since I got here, put up with these 'meetings' you've ordered.  If that doesn't convince you I'm serious--"

"I know you're serious," he cut in with a sigh.  "It's not your ability I'm talking about."  As interesting as she might have been, he didn't feel like playing tag with someone he needed and wanted to get along with this time around.  To that point, he added, "Frankly, since you got here, I've felt more than ever that this piece of shit has a chance to be something again--if it ever was something." 

B'Elanna growled, shook her head.  "Then what are you talking about?" 

Tom pulled a chair for her and moved around the table to take the seat opposite.  While waiting for her to take the seat, he plucked up his prepared cracker.  Sticking the square morsel in his mouth, he chewed a few times and chased it down with a couple swallows of milk.  Finally, B'Elanna let out her breath and joined him.  Welcoming her to his food with a gesture and seeing her shake her head politely, he nodded.

"When you were growing up," he asked as he prepared another cracker, "did your teachers ever say you had a lot of potential?"

B'Elanna suddenly remembered those kindly faces and shaking heads.  So seemingly impressed.  So inactive otherwise.  "Yes." 

"They did me too," Tom told her.  "People used to tell me I'd do great things when I grew up.  Personally, I thought I could do great things then. But apparently, it wasn't as important as later accomplishments could be, when and if I put myself on task and stuck to the plan they seemed to have so clearly laid out." 

"Sounds about right," she acknowledged, mildly impressed with the captain's interpretation. 

"But the worst part about it, B'Elanna, is that every last one of them were right, only that now I'm seeing how I haven't lived up to what they had in mind.  There was a time when I tried to, honestly thought I should--and maybe I got there for a little while.  In any case, I wound up out here instead, remembering those expectations and how uncomfortable I used to feel when people told me I had all that potential.  I'm not even thirty years old and I'm already tired.  Granted, I was never ambitious, per se, but trying to live up to what they saw: I've pretty much given up on it."

He held her stare again.  "I don't want that to happen to you.  What'll disappoint me would be to see you become half as disillusioned with the idea of getting it right--and pissed off at us for helping you to it."

Her brow furrowed.  "Do you want me to work here or don't you?"

"I want to hire you," he assured her.  "Hell, I'd be crazy as well as stupid if I didn't.  It's just that I've already made the mistake of not considering the consequences for others--more than once, and I have to live with what came of that.  I don't want to add to it.  That I don't want a perpetual headache, too, is a part of it, but I can deal with that much more easily than I do my conscience."

She said nothing at first--couldn't find anything to say.  Sad but straight-faced, it was the sentiment of a man trying to make good, both with himself and on his ship.  In an upside down way, he was coming to her defense, just as Jerod said he would.  She shook her head of it and took them back to the gist.

"I want this job," she told him, outright that time, just as Maryl had suggested--and only then did B'Elanna realize what the Bajoran had meant in her warning about the captain.  "The conditions are good, the pay can't be any worse than I've had, it's a good crew for a change and I think I can do what you want to be done to this ship." 

"Granted we could afford what I want done," he grinned.

"One thing at a time," she returned and put her hand on the table.  "I know I can handle the position and what comes with it--and you want me in that engine room.  It's that simple." 

"That's also not a question."

"Then what is?" 

"Whether or not I should seize the opportunity while you're still willing to go through with this."

She shook her head.  "Why are you complicating things?"

He didn't answer her at first, but took another drink of his milk, leaned back in his seat.  Finally, he shrugged.  "Again, the last thing I want is another person taking out their frustrations on things here because they want better but can't bring themselves to act on it.  If you get to that point, do me a favor and tell me.  I won't laugh, I sure as hell won't tell anyone and we can rework your contract accordingly.  Agreed?"

Slowly, B'Elanna nodded.  "Agreed."

"You're giving me your word?" 

Biting back her first response, she gave him another nod.  "Yes.  I'll let you know if I'm dissatisfied." 

Tom nodded back, reaching over to pull a PADD nearer with his finger.  Checking to see it was the right one, he slid it across to her.  "Look it over.  Tell me if there's anything else you want on there." 

B'Elanna did then furrowed her brow a moment later.  "A six-month contract?"  she asked, not liking that part.  Full contracts were usually yearly terms with conditions for release.

"You can renew it if you want when the time comes," Tom told her.  "Everyone else here is on the same plan, except me."  Watching her continue, he explained the next thing he knew she'd come to.  "The shares are split evenly, nine and a half ways; one-half share goes to any part-timers, who work on a base rate, and three more shares are set for the ship.  If we don't have part-timers to pay, then it's three and a half in the pot.  If you want anything extra or if the others don't want to spend as much from the pot as you want, you can take the expense out of your share.  But then it belongs to the ship as your donation.  Anything for your quarters or yourself comes out of your share, and as long as it's not installed as a shared system, you can take that with you."

"Sounds reasonable enough," B'Elanna commented, still reading, at that point with more interest then to see her position description, including rights and duties. 

Rights.  She liked that word, as well as what came with it.  As the lead engineer, she would have the final say in all technical matters for the ship, though the captain could countermand it if push came to shove.  She did have to report to him, but the captain would otherwise stay out of her way--his only technical responsibility was navigation.  She had complete control of the engine room in repairs, upgrades, replacements, stocks, maintenance, the transporter system's upgrades and maintenance, and overseeing Jerod and Ridge's different responsibilities.  That was surprising.  She didn't know she'd be their superior despite their time aboard.  She would also train and supervise any part-timers they might get.

Procuring supplies, tools and equipment were her support duties, which she could delegate as needed.  She was also responsible for ship-wide efficiency, power conservation and for overseeing--if not creating--all system installations and improvements.  A list of needed replacements, which were too many to take in completely there, was attached, along with another list of upgrades to research and report to the captain.  It was her job to prioritize and begin the repairs and replacements as time and expense permitted.  The research she could do when she had spare time. 

In essence, the ship and its future were being put in her hands--a heady prospect for someone her age with only few years of working experience.  She could rebuild the Guerdon from the screws up if she wanted to and the pot could afford it.  What was listed already of upgrades alone, though, would take a year to get halfway through between everything else she had to take care of.  One of the changes--the reworking of the entire layout of engineering, which she'd thought of the moment she first entered the place--would take at least a couple months in drydock with only the crew working on it.  Some of the research, mostly regarding design and warp drive changes, seemed beyond possibility.  But it was neatly detailed and hung to her contract like a series of warnings.  A list of download zones for Starfleet technology releases were listed in another addendum.

The wording was rather formal for such a ragged ship; it looked like a position memo from Starfleet command.  Looking down, she saw by the timestamp that it had been finalized only an hour ago.

She glanced at the captain across from her.  Paris' shadowed eyes and straight face gave away nothing, though he did offer, "At least you won't be completely wasted here in the meantime if you get to do some research."

"Have the others agreed to this?"

"There wasn't much to agree to.  Since I have the final say, I'm responsible for it.  Whatever happens, good or bad, it's on my head in the end, like everything else."  He shrugged.  "Not like anything worse could happen to me--or to you at this point.  I just got to thinking that you'd be happier if you had a challenge that was tempting enough to try."

"That engine is challenge enough without what I could be tempted to do to it," she countered.  Giving the captain a sidelong grin, she pressed her thumb to the signature pad and returned the PADD to him in the same manner as he'd given it to her, pushing it across with her index finger.  "Looks like you've got yourself an engineer, Tom."

For the first time in her presence, he smiled.  "I was almost afraid you'd call me captain."

"I learn quickly," she returned, once again taking in his features and his gaze, which she finally decided was a benign one.

Responding with a single nod, Tom stood and offered his hand to her.  He was glad to see her stand and accept it.  Squeezing her small, warm fingers, he said, "Welcome aboard, B'Elanna."

---

Paris' eyes opened to the dark...and wet...and pain, on his head, his chest and ribs, his knee.  The pain radiated; he breathed into it, and then tasted...something.  He reached to his face and felt the wet.  Blood.  He breathed again, stronger.

Then a sound, a hissing...Wheezing.  A cough.

"T...T...ah..."

His brow furrowed.

"Taaaah..."

He turned towards the sound in the pitch black.  "Cass?"

Another cough, a strangled gurgle, not more than two meters away.

Oh God, he thought with a flash of panic, a hot thud in his sore chest, then a warm flow of dread as his hand sank into more wet, a pool on the floor of the shuttle, oh God, oh God, oh God...

"Ta...aaah..."

I survived.

---

Sliding his new engineer's contract into the access slot for upload to the Guerdon's main computer, Tom reached back to the shelf and wrapped his fingers around the neck of a fresh decanter.  He wasn't tired enough to sleep just yet.

Two and a half days to Podala.

       

---

Main Page | Part IV

© D'Alaire M, 2007