Chapter 12 "Another drink, Lieutenant?" Chakotay rose and walked toward the replicator to refresh his and Harry's glasses. They drank synthehol tonight, too near the war zone to risk real alcohol. "Enid?" he asked, turning to face Banta. She was holding up her glass, regarding the last dark drops of the rum she preferred. She seemed to be considering, and finally answered, "No, thank you. I'll just finish what I have." Chakotay replicated two more glasses of bourbon, and was handing one to Harry when the door chime rang. He stepped away from the lounge area of his quarters as he said, "Come." The new doctor stepped through the door, holding a padd. Chakotay hadn't seen him since he came aboard two days ago, and noticed that the man's hair was now neatly bound. "Captain," Sehm began, then paused as he noticed the two officers across the room. "I'm sorry to disturb you." "Not at all," Chakotay said, but he made no move to invite the Betazoid to join them. "What can I do for you?" "I just have this for you, sir." Sehm handed Chakotay the padd. "Thank you. I'll review it and get back to you." Banta had risen from her chair, and stood next to them. "I haven't met our newest ensign yet, Captain." Chakotay did the honors. "Chief Engineer Enid Banta, may I present Dr. Nwateo Sehm." The two shook hands longer than was necessary, and Chakotay thought that Banta's look was appraising. It was Sehm, though, who spoke first. "Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant. Your accent -- New Jamaica?" "Yes," she answered with slight surprise before releasing his hand. "'Poor Man's Risa', you're thinking, right?" "No ma'am." Sehm smiled his beautiful smile, and Chakotay watched her straighten in response to the impact. The small man continued, "Some of us like our vacations less... manicured." Banta chuckled softly. "So you've been there?" "A story for another time, perhaps?" Sehm returned his attention to Chakotay. "If you'll excuse me, Captain?" Chakotay nodded, and Sehm turned to leave. When the door swished shut, Banta faced her captain with her arms folded across her chest. "About time we got something decorative on this ship." Harry spoke up from across the room, "Well, Srinak says he's 'adequately skilled', too." There was a hint of pique in his voice. "Style and substance," Banta said laconicly. "I may have to investigate further." From the couch Harry said, "I wouldn't have thought he was your type." "Commander Kim," the engineer said lightly. "As I recall, you said no." Harry raised his glass in salute. "Point taken, Lieutenant. Happy hunting." Banta smiled warmly. "Good night, sirs." "Good night, Lieutenant." She left with her usual easy stride, and Chakotay put the padd aside and returned to his seat on the couch. He looked at Harry, who was lounging at the other end, and said, "So Srinak says Sehm is 'adequate'?" "Yep. High praise, coming from him." "Did you tell him to pull his hair back?" Harry's mouth quirked in amusement. "No, that was Srinak. He said, 'It is illogical to waste time pushing hair out of one's face when one's hands were meant to be otherwise occupied.'" Chakotay chuckled at Harry's near-perfect imitation of the Vulcan doctor. "Are they getting along?" "Sure. Te could probably find a way to get along with a Vorta." "'Te'?" Chakotay raised his eyebrows. "Have you been spending much time with him?" Harry looked down, suddenly self-conscious. "I guess I have been. He's... He's good, Chakotay." Looking up he continued. "Did you know he did his senior honors thesis on Voyager? 'Role of Adherence to Starfleet Protocols in the Success of the Voyager in the Delta Quadrant.'" Harry chuckled ruefully. "We're an academic subject." Chakotay's answering smile was wry. "You can't be surprised." "I guess not, but it's weird to know that people you never met are analyzing your records, your logs, and making conclusions without ever even asking you if the conclusions are right." Harry shook his head once and sipped his drink. "And Sehm's conclusions?" Chakotay asked. "Actually, pretty much on target," Harry admitted. "Speaking of conclusions, he said I should take you up on the Akoonah." "Anytime you want, Harry." Chakotay said seriously. "So you like him?" "Yes. He's been through things -- having his planet invaded, spent time out with the Runners. He's known more than just Starfleet; he's had a life." "I guess we got lucky," Chakotay said, and drained his glass. "Yep." Harry set aside his half-finished drink and stood to leave. "Speaking of being written about in the third person, I'll let you get to Te's report on me." "Do you want to read it, Harry?" "No." Kim shook his head. "Good night, Captain." "Good night, Commander. See you tomorrow." They parted with their ritual formality, and Chakotay picked up Harry's unfinished drink and the waiting padd. He sat at the table to read. The psychiatrist's analysis was simple, if not simplistic: Guilt and unresolved grief. Chakotay read the report, marveling at how easy it was to forget that the people around you had inner lives. Sehm had pared the complications of Harry's emotions down, starting with the first guilt of abandoning Libby to marry B'Elanna. The incident which colored everything, though, was the day they returned to Earth, the day Harry spoke the lie that destroyed his marriage. The lie was not said to B'Elanna, but to Harry's former fiancee. Chakotay knew the story. "Libby, you waited for me," Harry had said, while standing next to his very pregnant wife. "If I'd only known." B'Elanna had never forgiven him, and their marriage ended. At Owen Paris' funeral, Harry's daughter hadn't recognized him. Harry's grief and guilt were real. He had only meant to comfort Libby, who was shocked to see the alien woman at Harry's side, but the words were not true. The life that he and Libby had planned could never belong to the man Harry had become, the man who had happily married a temperamental half-Klingon. In his instinct to ease hurt, Harry had lost it all. Unlike Harry's other losses -- grief from which he had always recovered -- his daughter was there, was alive, and should have been part of his life. In this there was no closure. Chakotay put the padd down, and sat back in the chair. Sehm's analysis had prompted a sense of recognition, had the ring of truth. As he twirled the thin data device absently under one finger, his thoughts echoed Harry's earlier words: He's good. Chakotay remembered Tom telling him about the medic on the Runner ship who had called Tom a badly set fracture. In some ways it was a good metaphor for the man Tom had been. He wondered whether all Betazoids were adept at explaining people. He rose and took his glass over to the view-ports, sipping the rest of Harry's bourbon, and thinking over Sehm's prognosis. Clinical phrases from the report like, "no genetic predisposition for depression, which bodes well for recovery," and "refractory to talk therapy" remained in his mind, but he thought he understood what was really being said. Harry had to forgive himself. No talking, no drugs, were going to accomplish the change, and Sehm recommended that Harry use the Akoonah. This was not what Chakotay had expected. Sehm had framed his suggestion in terms of a psychic nudge, something to knock Harry out of his current frame, and let him find a way to deal with this as he had been able to deal with most things that had confronted him in the past. Sehm had congratulated Srinak's perception, and said that it was unclear whether Harry's "reactive depression" would have resolved itself in time. The reckless skiing accident was indeed a serious warning of Harry's state of mind. Sehm cautioned that even should the Akoonah accomplish what he hoped, it would still take time to fully recover. In the mean time, Harry was certainly fit for duty, and no danger to himself or others. The overall tone of the report, Chakotay noted, was very positive, very hopeful, and underneath the clinical language, even friendly. He found himself agreeing with Sehm, wondering also whether he himself should have been able to see this. Maybe he was too close to have any perspective. Sometimes Personnel sent dreck, and sometimes it sent latinum. It seemed their new Ensign was a stroke of good luck. *--* Tom fingered the strap of his carryall nervously. This was it. The shuttle was about five minutes from landing, and Tom still wondered why Starfleet had actually honored his request for no trips through the transporters. Seven didn't want his implants to be subjected to a pattern analyzer. Mack clapped him on the shoulder. "Your idle's pretty high there, bud." Paris snorted one humorless laugh. "I'm not exactly expecting a 'welcome home' committee." "Oh, if the newsfeeds know you're here, there'll be something big." Tom looked up at his big friend, slightly panicked. "Oh, no," he began. Mack's smile was easy. "Nothing you haven't handled before. If it's on the general news, the Dominion will know you're off the front lines, right?" Tom recovered himself and rolled his eyes silently in response. In the remaining minutes of the landing sequence, which he tapped absently on his thighs, Tom considered the next few days. He'd told Mack almost everything, but only up to a point. He hadn't said a word about Seven of Nine's plan to steal the EMH. Mack's response to the news of data implants and betrayal had been quiet. It had taken him minutes to find the words to respond. Finally his slow voice had said, "I'm sorry, Tom. You've been lied to by some of the best in the business. Maybe we can find the truth." Tom appreciated the thought, but in some ways he no longer cared. Nothing anyone in Starfleet could say would be believable to him now. As much as he liked Mack, he couldn't bring himself to trust the big soldier. Tom fingered his earring absently. Who did he trust? Ba'ruq, Seven of Nine, maybe Chakotay and Harry. It was a very short list. Mack sat quietly next to him, and Tom's attention was brought back by the gentle bump of landing. They stood up as the hatchway opened. "Show time, huh?" Mack asked. "Maybe. It looks quiet out there." Tom straightened up, determined to be ready for anything. They walked down the shuttle's companionway, and Tom was relieved to see only the usual scene at Headquarters' shuttle port. Two figures were standing on the other side of a new entry gate, wearing the red of Command. A petite figure seemed even smaller next to the large, iron-haired woman that could only be Mack's "Admiral Mom". In a few seconds the smaller figure resolved itself into Kathryn Janeway. Her presence surprised Tom. He had expected to be met by someone from Medical, or from Section Thirty-one posing as Medical. Tom had been ready for that, but the sight of his former Captain was utterly disarming. He hadn't spoken to her since he ran away after Voyager's return, and he had no idea how she would greet him. He had no idea what he would say to her. It took force of will to keep walking, each step feeling like he was wading through the tangle of his emotions. There was a joy seeing Janeway again that was caught up with the shame of his cowardly disappearance years ago. Also, under the circumstances, her presence took on a sinister quality, and Tom had to wonder if he could trust even her. Such thoughts distracted him enough that what happened next was more of a surprise than it should have been, since it was part of Seven's plan. It all seemed to happen in slow motion when Tom recalled it later. He would remember the muscles of his face pulling up the wry grin that covered his true feelings, and the image of Mack striding ahead of him through a gate, eager to greet his mother. Janeway was smiling at Tom in what looked like genuine pleasure. His legs carried him forward automatically until he, too, stepped through the arch that separated the landing area from the grounds of Headquarters. There was a bright flash, the noise of blowing circuits, and only momentum kept Tom moving as he lost his balance, lost sensation, lost control. Mack had turned at the sound and sparks, and tried to catch Tom, but he couldn't reach him in time. Paris fell in a tangle of carryall and Klingon vest. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of alarms and running feet. Janeway's outwardly acerbic voice cut through the din, and Tom could hear the gentle affection as she said, "Well, Mr. Paris, I never expected you to throw yourself at my feet." Tom pushed himself up and rolled awkwardly to sit upright. "Well, ma'am," he smiled up at her. "You know I can never resist a beautiful woman." Janeway reached down. "Can I give you a hand up?" Tom gently waved her away. Mack was crouching next to him, concern evident. "What happened, buddy?" "I'm not sure. What was that flash?" "Looks like the med scanner blew out." Mack's mouth curved into a half-smile. "Guess it didn't like your Borg technology." Tom tried to flex his ankles, and failed. "Looks like my Borg technology didn't like the medical scanner," he said grimly. Tom kept his eyes on his friend, but he sensed movement, felt bodies arrive. Mack glanced up. "Security's here." "What's all this about?" Tom looked over to Janeway. "Why the medical scanners?" "To screen for Changelings, Tom," she answered. "They're designed to be unobtrusive, but they're all over Headquarters. After your father was killed -- " Janeway paused and broke off. "Tom, the security team needs to clear you." A voice behind him said, "Will you stand up, please." When Tom craned his neck to see who had spoken, he saw a team of nearly identical crew. Even the Bolian at their head managed to look grave and unremarkable. "Stand up, please." The speaker was the Bolian. "I'm sorry, but I can't." Tom's voice was polite, but sarcasm was evident. "My legs seem to have stopped working." A member of the security team was holding a scanning device Tom had never seen before, staring from the readouts to the subject sprawled on the floor. "Uh, sir?" The young woman with the machine spoke. "What is it?" The Bolian was impassive. "He's carrying Borg technology." "Not anymore I'm not," Tom muttered. Janeway was addressing the team. "Do you mean to tell me that no one informed you about Mr. Paris?" "No, sir." "Mr. Paris is here as a guest of Starfleet Medical, and they are aware of his Borg implants." Janeway stepped back with a gesture. "If you'll assure yourself he's no Founder, I'll escort him to the hospital." It bothered Tom to be sitting awkwardly on the floor while his fate was discussed above. Mack had stayed crouched next to him, at least. The woman with the scanner said, "He's otherwise human, sir." Mack glanced up at Janeway then back to Tom. "Can I pick you up, buddy?" "Sure, just get me to a chair." Mack scooped Tom up with effort and carried him toward a nearby lounge area. Janeway's voice behind them was arranging assisted transportation. "No, you cannot use site to site transport. He has exercised his right to refuse throughout his journey, and I don't see that changing now." As Mack set him down in the chair, Tom said, "Sorry to interrupt your homecoming." "That's all right." Mack stood upright, and the two admirals appeared behind him. Admiral Rand put one hand on her son's shoulder, and reached the other out toward Tom. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Paris." She had none of Mack's slow voice, and she looked at Tom with friendly appraisal. "Likewise." "Tom, we'll have a ride for you here shortly," Janeway said, taking the seat next to him. "So, is this why you refused to go through the transporters? Seven seems to have booby-trapped you." Tom glanced up to where Mack and his mother were talking. They had stepped away. He turned back to Janeway, smirk in place, though feeling anything but amused. He wanted to trust her, but he couldn't, and she'd jumped to the right conclusion too quickly. "Captain," he began, then stopped at her raised eyebrow. For a moment he was lost as to what to call her. Her current rank meant nothing to him -- she had been his captain. But no more, he realized. The smirk broadened into a grin, and he chanced, "Kathryn." To his relief she smiled back at him. "How have you been, Tom?" He started to say he was fine, but laughed instead. The complexity of the true answer was more than any word could gloss over. "Well," he finally said, "I haven't been bored." She laughed with him. "So I hear." "And you?" he asked. "A bit bored," she whispered, as if admitting a secret, then continued more normally, "There's plenty to do with the war on, but I feel like I'd be doing more good out there." She gestured with her head toward the ceiling, toward space. "Your father told me that if I ever stop feeling that way, I'll know I've become a bureaucrat." "Fate worse than death." They fell silent for a moment, then Janeway asked, "So what did Seven do to your implants? Can we take a look?" Tom glanced away, shrugged, then pulled up the legs of his trousers. The implants below his knees had turned matte, looked somehow dead. He chose his words carefully. "You know how she feels about having her technology exploited. When she knew I was coming here, she warned me to avoid transporters and medical scanners until I was ready to have the implants taken out." Janeway looked at him with something like sympathy. "Did you know what would happen?" "No." Tom looked down, unwilling to meet her eyes as he spoke the lie. "I guess there's nothing left but dead nanoprobes." "Hey, Tom!" Mack called from several meters away. "Looks like your ride's here." Tom looked over and saw two medical assistants with a ground chair, ready to take him through Headquarter's sprawling maze. He tried to muster some appropriate-seeming remark to cover his apprehension; for once he failed. Mack must have noticed, but his response was an indirect, "See you soon, if they'll let me." Tom nodded and reached for the arms of the ground chair that had been maneuvered nearby. He lifted himself and twisted, using his legs as a pivot. The long vest ended up twisted to one side, and he spared a moment maneuvering it back into place. When he seemed settled, Janway handed him his carryall. "Are you ready?" "Sure," Tom said. Mack's hand landed momentarily on Tom's shoulder, then slid off as one of the orderlies began to control the chair toward a turbolift. Tom leaned back and fingered the earring absently. Phase one of Seven's plan was about to go into effect.