A Star Trek: Voyager Short Story
By Adrian Hilton
Marla came straight to Sickbay at the end of her shift. The hours had dragged in a way that she would not have thought possible. Tuvok had left her a list of mind-meltingly tedious checks to do; on a normal shift these would have bored her senseless, but with the thoughts flying around in her head it was like death by a thousand cuts. When the shift end chime went, she was out of the armoury like a jackrabbit with a burning bobtail.
Sickbay's door hissed open and she entered to find Celes sitting up in bed and chatting amiably with -- oh, spirits -- Captain Janeway. Marla stopped dead as her brain shut down in shock.
"Hey Marla," Celes greeted her. "How's it going?"
"Hi Celes -- Captain." Marla's mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she searched for more words that wouldn't land her in it.
To her surprise, the Captain came to her rescue. "Hello, Marla. I hope you don't mind if I leave you two to catch up -- B'Elanna's just sent me a stack of engineering reports to read by tomorrow's shift." She held up a bundle of PADDs as evidence.
"No, ah, fine, thank you Captain..." Marla was still a little frazzled, but Celes gave her a mock glare and pointed at the bedside chair. Sinking gratefully into it, Marla got her first good look at Celes's injuries.
She wasn't very good at controlling her expression. Celes saw revulsion cross Marla's face, and her heart sank. She turned away from her friend.
"It's horrible, isn't it?" she whispered fearfully.
Marla rallied. "No, no, it's just... different?" Her voice faltered. She knew that she was not going to be able to carry this off. Celes's face looked like she'd plunged it into the glowing coals of a fire, and Marla had always felt sick at the sight of burns.
"It's OK," sniffed Celes. "It's not your fault. It's me -- all my fault."
"What sort of crap is that?" Marla pulled her friend back to face her. "It's not your fault that this happened. I mean, we both know you're not the Prophets' gift to engineering, but even you don't go around sticking your face in high-temperature fluid vents!"
"But that's what I did," Celes insisted tearfully. "Tom told me. Oh, he didn't come right out and say it, but I can read between the lines. I was trying to take a measurement right by the weak spot in the pipes... and they ruptured..."
Marla was lost for words. Celes continued.
"Anyone with half a brain would have known that it was a stupid place to stand. But I didn't -- and look what I've done..." She started to sob.
Marla shot a look over to the Captain. She met it calmly, and in the second that their eyes locked Marla understood very clearly that she was going to have to do this on her own. Silently, but fluently and at length, she cursed Janeway.
"Oh honey..." She took the young woman in her arms. There was nothing more to say, so she held Celes while she keened.
Chakotay was startled to see Kathryn as he rounded the corner towards Sickbay. She was limping painfully but determinedly, supporting herself on the wall and muttering something that sounded Klingon and obscene. Everything Klingon sounded obscene to Chakotay -- it was probably an occupational hazard of working around B'Elanna.
"Kathryn? What are you doing? Is this some kind of an escape attempt?"
Kathryn looked up in relief. "Chakotay! Thank goodness. Give me a hand here, will you?" She teetered on unsteady legs.
Chakotay decided that questions could wait. He scooped her up in his arms, thanking the Great Spirit that she'd lost weight while confined to Sickbay.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Somewhere quiet. With coffee. And without Holo-Emitters." Kathryn shrugged up at him. "I was only asking for a bit of support on my bad side, but this is okay too." She peered at his chin. "Did you forget to shave today, or is that just dirt?"
"If I asked whether the Doctor had authorised this little trip," Chakotay mused, "I suspect that the answer would make me party to a clear violation of Starfleet discipline."
"Probably," agreed Kathryn. "You might even be looking at a court martial."
"Not another one," Chakotay said cheerfully. "Still, you'd be going down with me. I could sit in the cell next door to you and listen to you go through coffee withdrawal."
"I'm almost sure that there's a clause about cruel and unusual punishment being banned," Kathryn said. She smiled as they passed Joe Carey. "Hello, Joe."
"We're testing the backup site-to-site transport system," Chakotay explained to the baffled lieutenant. "It seems to work quite well so far."
"A bit slow, though," Kathryn called over Chakotay's shoulder. "Next time I'm going to make him jog."
They picked their route through the ship carefully, avoiding most of the crew. Those who did pass them tended to stare momentarily, then lock their gaze straight ahead and make as if they had seen nothing.
"Just how did you manage to make everyone so scared of you in such a short time?" Kathryn asked as they reached the command quarters. "I'm very impressed."
Chakotay raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't possibly think that the fear could be partially induced by the unholy terror that I'm carrying?" He elbowed his door panel. "Better my quarters than yours -- the first place that the Doctor will look for you after locking you out of the replicators is where you keep the emergency coffee grounds."
"You know about the case under the ottoman?" Kathryn was clearly surprised, and Chakotay thought he detected a note of respect in her voice too. He carefully placed her on his sofa.
"I do now." With the door locked, he ordered a large mug of coffee from the replicator and passed Kathryn a throw to cover herself up, taking a last appreciative look at her shapely calves.
Kathryn sucked gratefully at the brew and looked carefully at him. "Chakotay, you may as well have a large flashing sign saying 'PLEASE HELP ME' mounted on your head. What's wrong?"
He didn't bother denying anything. "Tuvok."
"Ah." She took another hit. "You or the crew?"
"Both. Morale's down the pan on his shift, and we're not having much of a meeting of minds."
She stared at him over the mug for a few seconds. "You two have never exactly been friends, but you've managed to get on when it matters. Why not now? What's changed?"
He sank into the armchair. "Isn't it obvious? I'm in command. He doesn't like it. He's second in command. The crew don't like that."
Kathryn didn't dispute the point. "He won't undermine you, Chakotay. Tuvok can be a little -" her expression turned wry "- difficult to handle at first, but we managed to come to an understanding, eventually. He respects the command hierarchy."
"He respects you," Chakotay countered. "I'm a Maquis, remember? He spent months watching me command my ship while making plans to hand me over to Starfleet. Now I'm commanding a Federation starship, and he doesn't like it."
Kathryn let that go for the moment. "Tell me about the crew."
Tom came out of the Doctor's office to see Marla and Celes talking quietly but intensely. Celes looked a mess; the tears had streaked burn gel down her gown -- but what grabbed Tom's attention was the empty bed where the Captain had been.
"Did anyone see where the Captain went?" It was a fairly dumb question.
Marla looked up in surprise and saw the empty bed. "No, but I guess she went out unless she's hiding under a bench somewhere."
Tom cursed quietly. "Computer, where's Captain Janeway?"
"Captain Janeway is in Sickbay," the computer answered helpfully. Tom spotted the comm badge on the bedside table and cursed again.
"The Doc's going to kill me." He tapped his badge again. "Paris to Torres."
B'Elanna's voice came over the comm system. "What?" She was clearly quite pissed.
"Do you have the Doc on line yet?"
"No, and the next person to ask me that will be in dire need of him when he does come back..."
"No, no, that's fine. In fact, don't rush the repairs. Please?"
B'Elanna sounded suspicious. "What are you up to, Paris?"
"Nothing, Be, I swear. Listen, the Captain has gone AWOL from Sickbay. If you see her..." His voice trailed off as he contemplated the options before him, few of them pleasant. "Well, just ask her nicely to head on back here."
"Okay." The fire had gone out of B'Elanna's voice. "I'll keep my eyes open. Have you told Chakotay?"
"Not yet." Tom mentally added another name to the list of people liable to want him dead. It was starting to resemble the Voyager crew manifest. "And if you can get the Captain back here before I have to tell him, you'll have my undying gratitude."
"Really?" Now there was an audible smirk. "Now that I'd like to see. Torres out."
Tom walked over to Celes and Marla. "I've got to go find the Captain. Are you okay?"
Celes nodded. "We'll cope."
"Great. See you later. If anything happens, call me." Tom left Sickbay at an impressive speed.
Celes pulled herself upright. "Do you really think that the Captain will go along with it?"
Marla shrugged. "She likes you, Celes. Most people do; they're funny that way. And if you've got the favour of the Captain then it seems kind of dumb not to make use of it. Trust me," she said with feeling, "it's a lot better than being permanently on the Captain's shit list."
She plumped up the pillows behind Celes. "Seeing as how the Doctor's not going to be around for a while, how about a game of kadis-kot?" She pulled out a board from under one of the Sickbay benches. "Double or quits from the other night?"
"You're on," Celes smiled. "I hope you've got the replicator rations to cover it when I whip your butt."
"Ha! You wish." Marla set up the board. "I'll take green..."
Kathryn had almost forgotten that she was in technical violation of doctor's orders, but the chime of Chakotay's door was a highly effective reminder.
Chakotay was appropriately cautious. "Computer, who's outside this door?"
"Ensign Tom Paris," the computer supplied.
"Remind me to update the crew manifest with his promotion," Kathryn remarked.
"Wait 'til we find out what he wants," said Chakotay ominously, heading for the door.
Tom bore the expression of the mouse chosen to bell the cat. Careful to block the doorway with his frame, hiding the coffee-sipping fugitive on his sofa, Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "What's up, Tom?"
"It's the Captain, sir. She's..." Tom searched for the right words.
"Reprogrammed the EMH to appear as a clown? Stolen your replicator rations for coffee? Asked you to paint the new Delta Flyer Flamingo Pink?" suggested Chakotay helpfully.
"No sir, she's vanished."
"Vanished?" Chakotay changed his tone, suddenly serious. "From Sickbay? Who took her?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Enemy action?"
"I don't think so, sir. I think she just walked out."
"Did the Doctor let her go?"
"The Doctor's offline for maintenance," said Tom, wishing that the nearest external bulkhead would blow and suck him out into vacuum. "I was in charge of Sickbay."
"And you didn't notice the departure of an senior officer with serious nervous system injuries?" Chakotay's face was darkening, and Tom was starting to wonder if keeping the Doctor offline had been such a good idea. He might be left to treat his own injuries. "What kind of a Sickbay are you running, Mr. Paris?"
"I'm really sorry, sir. I've looked everywhere. She left her comm badge, and after her time as Borg her lifesigns aren't close enough to the ones on record for the internal sensors to find her."
"Might I suggest requesting help from Security?" suggested Chakotay sardonically. "I hear that they're quite good at searching for people. Commander Tuvok is on the bridge, I believe."
A tic was starting under Tom's right eye. "Yes sir. I'll get right on it."
"Keep me posted." Chakotay shut the door in Tom's face.
Turning to face Kathryn he was hit by a well-aimed cushion. "You're a perfect beast, Chakotay!" The smile on Kathryn's face belied this. "You do realise that when he finds me here you're going to be in so much trouble."
"It'll still be worth it." Chakotay turned serious again. "So Kathryn, I'm about to have a pitched battle with one of your oldest friends. What are you going to do?"
"There's nothing I can do, Chakotay. This isn't a battle for me to fight. I can't help you without siding against Tuvok, and vice versa. Although I'm hors de combat I'm still the Captain. Encouraging a war between my senior officers is hardly wise."
Chakotay returned to the armchair. Kathryn saw the lines on his face, and for the first time noticed how much his hair had greyed in the past year.
"It was so much simpler in the Maquis. If there was a command dispute or a leadership challenge, we settled it directly."
"Meaning that all your ships were captained by sluggers," retorted Kathryn. "It's a successful command structure in packs of wolves, but I thought that Homo sapiens had evolved a bit further than that." She softened her voice. "You've always been a fine officer to me. I've come to depend on your judgement -- and when I've not listened, I've regretted it."
"Maybe I'm just not a leader." Chakotay wasn't letting go.
"The measure of a leader isn't in how he handles situations that are going well," said Kathryn, steel entering her voice. "If you don't try sort this out yourself, how do you expect to be a leader?"
Chakotay acknowledged the point. They sat in silence for a few moments.
"Don't hurt him," Kathryn said softly. "He's a good man."
The communicator beeped. "Paris to Chakotay."
"Chakotay."
"Seven has managed to isolate the Captain's life signs with the Astrometrics sensors," said Tom.
"Uh huh?" Chakotay felt karmic payback heading towards him.
"She appears to be in Jeffries Tube 13B. I'm heading there with a Security detachment right now."
Chakotay struggled with words for a few seconds. "Acknowledged. Let me know when you find her. Out."
He looked at Kathryn, who waved a PADD at him with a large grin on her face.
"I'd say that you've got about fifteen minutes to get me back to Sickbay before Mr. Paris discovers that he's been had and gets out of the tubes."
Chakotay scooped her up in his arms again. "You fiend. How did you persuade Seven to go along with this?"
They left Chakotay's quarters and headed back along the corridor. "Please, Commander, allow me my methods." There was a definite smirk to Kathryn's face.
"Tom's going to have a nervous breakdown, you realise."
"Always thinking of the crew, Chakotay. I like that." Kathryn emptied the coffee mug and tossed it to a passing crewman. "A shame you won't be there to see his expression when he gets back to Sickbay."
Chakotay thought for a moment. "The Sickbay video sensors?"
"I'll make sure they're recording," Kathryn assured him.
John W. Gardner