Crewman Marla Gilmore had often considered herself over-visited by Dame Fortune. Between being flung into the Delta Quadrant, surviving the worst that the Quadrant could throw at Equinox, discovering the new "fuel" to propel the ship, avoiding hundreds of alien attacks, running into Voyager, escaping the clutches of Voyager security, being rescued from certain death and then ending up on the wrong end of a serious butt-chewing and demotion by Janeway, she'd had quite enough ups and downs to last her a lifetime.
Finally, she'd found -- or rather, been placed in -- a job which was as free of excitement as Professor Maxwell's thermodynamics classes at the Academy. The position of Security armorer had seemed manna from Heaven when Tuvok appointed her. All she had to do was strip, check and reassemble weapons on a rigid rota. But it had eventually started to pall. Every compression phaser rifle was operating at peak efficiency, and had been for the past four months. She had asked Tuvok about the possibility of an increase in responsibility, but he had assumed that damned Vulcan poker face and told her that for crew in "her position", the Captain was the only one who could approve such a change. Left unsaid, but still coming across clear as a bell, was the message that such a change would be due when Tuvok's grandchildren had their first snowball fight.
Marla had been quartered with Tal Celes, much to the Bajoran's initial disgust. Loyal as a terrier to Voyager, Celes had hated the idea of sharing her quarters with someone who'd betrayed the ship and crew. Marla hadn't liked her much either, disdainful of Celes's obvious inability to cope with the technical demands of her work. For all her moral faults, Marla had a superb grasp of numerical mathematics and could have done Celes's job standing on her head. Still, Celes's natural warm forgiving disposition had eventually melted the ice between them, and the two were now inseparable.
The previous evening, over a tub of chocolate ice cream, Marla had bitched hard about Vulcans in general and Tuvok's maddening impassivity in particular. Celes had been sympathetic.
"He's not easy to talk to," she had agreed as Marla had chiselled away at her ice cream. "I remember the time Jenny Delaney tried to get him to help with a surprise 30th birthday for Alex Ayala. She said afterwards that she'd rather have told the Captain that her new haircut sucked; it would have been less painful."
"Yeah, but at least it wasn't personal." Marla stabbed hard at a particularly resilient chocolate chip. "He hates me, I can feel it."
"Vulcans don't hate," protested Celes mildly. "It's illogical."
"Oh please," Marla snorted. "Save it for someone who doesn't work with him. He'd flush me out the nearest airlock if he thought he could get away with it. Actually, now that Janeway's out of the loop, maybe he could."
"Chakotay would never let him," said Celes, in an attempt to be reassuring. "Chakotay saved Noah's life, remember?"
"From Janeway, yes. That's supposed to make me feel better?" Marla's face was dark and unhappy as she finished her ice cream. "It's not like I'm asking for much - is it? Can't they just let me do what I'm good at? All I want is to help get us home!"
Celes hugged her. "Tuvok isn't the only person on this ship. I know you're OK -- does that count for something?" She smiled. "And I bet Alex does too."
Despite herself, Marla laughed and wiped away a tear. "Yeah, poor guy. He really does go for things that are bad for him."
"Tell you what," Celes said. "We'll go find Neelix tomorrow and talk to him."
"Neelix?" Marla was confused. "Do you have any idea how bad my cooking is? Do you really think he'd let me work in the mess?"
"Yes, I remember that banana ratatouille," Celes admitted. "But it's not to get you into the kitchen. If you want to get to talk with the Captain, Neelix can probably fix it."
"Oh no. No. No no no no no." Marla would have backed away through the wall if she could. "Talk with Janeway? Are you nuts? She'd pull my heart out through my ribs and eat it."
"You want things to change? Go to someone who can change them," shrugged Celes.
Today Marla had sought some variety by experimenting with a new power pack electrolyte. B'Elanna had come up with the idea while languishing in Sickbay and was keen for someone to try it out. It was a messy job getting spare packs filled with the compound, but it did mean that she could play on the Security live shooting range for most of the day. As luck would have it (luck had nothing to do with it, in fact) Alex Ayala was doing his monthly requalification at the same time. To Marla's careful eye, his score seemed to be way lower than normal. Perhaps it would have been better had he managed to keep his eyes on the targets more often.
The Red Alert siren startled both of them, but may have saved Ayala from the indignity of having to retake his qualification and explain his first-around score to Tuvok. He sprinted out of the door to his duty station. Marla, in her turn, secured the open power packs before heading to the armoury.
The alert was cancelled just as she arrived. She checked that no rifles had been issued in her absence, locked up the weapon racks which had unlocked automatically when the alert went off, and was on the point of returning to the range when Ayala put his head round the door.
"Marla? Celes was hurt. They took her to Sickbay; it didn't sound good."
Marla dithered. "I can't go. Tuvok would kill me."
"I'll cover for you. Go on." Ayala took her PADD.
"You're sweet. Thank you." Marla ran for Sickbay as if a warp alien were snapping at her heels. Ayala watched her go and sighed.
Kathryn had just managed to sink back into the lace-frilled petticoat of her novel when Sickbay's door hissed open again to admit a fast-moving crewman. This time their shirt was Security yellow rather than Command red, but it wasn't until they bounced off the sterile field barrier and landed on their backside with a yelp that she could see who it was.
Marla picked herself off the floor, pride slightly dented, and waited for the Doctor to notice her. He was busy running a diagnostic on the critical care bed sensors, so while she waited for him she strained to see how Celes was. Most of Celes's visible skin was covered in green burn gel, and Marla noticed the tattered remnants of a blackened size 12 Astrometrics uniform balled up in a corner.
Finally the Doctor turned to her. "Crewman Gilmore? What can I do for you?"
"How is she? Will she be okay?" Marla strained to keep her voice level, but heard it wobble.
Several years ago the Doctor would have responded with a survival-to-discharge statistic, but careful guidance from Kes about bedside manners had mellowed him considerably. He came through the field barrier and guided Marla to a chair.
"Crewman Tal was burned quite badly, but we treated her in time. She will recover, although she won't be back on duty for some time if Seven accepts my recommendations." He added a touch of humour, something he'd been working on recently. "And believe me, Seven had better accept them if she know what's good for her."
"Can I talk to her? Please?" Marla had never been good at turning on a whipped puppy look on demand, but today it came from her heart.
"She's sedated now, but I'm sure that it would do her good to have a friend here when she comes around. Why don't you come back at the end of next shift? I regret to say that Mr. Paris will be here then, but I'm sure that you're up to handling him." The Doctor glanced at Celes. "Now I must get back to work."
"Of course. Thank you, Doctor -- you're okay, you know?"
The Doctor smiled, and returned to the critical care bed.
Kathryn watched Marla leave Sickbay, and a thoughtful expression passed across her face before she returned to her PADD.
Tuvok was never relaxed when sitting in the bridge command chair, but there were times when he was more serene than normal. This was one of those times. Mid-Alpha shift with Voyager in a large stellar void, there was little prospect of short-notice threats to ship safety; as a result, he felt it an appropriate time to run bridge crew drills.
His fingers tapped on the command console, calling up a pre-entered sensor program. "Attention bridge crew, this is a drill. This is a drill." He had noted the reactions of the crew to other drills during the week, and saw little change when they heard this announcement. "We have hit a subspace rupture. Mr. Paris, your left engine is inoperable and your right engine is at sixty percent power. Mr. Ayala, your console has shorted out and you have no access to Tactical. Mr. Kim, sensors show an unknown vessel at eighty thousand kilometres off the port bow. Report."
Tom Paris groaned audibly.
"Mr. Paris?" Only Tuvok could produce that level of reproof in such a short question.
"Aye sir, we are at impulse and I am attempting to restart engines." Tom made the appropriate adjustments but his heart wasn't in it.
Harry Kim checked out the supplied sensor readings. They held no particular surprise. "Unknown vessel is at impulse, shields are up, it is manoeuvring for position. Looks like we're in for yet another sneak attack."
"Thank you for that diagnosis, Mr. Kim. Red alert. Shields up. Mr. Ayala?"
Ayala shrugged. "I can't do anything with Tactical, sir. I recommend we vent plasma, duck under the subspace rupture and jettison three armed torpedoes manually."
The comm system chirped. "Chakotay to Tuvok."
"Yes, Commander?"
"Please meet me in the ready room in five minutes."
Tuvok paused, an unusual action for him. "Very well, Commander. Tuvok out." He tapped at the console in a way that would have indicated irritation in a less self-controlled individual. "Cancel drill. The drill is cancelled."
"Aye sir." "Aye sir." The bridge crew acknowledged the return to normality and resumed their regular posts. Some glances were exchanged, although nothing was said.
Tal Celes was very fond of sleep. Marla used to joke that Celes would be happiest with a work-1, sleep-4 shift pattern and that if all Bajorans were like her then Bajor wouldn't even be able to defend itself against an invasion of teddy bears.
Usually Celes woke with a clear head and bright eyes, but this morning was different. Waking was like swimming up through layers of cotton, and she had a momentary panic that she couldn't breathe. She groaned, and flailed her arms weakly. Two firm hands caught her wrists.
"Celes, calm down. It's okay." She recognised the voice of Tom Paris. What was he doing in her room? Had Marla scored and not told her? With Tom Paris? Was Marla totally insane?
With difficulty she unglued her eyes and pried them open. Tom's face above her was blurred, but the ceiling above his face was definitely not her ceiling.
"Tom?" Her voice was cracked. What had happened? Had she somehow had too much alcohol?
Tom carefully returned her arms to her sides. "You're in Sickbay, Celes. The Doc has been looking after you for the past day. Can you remember what happened?"
Celes felt her heart speed up. Sickbay? What had she done? She tried to sit up but failed; her body didn't want to move. Frantically she searched her mind for recent memories. Ice cream with Marla; a good breakfast gossip with Terry Jenkins; being co-opted onto the Deck 15 work crew by B'Elanna; but nothing about an injury. She started to panic.
"Woah, steady on." She felt Tom shoot a calming hypospray into her. "No need to worry yourself to death." He sat down by her bed. "You were burned by the fluid leak when it vented through the high-voltage lines, but we've got the worst of it sorted out. You'll be okay."
Celes touched her face, felt an odd texture and saw her fingers come away with gel on them. "How do I look?" Only the hypospray kept the tremble out of her voice.
Tom shrugged. "I've seen B'Elanna look worse than you do after she's worked a double shift." It was a lie, but not an important one. "Marla's coming to see you when she gets off shift. For now, can you lie back and take it easy?"
Celes nodded, lacking the energy to do much else. "Okay."
"Call me if you need me." Tom went off to the Doctor's office, softly humming a song.
"Celes?"
Celes's heart had been having a stop-start-race day, and the unmistakable Indiana accent of the person saying her name kicked it back into a race.
"Captain?" She turned her head to the side to see Captain Janeway sitting up in the adjacent bed, PADD in hand and coffee mug to hand. Suddenly she wished that the fluid leak had finished the job properly.
Captain Janeway smiled, warmly enough to calm her fears - a little. "Call me Kathryn, Celes. We're both going to be off duty for a good while, there's no need to be formal. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, Captain -- Kathryn -- honest. It's all a bit confusing though. Do I look all right? My face feels real icky."
Kathryn had a good view of the charcoal scars covering half of Celes's head. Tom and the Doctor had shaved off most the hair that had survived the initial scalding.
"You don't look too bad, Celes." Kathryn successfully quietened the contortions of her stomach. "And believe me, the Doctor can do wonders - it feels like he's replaced about half of my face." She ran her hand across her cheek, feeling the too-smooth texture of newly regenerated skin. "Mr. Telfer won't be able to tell the old from the new."
Celes snorted. "He's a man, he wouldn't notice if I'd turned into a Bolian until we were tasting tonsils." Then she remembered who she was talking to and went bright red. "Oh my... I'm so sorry Captain..."
Kathryn waved her hand. "Believe me, Celes, I've heard far worse. You ought to hear B'Elanna when she gets going about Tom..."
Chakotay was not comfortable in the Captain's ready room chair. This was probably because it had been carefully tuned and settled for six years by her graceful curves, and reacted badly to the intrusion of a poorly-shaped Commander. Still, sitting in it conferred a certain amount of authority as long as he didn't slip off it and land on his ass.
Tuvok came in with his usual serene bearing, a posture which irritated Chakotay more and more as the days went by. "You wished to see me, Commander?"
Chakotay thought that he heard a very slight edge to the word Commander, carrying a multitude of undertones. Few of them sounded positive. His desire to get this meeting over and done with suddenly increased.
"Have a seat, Tuvok." The Vulcan took his time perching on the visitor's chair, careful to maintain poise. He reminded Chakotay of a particularly fastidious cat.
He pressed on. "I've been hearing things about Alpha shift, and I'm concerned. Have you noticed any problems?"
Tuvok's eyebrows twitched slightly; for him, the equivalent of turning white and sweating buckets. "I consider Alpha shift to be operating at normal efficiency, Commander. There has been no cause for me to consider that a problem exists."
"Well, cause or not, you've got a problem." Chakotay paused for effect. "I'm seriously concerned about morale in Alpha shift. Voyager may be running at a low tempo right now, but that doesn't mean we can afford to let this happen."
"May I ask what your reasons are for thinking this?"
"I don't think this is going on, Tuvok, I know it is." Chakotay was already starting to develop a low-grade headache, symptomatic of driving a nail into the bulkhead with his forehead. "The shift crew are getting unhappy. They need more than orders, Tuvok. They need inspiration, need leadership. And they're not getting it."
"I should point out, Commander, that I have passed the Starfleet Command exams. I am familiar with the requirements of command. The Captain considers me competent to command a shift. Do you consider her judgement to be at fault?"
This wasn't going the way Chakotay wanted. Unfortunately, it was the way he'd expected it to go. "I'm asking you to take this information seriously, Tuvok. Please address it as you see fit, but don't ignore it."
"I will do that, certainly Commander. Will that be all?"
Chakotay sat back. "Yes, that's all."
Tuvok left the ready room without a word. Chakotay rubbed his eyes hard. He sat for a minute in thought, then hit his comm badge.
"Chakotay to the Captain."
"Well hello there, Commander." The voice was cheerful, and instantly the ready room seemed lighter and airier to Chakotay. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you busy?" Instantly he felt like an ass for asking, but it was worth it to hear the laugh in her voice.
"I'm sure I can make time in my packed social schedule for you, Chakotay. Come on over."
"Chakotay out." He stood and stretched, looking around the ready room. It still didn't feel as if he should be in here. Carefully he tidied up the PADDs on the desk, retrieved his jacket and walked out of the door.
The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather a lack of will.
Vince Lombardi