Title: Guerdon.
Part: XIV. The Lot. Perhaps not glorious, but getting there.
Author: D'Alaire M.
XVI. The Lot
"Please turn."
She did as asked and looked at the dot as the scanner flashed over her eye three times, taking a thorough reading.
"Thank you. And your authorization card?"
She pulled it from her pocket and set it into his waiting palm.
"Thank you. This way, ma'am"
With that, B'Elanna Torres was admitted into the central division of the Auckland Penal Settlement.
With a breath, she turned to follow the guard into the dome-topped transport, telling herself not to cross her arms or shuffle around. Taking a step back and grabbing the handle, she kept her eyes on the main installation as they quickly started forward. The civilian complex looked as it should: slick walls on a boxy frame, low to the ground, surrounded by visible forcefields--and likely several more that couldn't be seen. Surrounding it all were lush green grounds, enormous, billowing trees and a bright blue sky above; the water reflected it perfectly. The birds swooped and teased, and squirrels jumped and scurried. The air was warm and a little wet. It was a perfect spring day.
She hardly thought about it.
It's going to work out, her mind reiterated instead. A little more time, a little more patience...
A whizz of energy rushed through the cabin, then the plain-toned, "Clearance accepted."
She could still hear the nagging buzz of the forcefield long after they passed through it. That they made it so obvious annoyed her even more. Though she had built and rigged many, she had never liked them. Ships depended too much on fields and too little on good layout, which would prevent the need for all that interference and wasted energy. Also, they were too easy to bypass. Having directly passed through so many of late made her even less enamored with them. She truly never wanted to know one was around her again, unless it was on the outside of a hull.
How she hoped she'd get to work on a hull again--especially the one they'd had to forsake to the will of two governments. They seemed all too determined to leave their futures in the air until they were forced to call a shot.
But she shook her head at that, as it was long out of her control--had it ever been in her hands.
But it will work, she promised herself yet again. Nothing was impossible if she simply believed in what she wanted. She'd proved that already, twice over during their time on Earth. She'd tripped--she was at least half human, after all--but she got up with no more damage than a little dust on her knees. With but a little impetus, she was able to go forward again without berating herself too much.
Now it was time to take another step.
Looking back, she didn't have to wonder why she was all too ready to take it.
"*Mister Paris' record is clear. His irresponsible conduct and lax ethics have easily extended to a complete disregard of Federation law.*"
Several rooms away, B'Elanna snorted.
They weren't permitted to attend the sentencing because of their security issues, his complete admission of guilt and the JAG finally choosing a closed court session due to the relationship of the guilty man to a high ranking Starfleet officer. Instead, they were magnanimously invited to watch the neat little circus from a nearby chamber as they waited to see what their own future would be. The five of them hunched around the wall monitor and stared at the scene as though it were cliffhanger holo-fiction.
Tom sat on one side of the room with an assigned representative; the JAG was flanked by disapproving officers on the other. How low this wellborn kid had fallen, they seemed to say. The prosecutor naturally became their voice. Look how Admiral Paris' troubled son had finally been caught in the safe nest of Starfleet before he could do any more real damage, the prosecutor asserted, then suggested they protect themselves and prevent similar outrages by showing their Federation that birth will not spare any guilty party from justice.
"I shoveled fewer kilos of crap on the farm back home," Ridge said, waving a finger at the slim, neatly tucked commander as she circled the room. "She's trying to make him nervous with all that. --Good luck, ma'am."
"It is not uncommon for legal experts to attempt to make the accused respond through such methods," Savan told him.
"It's a waste of time," Maryl said. "They can't accuse a man who confesses. He's already said he'll take what they give."
"They want more," Nadrev shrugged, "and they can waste whatever they want. We're in their territory."
B'Elanna felt her heart sink every time she looked at Tom's face, set firmly, eyes straight--taking it head-on, indeed. To his strength and his credit, he gave them absolutely nothing, not even a smirk, to counter. He told them nothing but the facts--what they already knew, then resumed his silence. They tried to prod him again; he looked unconcerned. It was beautiful.
"He'll never give them what they want," she stated, then straightened as the officer walked another circle and offered a small monologue that B'Elanna hardly heard but for "independent ships posing a threat to the future security of the Federation." With that, the argument was finally closed. The JAG looked over his information for several minutes before looking across the room to Tom.
B'Elanna's breath caught as she leaned toward the screen a little. "This is it."
"*Thomas Eugene Paris,*" the JAG said, "*you have confessed to the crimes of treason, willful dealing in contraband and shipment of materials and weapons in violation of the Federation-Cardassian Treaty of 2370. You are hereby sentenced to twelve months imprisonment in the high security Auckland Penal Settlement, after which sentence, you will be required to serve an equal portion of residential-based parole.*"
A year in hack, another at your parents' house--so there, B'Elanna translated.
"*Your otherwise irreproachable record and personal habits have mitigated your sentence, but let me personally express my feelings of surprise and, may I say, disappointment in seeing you in my chambers this afternoon under such circumstances...*"
Tom hardly blinked at the condescension, but B'Elanna knew how hard it had to be for him. Once again, his people were slapping him in the face and seeming to take every advantage of the opportunity he'd given them.
"*Your sentence will begin without delay. Your crew will be contacted and informed of their particular sentence. Your trade contract will be settled upon Captain Janeway's recommendation to the Bolian magistrate at Jildwan. This trial is adjourned.*"
Standing and shaking his assigned defense representative's hand with a quick nod, Tom moved at the security officers' gesture. As he passed it, Tom gave the security camera a wink. B'Elanna breathed a little laugh. He knew she'd be watching if they let her; she knew that gesture was for her. B'Elanna almost reached out to the monitor in reply, but he was gone before her hand left the table.
Twenty minutes later, the JAG's lips twitched up to sentence the rest of the crew: twelve months at the parole facility at Sedona.
They soon understood his sardonic amusement. Parole was a euphemism for what they got. In reality, they were assigned to a low security detention center--which in fact was a mental torture chamber for most who served time there.
Eighteen other ships' crews had been stuffed into the facility by the time the Guerdon's crew joined them and greeted them with no more than a dull look-over. They did not ask what the crew had done, nor did they care. They had already been forced to busy themselves for months on end with little more than newsfeeds, simple projects and sleep. It was mind-numbingly dull. Unfortunately, a falling out there only landed perpetrators in a real prison. Used to much the same lifestyle that the Guerdon's crew was--constant work, little sleep and little routine outside station procedures--parolees determined not to make things worse for themselves were soon half-mad for nothing to do but watch the time pass while knowing their lives would probably never be how they had been before.
B'Elanna was the first to follow them to that point.
"God damned Federation..."
"Prophets, not again." Her head pressed firmly against her palm as she turned her eyes up, Maryl hissed through her teeth. "Do I really have to listen to this for a whole year?"
"Eleven months, now," Ridge mumbled from his chair by the window as he tapped on a puzzle.
"...sticking us here with nothing to do but watch the sky go day to night. You'd think we'd be better on a work detail."
"Get a hobby, B'Elanna," Maryl griped as she picked through a pile of book PADDs then looked over at Savan, who as usual was reading. "Has she been at it long?"
The Vulcan did not respond.
"Why should I have to be at anything?!" B'Elanna demanded and swung around for another lap around their common room, her security anklet slapping viciously against her leg. "They stick us here so we'll be completely useless when we get out--and won't get back to what we're able to do! That's their tactic, and we'll end up with no more promise than any other frontier slag scratching around for work. I've been there. It's nowhere I want to go back to."
"You're right. Maybe some memory games," Maryl said. "I'm sure there are a couple in the community hall Digto hasn't eaten yet. --And he's probably better company than Engine Specialist Take His Crap and Deal with It." She got up and left.
"Federation assholes," B'Elanna continued as if the Bajoran hadn't been there. Staring at the window as she passed it, the only thing holding her away from it was that she knew the fields wouldn't let her go through. "They're so happy to keep people like us on their leash."
That time, Savan looked up from her PADD. Only her eyes followed the wildly pacing half-Klingon, and her mouth did not twitch but to say, "You did not hesitate to reap the benefits of what the Federation could offer in better times, B'Elanna."
Stopping on a dime, she whipped her glare back to the Vulcan. "What?!"
"We are serving time for knowingly committing a crime against the Federation. I also do not agree with their policy, but as a Federation citizen, I must respect it. We all must. There is no other choice. However, I agree that inactivity can be debilitating. I can only suggest that you would benefit from occupying your time more productively, as your current route of expelling your energy is...increasingly useless." Returning her attention to her PADD, she added, "Shall I bring you the newsfeed when it arrives?"
Throwing up her hands in frustration, B'Elanna strode toward the personal quarters. "I'm done with all of this," she spat. The moment the hallway surrounded her she stopped. Sucking a breath, hissing it through her teeth, she turned and pressed her back against a wall only to stare at its peach-colored counterpart.
As always, Savan was right.
"Damnit."
Another week of restlessness passed before B'Elanna was given good reason to take the advice. Two days after that, she shared it.
With good behavior and cooperation at Sedona, parolees were permitted a three-hour day leave once every two to three weeks. B'Elanna spent one of those leaves each month visiting Tom at Auckland. According to Carol, it had taken some very quiet wrangling on the admiral's part to allow a parolee to visit her fully incarcerated captain, but the admiral saw some use in it, so the strings were pulled and B'Elanna was admitted to the public visitor's room for an hour.
Following the guard from the transport to the visitor's room, B'Elanna stuffed her hands into her pockets and tried not to look around. Though she'd been there already, it was hard to ignore the place. Deliciously green, she could not see the next building--the main administrative building that fronted the actual penitentiary, through which Tom would pass to get to the civilian complex. Instead, she saw the trees swaying with the breeze, tickling the sunlight through the leaves on the deep green ground and throwing ripples of light on the deep blue lake beyond.
The memory found her, then, and she didn't have to wonder why.
She saw the lake they'd sailed on at Ulinas: that deep purple-blue water, surrounded by those gorgeous hills and glades and rippled by a gentle wind just right to speed their little boat.
How handsome he'd looked there--still a little pale and drawn, but he was so alive that day, too. A few weeks into their relationship, he'd confessed he hadn't been hitting on her "in the formal sense," but he really had wanted her to respond to him. His hair had turned in the breeze, his eyes had sparkled with his sudden mischief, and when they sailed, she'd heard him laugh, fully and freely, for the very first time.
Well, not for the first time, she smiled to herself as she walked into the visitor's room.
Not in all her dreams had she expected to be so completely captivated by any man--particularly without wanting to be. Finally free of the acrimony that'd plagued the ship for two months since Jerod's death, the last thing she'd expected was to fall for the man who'd been at the center of her anger. She'd finally put it aside, not bothering to figure it all out. But she had responded to him, at first with some mild repartee and then as a friend. Those feelings had nothing better to do but grow from that point--as had his feelings for her.
To that day, though, every time she closed her eyes and thought about him, she remembered that smile in his eyes, and that laugh, the wind and the waves rushing around them. The memory always made her heart beat a little harder.
A completely different façade met her at the visitor's table. Her mouth fell open when he dropped into his seat.
His eyes were dark-circled and distant; his mouth was flaccid. His hands, so strong, so agile, were pressed flat on the table just before the forcefield. His posture was loose. His skin was pale. Rubbing the anklet against her other leg, B'Elanna could have sworn she was looking at him the week she came aboard the Guerdon, and she hated Starfleet all over again for it. Of course, anyone might have expected he wouldn't be having as easy an experience as the crew was at Sedona. Auckland was very pretty, but Tom was in full lockdown and assigned to a daily work detail. Still, he looked like he was brushing up against death again, which should not have been predictable.
"What the hell happened?" she asked.
"Another Maquis," he said, his voice quiet and hoarse, "pushed a little too hard. I couldn't stop myself." He sighed, shaking his head at the memory. "I just got out of solitary yesterday. I had to beg to see you...really beg."
B'Elanna felt a shot of pain in her chest. Without having to ask, she knew he had to have hated doing that. And yet, he had done it--and admitted it to her. She drew a deep breath. "You shouldn't be treated like that," she said.
"I punched back," Tom muttered, already finished with his feelings on the matter and too tired anymore to complain. "I got what everyone else gets. I didn't deserve anything less. The other guy got the same."
She blinked her acceptance, shrugged slightly. It was as surprising to her as it was an issue with him. She knew one of the Maquis would jab him the wrong way eventually. Even if he'd done right by Chakotay, Tom had been "fired" by a Maquis captain and thus suspect. Every inmate there knew it within a week of his arrival.
Sliding her fingers distractedly over the smooth glass tabletop, B'Elanna nodded and found his gaze again. Though exhausted, he seemed to have needed a confirmation that there indeed was something on the other side of his sentence. She knew the feeling. A week after Savan's pointed correction, B'Elanna had remained prey to hopelessness, convinced in turns that they were going to be released into complete uselessness, then realizing the place was getting to her, only to go to sleep and wake up to the same mood.
Or she had until she'd plopped down into a free room chair and heard the news Starfleet had finally declassified, which subsequently swept over the entirety of the Federation she'd been cursing. Weeks of agitation were replaced by numb shock over torrents of what-ifs. Now she got to pass on the favor.
"Did you hear about the Voyager?" she asked. "Are you allowed feeds in here?"
He shook his head. "What happened?"
"They released the news to the public last week. Janeway and her ship disappeared in the Badlands. They went in on schedule and never showed up again."
Tom's face flushed. "Oh my God."
"They've been listed as officially missing," she went on, her gut twisting a little to relive her own first reaction in his expression, "but the word is they're just gone. There's no trace of the ship."
He coughed an ironic laugh at that. "I can't help but feel a lot better about being here," he remarked. "I'm sorry for the people aboard and the families, but...that's almost too hard to believe."
"Yes." B'Elanna touched the edge of field, letting her nail activate it slightly. Pulling it away, she caught his attention once more, held his somber gaze. "It puts a lot in perspective."
"It does." Leaning back, he shrugged. "But I knew what I was in for when I turned myself in, B'Elanna. We all knew what'd happen. Well, maybe not Sedona, but we knew it wasn't going to be a party. Still, I guess I can't wonder anymore if maybe we should have gone along after all, if I'd have saved us a lot of pain, even when they... I wouldn't wish that on anyone. They were just starting out, just beginning." His stare turned down. "That kid at Quark's. Remember him?"
"I thought about him too," B'Elanna admitted, unwillingly recalling her goodbye and good luck to the young ensign at the fork that split the transports and the Federation berths, his polite but real smile and thanks. Kim. Ensign Kim. Remembering his name, she couldn't put the memory away again. "He probably worked from grade school up to get where he was."
"But you know he knew the risks of going out there. We all do. Just that he was so new, with everything ahead of him, all his plans and expectations..." Shaking his head, he leaned forward to set his hands near B'Elanna's again. "A lot of perspective."
Her eyes remained closed the entire transport back to Sedona, her arms crossed, her breath deadly still. How stupid she felt for thinking before the trial they had a handle on it, that simply to be proud and strong would take care of their situation. All parole had made of her in barely six weeks was a whiny engineer with strung out nerves and nothing to do. But how much worse it could have been... She felt like an idiot.
Without a doubt, Tom had done the honorable thing and she would never regret supporting it. That had not been in question. But the boredom had gotten to her; the attitudes of the officers and that JAG had rubbed her badly and left her bitter for remembering them. She craved her work and usefulness, her lack of sleep, her constant fussing over a warp drive that really wasn't worth fixing for all the failures soon to repeat themselves and a ship that'd never really seen a better day. The replicator still spat lousy food and the corridors were as dingy and worn as they'd ever been, the engine room was a nitpicker's nightmare, and still she wanted nothing more than to get back to it all someday.
The ship in question was sitting at a drydock base in Manitoba, hibernating as they festered. Even with Janeway out of the picture, they still didn't know if they'd ever get their license back, or what would happen to the ship. It technically belonged to Tom, but they could revoke his rights to it if Starfleet suggested they should. Like Starfleet, Bolarus had complete control of their fate. In a way, they always had, and she was just imagining they had any control at all.
And then she knew she was letting it all drag her down. That Tom didn't do as they requested this time, he'd freed himself from the many hooks waving around him and bought them a free pass in the bargain. Once their sentences were over, ship or no ship, they would be able to walk away and have no one pulling their strings again...so long as they didn't break any more laws or get anywhere near the Maquis.
And they were certainly better off than those poor people on Voyager, whom they had almost joined. There was no way B'Elanna could take anything for granted anymore, knowing how they must have perished. She knew what those plasma streams could do. It wouldn't have been quick.
So, she returned to her cubicle bunkroom and finally pulled out the bags she'd been allowed to bring from the Guerdon. Not bothering to activate the lighting, but relying on the stark sunbeams piercing the filtered glass, B'Elanna pulled out her clothes, boots and some of her personal effects and finally put them in the provided drawers. On the rail above, she hung up her coats, her three tunics, three trousers and the long sweater Carol had bought her when they'd gone out shopping. She folded her dresses and good nightgown into a side drawer. She then set her work boots and "regular" shoes all underneath on the racks. She pulled out the soft, gray-blue coverlet that she'd taken from Tom's bed, running her nose against the fleecy edge and taking in his scent before setting it on the nearby bunk.
Sliding the bag across to set at the end of the wardrobe, she heard a clunk and a light beep. Furrowing her brow, she knelt and reached in to see what it was.
It was Tom's travel sack. Tom used it every time they went "shopping" on the bases; B'Elanna had known it from their first expedition together on Podala. Before he turned himself in, he'd asked her to go by his quarters and pack it with her things. She'd just managed to grab it and the blanket before the guards came, so she'd never looked inside. When she did, she instantly knew why that old-fashioned bag had been on his mind.
"Computer, lights to full," she ordered and waited the few seconds it took for the room to brighten.
"At least you won't be wasted here in the meantime," he'd said the day he'd hired her, turning his eyes down and away, trying for indifference when in truth it was all he had left to hope for.
The PADD was old, dented, hardly able to upload without whacking it on its side to get the lines to knock together right. She'd often chided Tom for not getting rid of the thing. To B'Elanna's surprise, however, it powered on immediately and was ready for input--and it had quite a bit more on its bank than even she was aware of. Feeling very much like she was reading his diary, she ignored the twinge in her gut and absorbed everything she saw. Page after page, file after file, specs, schematics, depots, analyses, costs, priorities...
"I just got to thinking that you'd be happier if you had a challenge that was possible to meet--or at least tempting enough to try."
"How right you were, even then," she whispered, touching the screen, then shutting it off.
Looking around that spare, plain room, her brain began to click, and her eyes found the window, the stark blue sky beyond it.
It was possible...
They weren't permitted much in the way of equipment and no communications save one ten minute communiqué each week, but they did have access to the general systems there and, to her amused relief, pencil and paper. Tom would be so proud, she'd grinned to herself when she pulled what she needed out of the replicator. She ended up using that to transcribe everything she could and the center's rudimentary computer to make what calculations she needed.
With just that much, her mood improved dramatically and her sleep shortened by a couple hours. She used the extra time well. It didn't take her long to learn at Sedona that there wasn't much more for any engineer with naught but megajoules of unspent energy to do but plan and plan big--and trust it might see the light of day.
It was her only way out of there with her wits in tact.
The framework drawn, her mind set, she finally decided to share.
"So what's this?" Maryl asked tiredly. She'd hardly spoken to B'Elanna in two weeks--also bored to tears and still angry.
B'Elanna set the paper presentation on the table before them. "Our new hobby," she began and grinned as they all leaned in.
Such was her plan, so complete and encompassing, that even her precious off time was soon spent on it. B'Elanna didn't have to wonder why. She never had faced projects and problems halfway. It was either full force or not at all. She had more than enough time to immerse herself just then, too. There was only one hitch in the process, but she quickly figured out how to get around that.
When Carol finished wrapping her anklet snugly against B'Elanna's leg, she glanced up to see the younger woman's reaction. "What do you think?"
B'Elanna grinned and shook her leg a little to test it. The pesky anklet stayed perfectly in place. "That was a really good idea," she said. "Thank you."
"No sense in having a run if you can't enjoy it. So where to today?"
"How about the park? Officer Hassert says there's a good café on the other side of Piney Ridge, just inside of town."
"Sounds perfect."
With that, they started on their run through the facility grounds, the morning sun low in the pink-orange sky behind them. As they crossed over the cypress-lined sand and scrub grounds to the back gate, B'Elanna regularly looked over at the blonde-haired grandmother who knew everyone. Everyone she knew knew everyone else, too. B'Elanna was counting on that truism. As they finally came out of the back of the facility, cleared their exit with the guard there and immediately found the park trail they'd chosen, B'Elanna slowed their pace a bit.
"I need to ask you about your friend Tisho Kea," she said.
"Oh?" Carol puffed, casting a curious eye her way. "What about her?" "It's something I'm working on."
"You found yourself something to do at last?" Carol smiled.
B'Elanna looked ahead again, barely seeing the firs passing them on either side. "Tom never got a chance to tell you about it--not in detail. But do you remember that old PADD he carried around when we visited?"
Carol laughed. "Yes! Leave it to Tom to find the oldest workable technology available."
"Well, I have it now, and we're using it."
"What has this to do with Tisho?"
B'Elanna sped their pace again and pointed down the ridge trail. "This way."
"Let's go," Carol replied and followed the younger woman's lead.
So they enamored themselves to their new goal, and they cooperated around the facility in every way possible to earn their rights to interfaces they could actually work on and more time on the free room simulator. Some other volunteer work paid off in other ways. Maryl and Ridge were permitted to take their leaves together as a reward. Savan was permitted to attend a series of science symposiums, which ran long and several days together. Nadrev was granted leave to take classes at a nearby university. B'Elanna earned another few hours of leave, which she applied to dinner with the Parises on two occasions and her visit with Tom, who had made some turns of his own.
After the solitary experience, he'd insultingly followed through with everything he was told to do and did it with intent to impress. He'd worked to the bell, volunteered in the mess and even assisted new inmates. It was insulting work and it was sometimes hard to say, "How can I help?" every time they approached him with a job, but he'd gotten through it, day after day, and kept himself busy in the bargain.
By the fifth month there, Tom was resigned, tired of the game but trudging along to make the most of it, keep his morale in check and retain his right to see his girlfriend every few weeks. Her fingers at the forcefield, resigned as well to withhold the crew's surprise, B'Elanna wished more than ever she could give him the physical support she knew he liked to back up all her words.
He seemed to understand. A couple times, he teased the forcefield, gesturing towards her face as if to caress her cheek, his gaze intent and locked onto hers, his lips turned slightly up. How well she knew that look, how firmly ingrained her memory it was... She left Auckland that day wanting him so painfully, she briefly considered what it might take to break into the place.
Thankfully, she needed to take no such steps. A message from the admiral arrived soon after she returned to Sedona and everyone from the crew was invited to hear it. It was about Tom--and positive news for a change. His good behavior, hard work, previous clean record with his ship and, finally, a signed agreement to not return to the DMZ region knocked his sentence and subsequent parole in half. His crew, equally productive and clean, would enjoy the same benefit.
"Maryl, Nadrev," Owen continued, "as Bajoran citizens, you will have the right to return to your people's territory if you choose to serve your probationary period there, but your travels will be limited to the Bajor Sector until the Provisional Government sees fit to release you to extended travels." He bowed his head slightly. "I apologize this could not be negotiated."
Maryl smirked. "Thank you, Admiral, but I don't think we'll need to worry about that. I think I already have a deal to work out there."
Ridge snorted and rubbed her back.
"I will remain with the Guerdon," Nadrev told him, then shrugged, "if there's still a Guerdon to report to."
Owen sighed. "That is still undecided."
"In other words, locked up in the Bolian courts," Maryl stated with a quick nod. "Can you tell me who's judging the file?"
"I can provide you with a name," Owen told her. "Though I don't see how it would be of any use to you now."
"Just get me the information, please," Maryl replied. "It may well not be any use to me, but I'd hate to not have the opportunity to insult the Jildwan one more time."
B'Elanna still hadn't said a word. She heard the voices around her, but her thoughts easily overtook them.
It was done. They'd be free soon. It was over...
She hadn't wanted time to accelerate so much in her life--not until she realized how much they still needed to draw out in those few weeks left to them. Not that she minded a little pressure, but they'd been purposefully taking their time with it before. The moment the connection was cut, B'Elanna had the PADD in her hand and was on her way back to the free room, motioning to Nadrev and Ridge as she passed. They shrugged and trundled along after her, as though they really were back to work.
Four weeks and three days later, she woke in Tom's bed at his parents' house. Stretching every limb, she could feel her unbound leg first, then the softness of the sheets; then she felt the dream return--him there, embracing and kissing her, feel his warmth bathing her, his skin sliding against hers... Then she could see him as he was when they pressed together that last time on Deep Space Nine. She shuddered to think that a man had been able to make her feel like that...but she was damn glad he could, too.
In less than a half day, it wouldn't be a dream anymore.
Sliding out of the bed, she flipped the comforter back into place, then walked over to where she had her clothes laid out. Quickly getting into the leggings and undershirt, she poked her feet into her shoes and slid on her long tunic. Closing the seam down her side, she brushed down the lightweight fabric and curled her toes in her shoes. Stepping back to assess the result, she grinned and nodded.
"Good," she said to herself, looking particularly at her feet.
Aside from the smart new tunic suit, she also was finally free of the security anklet, which had at last been removed the day before. To her disdain, she had learned that Tom would have to wear his for another three months as he served his first stage of parole. So into her bag went the stretch bandage Carol had brought to Sedona for their jogs. It did nothing about the weight and feel, of course, but at least it prevented the chunky ring from bouncing around.
Then again, at this point a security necklace wouldn't get in my way, she smirked to herself.
For that matter, B'Elanna knew none of their feet were going to be much of a concern. She grabbed the badges she'd been sent and double checked her cards, then slipped through the door for the front stairs. She was down the flight and passing the living room seconds later.
"I'm going!"
"When will we see you, dear?" Carol called back.
"Tomorrow, about the same time, I think."
"Don't forget to contact me when you get there."
"I won't."
"Good luck!"
Admiral Paris peered over the top of his PADD as the lithe figure strode away, grabbing her sweater off the rack on her way out. The front door hadn't closed behind her before her feet hit the sidewalk. "I don't know why we can't be there to greet him."
Carol gave her husband a belabored look. "Owen, it's been over six months. What do you imagine he'll be thinking about ten seconds after his discharge is finalized?"
Owen turned his eyes back down to his work. "I still think he should come back here, be with his family."
"I think that beachside rental should be just the thing to take the damage," Carol rejoined. "Besides, it's lunchtime there. B'Elanna got a nice long nap before you got home, so they'll have a lovely day, stay overnight and come back here for lunch tomorrow..." She gave him another look. "...just like we planned."
He shrugged grudgingly. "Not that I had a say in it."
Carol rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her letters. "Moira and the boys will be here for the weekend. Should I order something special?"
Owen grinned. "Local's fine, Carol. We have enough special coming by."
"Yes, we do," she said and sighed a happy breath.
"Please wait here. The processing has not been completed. Would you like someone to come for you when the release has been finalized?"
Having stepped off the transport directly into the facility waiting room, B'Elanna nodded. "Yes, thank you."
Seconds later, she was alone in the boxy, marble-floored room. There were windows in all directions but one. The benches were plush blue vinyl. The scanners in the room were so powerful that she could feel her nape hair tingle. B'Elanna began a slow pace around it all, glancing out the windows. The lawn was so green, the air was crisp and fresh with the last sheen of the cool morning dew... His voice as she last heard it echoed in her mind, making her heart beat a little harder in anticipation.
She recalled so clearly their mutual resignation, though she to her guilt had procured some measure of hope on the outside. She thought at first to save sharing it with him until later, but then had decided that maybe he needed something else to hope for, too--even if it might lead to some disappointment....
"Miss Torres?"
She turned quickly around. "Yes?"
The guard motioned with his tricorder to a PADD in his other hand. "I'll need you to sign in and verify your identity once more if you are to traverse the facility."
"Is there a problem?"
He shook his head. "Just a code mix up. It shouldn't take long to reapply for your clearance badges."
She grinned a little to herself and approached the officer to give him another scan. He thanked her, apologetic for the wait.
"It's not a problem," she told him. "I came early."
"Good planning, that," he said pleasantly. "It shouldn't be long, ma'am."
She nodded and let him go without another word. She could afford to be generous, as the guard's manners had a satisfying aftertaste. It was not the first time she'd been there, after all, but the reception certainly was different now that she was a regular citizen...again.
Turning another lap, she felt all over again how much she wanted it to work--and that that was the real source of any remaining anxiety. Now that she had something tangible to work towards, now that they were moving on to that next thing, she really wanted it to work as she saw it. But then, she did not doubt that no matter how it panned out, they'd make it work.
She'd tripped, but she hadn't fallen again. She was stronger than that now.
So she took a deep breath, let her shoulders fall and smiled to herself. Not a bad two years' work, really.
B'Elanna's attention snapped up when the door on the other side of the room swished open, but seeing only the guard pass through again with but a glance her way, she resumed her pacing. Stopping to turn, she gave into temptation and rubbed her ankle against the other one. It felt great to have nothing there, but she was still getting used to that.
The door opened again.
"Miss Torres?"
B'Elanna now saw an older guard at the entrance, her face set in perfect firm neutrality. In a blink, B'Elanna knew the woman was from the main facility. "Yes."
"This way, please."
She followed the guard out of the hall and into the bright green park. Shaded with long, leafy trees, it bridged the area between the civilian center and the main administrative building, from which Tom had been led for each of his visit sessions. B'Elanna had a couple of times watched from the window as he was guided through, his hands in magnetic cuffs, his mouth straight, his eyes pointed concertedly down, giving away nothing. She could almost see him on the path still, not seeing her as she neared. Blinking, the image faded and she turned into a shady grove with the guard.
A meandering path wandered away, went around, split then turned over a hill, completely burying the former building and almost making her wonder for a moment if they'd left the settlement without her knowing it. Finally, as they rounded another row of firs, she spotted the administrative building; short and glassy, it tried to fit in with the beauty it had invaded with only partial success. The path they were on led straight toward the main entrance.
B'Elanna kept her eyes on it as they neared--focused so much, in fact, that she at first didn't see the man standing at the corner of the grove, arms at his sides, looking at her. Another glance corrected her, though, and she coughed a laugh to realize that she was seeing the real thing.
It was Tom, dressed in the same clothes he'd worn the day he surrendered himself on Deep Space Nine, his hair trimmed short and his face a little gold from his work outside.
Feeling her breath catch, she stopped. But as soon as the guard stepped back and away, B'Elanna started forward again.
Tom wasn't nearly as distracted. As soon as the guard backed off, he quit his pause and the building behind him, not bothering with a smile or even a blink as he sped to a stride. They easily cut the distance between them, forgetting the sidewalk and crossing through across the thick, moist lawn. Seconds later, he grabbed B'Elanna into his arms and kissed her soundly. She gasped and held on when her feet left the grass.
He swung her around in the momentum, opening their kiss as he felt her arms sliding around him to squeeze him even more tightly. His own hands could not be enough places at once, but settled on her hips as he relinquished her again to her feet. Breaking away from her, Tom touched her face, her mouth, slipped his fingers through her thick hair and over her strong, slim shoulders. Then he smiled, breathing a laugh. She was everything he wanted and expected to see--but even better now.
"Thank you for coming," he finally said, then kissed her again. "Thank you."
She couldn't help her amusement at his relief. "Did you think I wouldn't show up?"
"Every catastrophe came to mind last night." He nuzzled his nose against her ear. She'd used that herb-based shampoo, he could tell, and that sesame oil--and the thought of soon catching the tinges of it on his tongue made him a little dizzy. Straightening again to smile down to her, he remembered all over again how beautiful she was and how incredibly lucky he was. "Even just now when I saw you, I thought I could be dreaming."
"I told you I'd be there when you got out," she reminded him.
"And I know I woke up today."
"The day's just started," B'Elanna smiled, sliding her hands into his and giving him a playful nudge toward their destination. She had what she'd been waiting for; now it was time to go. She was more than ready to take those first steps--the first of which leading them out of that place. "But you'll have to tolerate another day of captivity."
Tom's brows rose with his grin. "I'm all yours," he returned and gladly let her lead him back to the civilian center and the waiting guard.
Another round of choice was poured for each at the large, glass-topped iron table, which was nestled on the far side of the sun-dappled patio. They all were glad they'd chosen to keep it simple and leave the reunions and celebrations at the Paris house. The city was far enough away that only the occasional transport could be heard, and the weather had grown warmer and pleasantly moist that afternoon. The gathering was almost as nice as knowing what B'Elanna had waiting in her pocket.
"I could almost forget it all and stay here," Ridge smiled, holding Maryl in his arm.
"You said the same thing about the Bayou yesterday," Maryl scoffed.
"Yeah, I guess anything beats Sedona."
"Or New Zealand," Tom grinned and leaned back to catch a peek of sun when the clouds briefly revealed it. He got plenty of sun working outside at Auckland, but the cool San Francisco rays were always welcome on his face.
"I found the Arizona climate hospitable," Savan told them all as she looked out at the yard she had only heard about, eyeing the interesting flowers and vines in the nearby garden. "Incarceration would of course render any location unpleasant."
"You don't say," Ridge chuckled and raised his glass. "To hospitality, then!"
Maryl eyed him. "To getting off this grassball."
"To beginning anew," Savan added with a nod her captain's way.
"Now that's a toast," Tom smiled and drank. Then he regarded them again. "I know I put you all out, doing this. I'm grateful to you."
"Well," Maryl shrugged, "some good's come from it, I guess."
Ridge looked expectantly at B'Elanna. "Speaking of which..."
Finishing off her lemonade, B'Elanna set her glass aside. "You want me to go first?"
"As if you could wait any longer," Ridge clucked.
She gave him a look as she got to her feet. "We've been busy enough since yesterday to stave off any extra impatience."
Tom chuckled at the reminder, but then realized that he wasn't in on all of it. "What's going on?" he asked, raising a brow toward B'Elanna as she took a step away from him and stuck her hand into her sweater pocket.
Glancing over at the kitchen door, she nodded to the people coming out--Carol and Owen with trays of appetizers in their hands, which they deposited onto the buffet before finding a seat. Moira and her family followed.
"Is it time?" Moira asked, pulling her little boy onto her lap after claiming the lounge swing. Her parents settled into the thick cushions of an adjacent sofa when they saw the other woman nod.
Tom's grin grew. "Okay, what?"
"Just a little surprise," Ridge goaded.
"A small diversion," Nadrev added.
"Quiet, you two!" Maryl hissed, then looked up at her friend. "Go, B'Elanna."
"Well..." B'Elanna began, moving around to where they all could see her, even as her eyes remained on Tom. "The first time I had dinner on the Guerdon, I still had the mobile regenerator patch on my knee and bits of Mesler's engine under my nails, and I was already talking about getting into the engines for all the mess they were and for all I wanted that open job. I was with Ridge and Maryl and you were sitting with Jerod, talking about getting parts and your never-ending search for a navigation upgrade that'd suit you. You were ribbed pretty good for it, too."
B'Elanna smiled. "But for all I didn't trust you then," she went on, "you said something that never left me, not in all the ups and downs between us. You said you'd been forced to accept a lot by being the Guerdon's captain, but there were some things you never would give up on. And you never did--on more than what you were talking about just then."
She walked back to Tom and pulled her hand out of her pocket.
Tom looked down and saw his old PADD. At her nod, he took it, turned it on and saw the turning graphic--his ship...with over three thousand design annotations. Furrowing his brow, he looked at B'Elanna again.
"The navigational upgrade was the one thing we didn't work out," she told him, her voice warm as his expression reflected his understanding. "I know I'm breaking my contract there, but that part of the deal is just going to have to come out of your share."
Tom blinked. "You mean you..." He looked at the graphic again.
"There was no way I could get it all on that piece of junk," B'Elanna chided and pulled out a slick new PADD from her other pocket. "But you'll find this one has everything you need to know about our plans--your plans, Tom."
"All of it?" He still could hardly believe it. He'd been working on "the list" since he'd gotten the Guerdon four years ago. He'd plotted out everything he thought could be done from the hull to the isolinear nodes--and had even entrusted a good portion of that list to B'Elanna in her contract, hoping but never expecting more than a quarter of that would ever be put into action. "You developed all of the upgrades?"
"All the specs are in and check out." She gave the PADD to him, looked up into his shining eyes. "You're free, just the way you wanted to be. It's time to make your dream happen."
Coughing a laugh, Tom said, "It's not often when I don't know what to say, but..." Looking at the pleased faces around him, he drew a deep breath and continued, "Thank you."
"So I take it you don't mind," B'Elanna joked. There, he laughed fully and embraced her, feeling his heart thrum for all he knew she had to have done in only a half a year. They all had to have worked their asses off to complete the specs alone, much less line up the requisitions and begin to make the Guerdon everything he'd thought it could be, if only they had the right parts and opportunity. "You're just..." Parting just enough to gaze down into her shining eyes, he continued, "Really, that was the best thing you could have done for me...besides showing up."
"Then you don't mind having to deal for the nav array yourself?"
"Not if I actually have a place to put it," he returned, half serious.
"Yes," Owen said, reaching out to pour himself a glass of lemonade as his son finally released his girlfriend to look at him, "well, your contract liaison seems to know a few people on Bolarus."
"If yelling at them counts as knowing," Nadrev added under his breath.
"She spoke with the court officials and it seems that your contract had little contest, son. The license is under reevaluation as your precise business must necessarily change. But should you find yourself an acceptable occupation and use of the Guerdon, I can see no reason for the Jildwan Court to withhold your rights to it. It is in their interest for the ship to remain in service."
Tom stared at him for several seconds as that next surprise registered. Janeway was gone--never had the chance to follow through on her threat. Probably for good taste alone, no one else wanted to take her place in pushing for a full denial of their license. If omission had ever blessed him before, it was nothing compared to that stroke of ironic luck.
"I am certain you will find some acceptable choices on this side of the quadrant," the admiral continued, "if you look hard enough."
Tom snorted. "You just had to get one in, didn't you?" he joked.
Owen's mouth turned up on one side. "I'm not exaggerating, son."
Carol rolled her eyes and laughed. "I give up."
Still in Tom's arm, B'Elanna peered up at him. "Actually, I was waiting for you to be able to help me," she said, "since I'm losing my assistant." Her smile faded slightly as she looked over to her tech. The brawny, dark skinned man returned a look of such sincerity, a little lump betrayed her throat to see it. But taking quick breath, gesturing his way, she finally opened it up to him. "Your turn, Ridge."
Tom turned his attention the tech's way. "What's going on now?"
"Going away is a better way to say it." Ridge gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Captain, but it's really Maryl's fault," he said. "I just fed her fresh oysters. She did all the work."
"Shut up!" Maryl admonished.
Tom looked at them, almost figuring it out, but not quite ready to guess. He waited for Maryl to show him some mercy--or, more accurately, more impatience.
"It seems we won't be able to join you for this next leg, whatever it is," she told him. "Ridge finally had enough of a break from that deathtrap of an engine room to get me pregnant."
Tom's dubious expression melted into a big smile as he moved around B'Elanna to hug his contract liaison. "Maryl, that's great!" Turning, he gave Ridge a firm embrace as well. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks, buddy," Ridge grinned, "We are sorry to leave you like this, right now with everything changing and all. But Maryl's due in only a few months and they need the job she's taking filled right now. We have to get cracking."
"You know I'm not going to mind in the end, considering the reason." Still, Tom sighed to think on the rest of it. "But God, losing you both? What are we going to do without the two people who got me aboard in the first place?"
"Oh, don't worry about that," Maryl dismissed. "I've had a couple of weeks to arrange some interviews. You know I'll find you live bodies whenever that's needed."
Tom chuckled. "Yeah."
"Unfortunately," she went on, "with a ship like the Guerdon in this well-polished neighborhood and not being able to confirm any contract will go through at all or even the nature of our business, I only had a few people show. There'll be a couple of second interviews if B'Elanna lets you alone long enough. Meanwhile, I'll be deserting you to start working with my sister on some reconstruction projects on Bajor. They need a provisions expert."
"You'll have no problem there," Tom assured her, glad to hear that much at least.
"Yes, I think it'll suit me. I mean, this is a nice place, but..." Maryl paused to grin, allowing at last a flash of sentiment to creep onto her features. "Well, maybe it's time for me to start helping my own people get back to this point, now that I know what this point looks like."
Tom's smile broadened, his moment of selfishness melting away. "You'll be great at it, Maryl," he said sincerely. Then he looked at the tech beside her. "What about you, Ridge?"
"Homemaker!" he laughed. "I've been on the go since I was fifteen. About time I settled down and got boring."
B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "You don't get to retire yet," she told him flatly, "not after all the work I did with you. Expect your primers on a monthly basis."
Reaching over, Ridge squeezed her shoulder in his big hand. "Can't wait, Cricket."
"I hope you're not cutting your losses too," Tom said to Savan as he set their work out on the table the next morning and she inspected one of the copies, preparing for their revised crew meeting.
There were no shares to divide, or even a ship to get back to, but there was a good deal of business nonetheless. Not two days out of Auckland, reunited with his girlfriend, family and crew, Tom was glad to get back to it, too--to something resembling the work he knew. He'd been cut one hell of a break by being let out as soon as he had been, and he wasn't about to waste a minute of it...though in a fleeting moment he had been tempted to send the JAG a bunch of roses and a Valentine's card.
All night long, they had talked, plotted and got some more input from his parents. After a long goodbye to Maryl and Ridge, who needed to catch the transport leaving early the next morning, they continued to send out communiqués, make a few inquiries and read over the terms of his parole again. He was permitted to work in prearranged locations eight hours daily outside of his assigned residence during that time, but he had to remain on the North American continent. Tom saw no problem with that.
"Mom can't send me on errands, too," he'd grinned in afterthought.
Still restless and overtired by the time they wandered up to bed, he and B'Elanna had considered if their only real route of "business" would be worth their full attention. The prospects she and Savan had looked into earlier were mainly technical and development assistance to the various projects and societies throughout Federation territory, connections Carol had been helping B'Elanna establish. Neither opportunity seemed like necessarily exciting work, though--even less so than the long, boring legs on the border, but it was an occupation so Tom would take it. Still, his ideas on how to occupy himself without neglecting that concentration had quickly begun to fester.
"I'd like to get into programming again," he mused aloud, a little sleepy at last. His old room, barely lit, had grown cool and a little damp from the weather outside and the bathroom moisture, not yet quite dissipated. After showering, they'd jumped into that fluffy comforter set, shivering at the feel of the soft cloth against their bodies before they pressed together. Everything still had a delicious feel about it; they could hardly get enough. Not that Tom had once tired of the feel of her warm, dry skin against his, or the singular pleasure of running his hand around her lower back and over her rump. He merely had come to appreciate it even more, having been deprived of it.
"You're good at it," she agreed, molded against his side and dreamily watching the moonlit fog roll by outside the window. It never failed to mesmerize her. "I'm good at it, but it's my field. You have an instinctively visual mind; it's part of what made you such a good pilot. It'd be worth developing, seeing what else you could do with it."
He grinned at that. "Yeah, maybe some holo-programming, too."
Sighing a small laugh at his characteristic bent for a little fun, she shrugged at it a moment later. "I don't see anything standing in the way. If I can go after my engineering certifications on the side, I'm sure you can manage another degree or two."
He paused there, looking at a little lump in the comforter he guessed was her foot. "Funny, I ought to be terrified, but I'm anxious to see how it goes."
"I am too."
"Kind of nice, isn't it?"
Her hand moved over his taut midsection then moved teasingly downward. "So is this," she smiled and leaned up to nuzzle a kiss underneath his chin when her hand reached its destination. Her tightening grip and his pulling her on top of him had immediately dropped the topic for the time being.
The next morning before breakfast, he slipped into his father's office and requested the information on courses and programs from a few of the better technical institutes on Earth. No better way to spend parole, he told himself. Scam for a first rate navigation package to adapt to the Guerdon and get another education.
Then he laughed and added, And get our staff back to six...or maybe even seven.
Before those prospective specialists showed up, however, the crew still needed to decide on their formal charter. Whatever they came up with, they would need to run it by the Jildwan after finding someone to make the initial deal with them. B'Elanna and Nadrev had started on that problem as soon as breakfast had been completed, leaving Tom and Savan to set up and wait.
"It was bad enough reneging Maryl and Ridge's contracts," Tom continued, "but if you're planning on doing something else, I'd like it if you let me know now."
The science technician raised a brow his way. "It would be no more productive for me to continue my studies elsewhere," she informed him. "Also, I am interested in this new direction we are considering. It would be an adequate means of continuing our practice and would utilize talents I believe we have not had the opportunity to fully visualize."
Tom nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Even so, I never thought I'd miss the route as much as I do sometimes still."
"You miss the route, I believe, for having little else to replace it at this time."
"You really think we'll get our contract rewritten and turned back, then?" he asked her.
"It is hopeful."
"Then I guess we are," Tom returned. "You haven't been wrong yet."
"You suggest I leave myself the opportunity to be ignorant of the obvious," Savan replied with hardly a glance at his responsive chuckle. Taking her seat at the far end of the table, she folded her hands. "In the interim and thereafter, our proximity to Starfleet Medical has encouraged me to continue my botanical studies through a series of joint fellowships, which I believe will not impede my work upon the Guerdon."
"Like I'd care if it did," he dismissed. "Set it up however you want...when we get the ship back."
The Vulcan blinked and assented with a single nod.
"That'll be soon!" B'Elanna announced as she and Nadrev came out of the kitchen door. Striding across to Tom, she looked over at Savan. "We can contact the Jildwan representative and transmit our proposal for discussion. I think we have our deal."
"They took it?" Tom asked, looking down at the PADD she'd brought with her.
B'Elanna grinned. "You were right. Mingling at your mother's party was worth showing up."
"You arranged Marciano's proposal? Great!" Of all the ideas, working with Marciano was the most appealing. He liked the idea of being affiliated with the Daystrom department director, as anything involving Daystrom meant a steady influx of long-term projects. For that matter, his mother wouldn't have kept the man as a friend for over thirty years without good reason.
"And Professor Kea," B'Elanna confirmed, nodding. "We'll definitely need to finish the upgrades before thinking about that leg--and a complete revision of three hold sections, per their requirements--and we'll have to have the wording and the actual charter for the Jildwan settled before they're able to reissue the application. But I think it can be done." There, she smirked. "Maryl would be so impressed with herself for everything she taught me."
"How far is Deep Space Six?" Nadrev queried. He had not thought to ask before.
Tom snorted. "About as far away from Cardassian territory as we can manage inside the Federation," he answered. "We'll need to bring a few books for that trip." Though lightly put, he was excited about what he saw on the PADD, despite or perhaps because of the added changes to the Guerdon. If all went as planned, even the ship's designation would need to change. "So we'll be running civilian physicists and technicians out to the science stations in that sector."
"And letting them work while they're aboard," B'Elanna finished, "along with shipping their supplies and equipment, maybe do some courier work between the points."
"Don't they have people doing that already?" asked Nadrev.
"Starfleet's busy elsewhere right now," Tom reminded him and gave B'Elanna a look askance. "We are going to need a few more redesigned areas, though. We'll have to take out the whole of deck three forward."
She cut a look his way. "I'm sure you're disappointed."
"Devastated," he returned, already rethinking the entirety of deck three. He'd wanted to tear that place apart since Jerod was killed there. And I know exactly where to put the holodeck, he added to himself with a wistful grin. He'd have loved that.
"That in mind..." B'Elanna looked at her remaining technician. "I'm sorry to have to do this to you, Nadrev, but you'll need to move up a notch and become my primary assistant. You deserve it--and then again, you don't."
Nadrev chuckled. "I'm happy to be grateful and insulted," he accepted.
"I don't know if I'll find someone else I like around here, though," she sighed then cut her eyes at Tom. "Maybe you'll do for now."
"Hell no," he returned. "I'll be busy flying the ship."
"They call it autopilot for a reason, Tom," she deadpanned.
"I'm sorry, but that's just not in my contract," he rejoined. Looking at Savan, he asked, "Did you send the request?"
"We should have our reply soon," the Vulcan answered.
"So we stick to the..." He glanced through the schedule Maryl had meticulously written out for him. She always had been convinced he was unable to manage a day on his own. "So we're interviewing for the new contract liaison first?"
"If I may suggest," Savan said, "operations manager might be a more fitting title in our new charter. It also opens the position to more technical responsibility, coordinating the various departments, passengers and projects, should this deal be finalized."
Tom nodded and tapped the information in. "Has a nice ring to it. You'll work that into the license?"
"I shall."
Tom poked at the PADD again and raised his brows. "Well, whatever it'll be called, they're late. Can we write that into the description, too?"
"What, Paris?" called a voice behind him. "Prison's made you a dog for the bell?"
B'Elanna and Nadrev laughed when Tom's eyes closed and another smile crossed his lips. "Maryl did have to dig deep," B'Elanna told him.
"You people are just too much," Tom said and turned around to see Dejin Hirro leaning against the fence beside the gate, arms crossed and grinning from ear to ear.
"Let's get this straight," the Betazoid stated. "I won't be chained to your little temple of love forever, but I need to bide my license prohibition without killing some people for stealing my ship. So I'll get you restarted and reorganized, wait around a few years then help you find a new sucker for so-called adventure--that is, if you don't mind a crusty old hag telling you what to do."
"And I thought I'd never be able to replace Maryl," Tom quipped and gestured to a seat nearby. "Welcome aboard."
Dejin immediately gave up the fence, moving around the table to take the seat on the other side of Tom. "So what's first?"
"This," Savan said, rising. "B'Elanna, we may speak with the Jildwan representative now."
Tom waved them off. "Dad said to use his office. Let me know when you need me. I'll catch Dejin up."
"It'll probably be about a half hour," B'Elanna said.
"Whatever it takes. Do you need me to contact Marciano at any point?"
"As soon as we're done with Bolarus. --Right, Savan? You two can start her contract." "Sounds great." Tom turned his attention back to Dejin. "You know I'll be tough on you, right?"
"It'll make you more fun to break," Dejin replied gamely, leaning back to consider the drink choices on the next table. "So what's this B'Elanna's got up her sleeve with upgrades? That sounds like fun."
"More than you know." Tom gazed across at the engineer in question as she and his science tech went inside. "You know, I had no clue how it was to really love someone until I loved her," he said softly. "And she's proving why I fell so hard for her all over again. I still can't believe everything she's done about the list. When you see it, you'll understand what I'm talking about. Then again, she knew what it meant to me to see it actually happen...what it could mean to all of us, I guess."
Dejin nodded, eyeing him wisely. "I guess you're already broken in, then."
He grinned. "Damn right I am."
"Just as it should be," she said approvingly, "and about time, Tom." She patted his arm. "Well about time."
Four months to takeoff.
Tom poked at his arm panel until it creaked up. He cast a sidelong look at the old monitor as it slowly powered on.
It was convenient for all involved in the deal, really, to start the Guerdon's new charter off with some cushion for preparation. Crunching a good deal of numbers--and a few heads while she was at it--B'Elanna managed to rework the priority list and, with Tom's input and Savan's careful eye, get deck three's rebuild underway first. After she had completed arranging the layout and new systems with their contractors and shifted focus to supervising the grunt work, Tom took over handling the arrangements with Marciano and Kea.
That part of it was even more gratifying than he thought it would be. Now that the excitement--and anxiety--of freedom was settling down and his crew had been revised, he felt like he was in control of his destiny again for the first time in over one and a half years--if not several more. For months after his agreement with Chakotay, Tom had been nagged by his trepidation, correctly believing that he'd be tagged for his involvement eventually. But having come clean and served his time, and now that he was waiting out his parole, working on that dream with B'Elanna and submerging himself in his new education, among the many other personal milestones he'd faced of late, Tom faced that next step in his life with a strange feeling of disassociation at first. He quickly and gladly adjusted to his new reality, however.
Once he and Marciano had gotten on track and the final contract had been signed off on, workers had begun to come like army ants to the Guerdon. With B'Elanna and Nadrev's direction and their occasional help, they'd torn down bulkheads, rerouted endless system bundles and relocated the many massive hold casing blocks. Deck three had once housed their best holds; they would now be housed on deck four. Two new lifts had been installed so the personnel in transit could traverse the decks more efficiently. Tom had dismantled and recycled the old one with a whistle and a smile. For her part, B'Elanna had taken her best laser ratchet to the Guerdon's main computer with great pleasure, wishing Ridge were there with her to personally rip it out.
Hearing her comment on that, Tom had sent him and Maryl images of B'Elanna shoving a section of the old ODN off the deck four ramp on an anti-grav. "Look what you've reduced us to," Tom had joked in a caption, "removing systems with technology. Shame on you."
Awaiting the new ODN unit, B'Elanna, Nadrev, Dejin and their new assistant tech, Compton, had then started in on tearing the engine room apart, front to back. Between meetings and his own installation work, Tom had resumed his old habit of coming to the deck one overhang to check on them. Unlike in the past, however, he'd smiled down at them. Theirs was the best noise he'd heard aboard the Guerdon in a long while, that organized chaos his engineer was conducting. He always looked forward to joining them in it.
Just then, however, the ship was silent. All systems but general lighting and the temporary ODN were inactive at that time.
Tom was settled in his seat, tapping through his antiquated monitor to upload some navigational stats onto a datachip they'd be taking to a better computer. The GNS unit he'd secured would definitely not have ever worked on the Guerdon before, but with the expansive upgrades, he was able to look for exactly what he wanted. It was without question the best parts hunt he'd ever been on. Because of his choice, they had to make a few adjustments to the nacelle design and forward frame, so he and B'Elanna had the added fun of haggling over those changes together.
Sitting on the support bracket beside the seat, his elbow resting on her thigh, B'Elanna looked on. His hand drifted aimlessly over her knee as the numbers slowly fell into their destination; then he leaned back. "It's going to take a few minutes, with that ODN," he said.
"Everything's rerouted through the safety lines, too."
"We have the time," he shrugged, relaxing in the old cushions. It felt good to be back in the one comfortable piece of furniture original to the ship.
"I'd like to get some food soon, though," she admitted. "I could eat those iso-bundles over there."
He glanced up at her. "Didn't you have lunch?"
She pursed her lips. "I might have forgotten what time it was again."
Tom grinned. "But you're always so punctual."
"Ridge isn't here to remind me anymore."
"Yeah, let's keep blaming him," he nodded. "It works so much better that way."
She poked him in the shoulder and leaned back against the cross brace. The data transfer chugged on, but didn't offer any noise. Instead, a faint creak or beep from time to time echoed in the space, then a panel reset chirped behind them--sounds they never heard when general systems were operating. It was odd to B'Elanna, who thought she knew every peep of that ship by then. Then again, she did now.
"You know," he said quietly, breaking the void, "every time I sit here and it's really quiet like this, I remember that fight we had at Andal." He laughed quietly. "You really took a few chunks out of me that night."
B'Elanna colored. "I try not to remember that."
"I like to," he admitted. "It reminds me how glad I am things changed."
"You have a funny way of appreciating what you have," she joked, sliding down into Tom's seat when he eased her closer.
"Keeps things interesting."
"As if nothing else does."
He laughed again. "Point taken." B'Elanna leaned into his arm to watch the remaining numbers go by, cluster by cluster. And her mind did go back to that fight on the bridge when they were on Andal, exhausted and angry and set to detonate. But then she recalled the look in his eyes when he caught her in his arms the day the Maquis boarded the ship, and then the time Tom and Jerod tossed rhymes back and forth until Savan looked as though she would implode. Then B'Elanna could see her first time on that bridge, en route to Podala, so consumed with proving herself in the face of her remaining frustrations and insecurities...
"Come on in, B'Elanna. --All the way in. Don't make me make it official."
"You'd think she'd wilt if she gets too far away from the warp core."
B'Elanna leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes continuing to follow the scrolls. "I'm glad things changed, too."
He gave her a squeeze. "I know."
Finally, it completed. The moment it beeped, Tom plucked the data chip from the socket and pressed the monitor into its base. Sliding the chip into his pocket, he turned to press a soft kiss upon her lips and then rose, helping her to her feet as he straightened.
"For that matter," she continued as they moved around the station, "with everything we've started here, once all the upgrades are done and the runs become regular again, I'm sure we'll still have something to do."
"With our luck, the work will come to us," Tom noted.
B'Elanna grinned. "The Guerdon's always made sure we stayed so lucky."
"In every way possible," he agreed. Slipping his fingers around hers, he started them up the stairs and to the exit.
As they passed into the corridor, he gave the bulkhead an affectionate pat.
Ten years later, the ship was still steaming and its panels, now makeshift, were blinking inordinately when she fell into her favorite seat. Both the furniture and its occupant were shredded with age and care, but that was no secret, so she wasn't ashamed. The fact that both still existed after so much abuse was blessing enough. That the ship wasn't in a thousand pieces was quite simply a miracle.
She tried not to close her eyes; if she did, she knew they'd still be trying to wake her up a week later. She couldn't remember the last time she slept more than a few hours.
Instead, she raised her filthy arm to her head, willing herself to cool down. It had to be forty degrees on that deck, heat easily earned after the coolant assembly chose to malfunction in mid-trip. Her mind drifted back to those brisk mornings in San Francisco, and that green lawn, crisply dressed people and clear blue sky...soon to be hers again at last. It only mildly distracted her from the heat and stench for a moment, until another panel started to whine again.
Opening one eye, she peered over at it. It had already burnt itself out, however. It hadn't taken out anything along with it, though, so she didn't bother checking it.
I'll get a sonic shower soon, she sighed to herself. Now that all her big hopes had been paid off at last, the simple ones had room to breathe again.
She could breathe again, too.
Finally, it was over.
Not that she expected an actual break, but she resolved not to complain when she heard the footsteps at the entrance of the room. Among a great many other conveniences, most of the automatic doors had been disabled a couple years ago in a last ditch effort to squeeze every joule of power back into their systems. "Yes?"
"Sorry to disturb you, but you might want to see this."
"They're here?"
"We're here," he replied, the smile returning to his voice, "and they're meeting us."
"On my way." Pushing herself to stand, she followed him slowly onto the bridge, where on the viewscreen, a slick Excelsior-class starship sat before them. Moving to the center seat, she lowered herself into it. Grateful and relieved as she was when they'd finally had to stop, she was too exhausted to pretend she wasn't. "Open a channel," she said to the Vulcan behind her.
A moment later, a slim, oval-eyed officer in crisp gray, black and red appeared before her, smiling proudly as he met the eyes of each person there. Indeed, he knew all the faces--at least from afar and a decade in the past at that point, right down to the former issue uniforms they still wore. Those same faces were haggard and dirty, still full of the fight they had waged on so many fronts to get themselves on the track to get home. It made that moment even more rewarding, though. The odds had finally been turned in their favor.
"Good afternoon, Captain Janeway," he said with a respectful nod. "I am Admiral Dokaru."
"It's good to meet you at last, Admiral Dokaru," Janeway said warmly, her gratitude resurrected upon registering his polite address, having waited so long to hear one like it in person.
"I'll bet it is." Leaning a bit forward for emphasis, he said, "A quarter of the fleet is closing in on our coordinates, but they will not arrive for another day. I suspect you might like, for how far you've come already, to bridge the distance to Earth yourself. May we be of any assistance in your repairs so that you may do so?"
That time, the captain's heart re-warmed enough that she had to breathe against the flush that followed. "I would like that very much, thank you, Admiral."
Dokaru gave his first officer a nod. The officer immediately tapped into his console and nodded back. "You'll receive a request to access your aft docking latch in a moment. We're seeing power fluctuations on that deck. Is the dock functioning?"
"Kim?" She looked over at her ops officer for a confirmation. The man gave her a quick nod. "One of the few things that are right now," Janeway replied lightly.
"Captain," Chakotay breathed from the engineering station. Scowling, then blinking, he glanced up to find Admiral Dokaru's grin aimed at him.
Dokaru returned his full attention to Janeway. "There were many groups working on the Pathfinder Project, Captain Janeway, one of which was quite anxious to be in the area when you planned to engage the last leg--one of our independent development vessels." With another nod, he added, "They helped to adapt the tunnel and anticipated most of your immediate repairs. Please let me know if you need anything else."
Janeway looked at Chakotay and the admiral in turns. "Thank you Admiral," she said and looked at her first officer with some impatience. "What is it, Chakotay?"
"This." He cut the transmission and zoomed in on the approaching ship. But even he started back at his first glance. It certainly wasn't what he expected, having seen the signage.
It was a boxy, freighter-type ship, no more than four decks deep, and it might have been ugly had its nacelles not been rebuilt to stretch generously out on gracefully-designed pylon arms, or its gray hull not been replaced with a slick, silver-blue duranium shell. Also gone was the stubby stem the former Maquis knew all too well. A sleek nose, lined with impressive sensor equipment and a compact forward deflector, now graced it from bridge to keel. As it gracefully banked and set itself up for docking, showing its smoothly angled starboard and running board loading dock, Chakotay's lips fell open. Indeed, the battered old Bolian freighter had quite likely been rebuilt from the screws.
"We are being hailed," said Tuvok from his station.
Chakotay got to his feet and moved beside Janeway as she found herself on hers.
The viewscreen had come on, revealing a civilian couple, one apparently Human and one part Klingon. Not yet forty, dressed neatly but also for work and standing in the middle of the well-appointed bridge, they stared back at the weary Starfleet crew much as Dokaru had. They too had been working the numbers for over six years to get the Voyager home, it seemed. They too were seeing a dream come true as much as Janeway was feeling it--and also a stab of deja-vu as the faces filed through her memory. Then one of their voices found her ears...
"Captain Janeway, it's good to see you again."
Her brow drew down. "It can't be..."
"Tom Paris," nodded the man, his eyes crinkled with his grin. He rubbed the back of the well-rounded lady beside him, who released a satisfied breath as she took in the sight. "You might remember my wife, B'Elanna Torres?"
"Welcome home, Captain Janeway," said Torres, "and you too, Chakotay."
"Good to see you've been making some progress," the ex-Maquis returned.
She patted her belly with a laugh. "And some! But they're with their grandparents this week. We're here on a special run."
"We knew that tunnel would give you a rough ride," Paris added, "so we brought some provisions to get you going again. We're still the craggy old freighter on one deck at least."
"We're glad for that today," Chakotay grinned.
"Well then," the other captain smoothly returned, "let's get started." As Torres turned to direct her waiting assistants, Paris headed back to his seat, tapped open his console and glanced at Tuvok. His lips turning up as he transmitted the formalities, he looked at the other captain again. "DSS Guerdon requesting the honor of docking clearance."
At last, Janeway felt her smile press into her sore cheeks. "Granted with pleasure, Captain Paris."
"See you in a few minutes, then," he nodded, steering his ship into position with a brush of his fingers. "Guerdon out."
Thus far have I proceeded in a theme,
Renewed with no kind auspices: --to feel
We are not what we have been, and to deem
We are not what we should be, and to steel
The heart against itself; and to conceal,
With a proud caution, love or hate, or aught, -
Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal, -
Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought,
Is a stern task of soul: --
No matter,--it is taught.And for these words, thus woven into song,
It may be that they are a harmless wile, -
The colouring of the scenes which fleet along,
Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile
My breast, or that of others, for a while.
Fame is the thirst of youth,--but I am not
So young as to regard men's frown or smile
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot;
I stood and stand alone,--remembered or forgot.~~Byron
(fin)
(c) D'Alaire M, 2007