From rob4654@webtv.net Sun Jun 13 23:04:22 1999
Nicked
by Rob Morris
One Year Before Departure Of USS Voyager..........
"So what do you think of New Zealand?"
"Hey, I like it fine. Anyplace like this penal colony that can keep Tom
Paris confined and out of trouble is good with me."
Tom desperately tried to recall a time when there had been civility
between himself and his identical twin first cousin, Nicholas Locarno.
Try as he might, though, it was actually easier to remember the times
his Dad had forgiven his failures. And there were few things rarer than
that. But Tom had learned to wait with Nick. This time, Mister Perfect
would feel just a little less so.
"I hear that you've been accepted back into the Academy.
Congratulations."
"Well, graduating from the Academy at the top of my class has been what
my entire life has led towards. The fallout from Crusher's betrayal is
largely behind me, now. Takes notes, Tom : Even expulsion can be
overcome, by hard work, discipline, and perseverance. Taking immediate
responsibility for my actions helped. Kind of like not doing so hurt
you. Like it hurt Uncle Owen."
After a lifetime of taking the bait, Tom Paris was a fish that would
not be hooked. His tone remained civil and he maintained a level of
emtional self-control that even his future shipmate, Tuvok, might have
trouble with, given the same history.
"It sure did hurt him. Tell me, how are the other members of the
squadron doing these days?"
Tom fought not to smile at the obvious crack in Nick's calm, and he
succeeded.
"One is dead to me. One was killed by Cardassians. One---died by their
own hand. Some say I'm responsible for that--pressure, and other weak
talk. What's you take on that, cousin?"
A trap was laid, but Tom had expected that. Nick Locarno couldn't know
that he and Tom had already had this conversation about 300 times in
sim.
"Way I see it, Nick--those others involved with the maneuver---you
weren't holding a gun to their head. Any more than you held one to my
head during those pranks when we were kids. People usually do whatever
they want to, and most of us rise or fall on our own actions. Kind of
like I did."
A trap was laid--and Nick walked right straight into it. Being Nick, he
had no choice in the matter.
"Ha! I never, ever thought I'd hear those words from the family
failure."
The trap was closed, now, and the teeth were laced with a sedative
poison. It would cost Nick more than his trapped leg to be free--if he
ever could be free.
"Hey, I know I'm a failure. Not only am I a failure, but I am a genuine
failure. My days of getting away with things by squeaking by and ducking
responsibility are over. People have seen me for what I am. Nick, what
happens when people see you for what you are?"
"I don't follow. You just admitted to me that you are a genuine
failure, and people know it. People know that I am a genuine success."
Nick reestablished his position too late. Tom had that position nailed,
and was proceeding with bombardment.
"Its not the success that's in question, Nick. Not any more. When we
reprogrammed the transporters to strip selected female personnel at my
Dad's starbase, you succeeded. You saw what you wanted to see, then took
full responsibility for ringleading it. My Dad was actually impressed.
Punished us both equally, but you got raised up in his eyes for owning
up to it. Then, all of fourteen, we grabbed a runabout, deeetermined to
see the Cardassian front. You owned up then, too, Nick, while I tried to
duck. The same actions kept making you look better and better. I won't
bore you with the thousand other incidents. Now, Wesley Crusher leaves
Starfleet, and the word is, they are glad to be rid of him. For some
reason, anyone with prior Fleet experience makes the practical minds at
the Academy nervous. One version went that they were disturbed at how
well he went through his first ambush sim. They like to mold cadets,
rather than the other way around. You, leader and ramrod of the
group--the one who owned up to all that--they happily and cheerfully let
reapply, and even restore some of your more important credits. Mark my
words, you'll be a Commander in five years, Nick."
Tom knew the angry, confused face across from him. It was his own face,
in more ways than one. When he covered up his fatal error. When he
confessed. When he went Maquis, and when he was caught. It was the face
of someone running a perfect scam, on the verge of losing his temper.
"What the hell has this got to do with a traitor like Crusher and a
confessed failure like you?"
Tom shrugged, again in a nonemotional way.
"Who cares about Crusher, or me, for that matter? Its established that
I got away with things by ducking responsibility until I couldn't
anymore. But now, its also been established how you get away with
things."
Nick's cocky laugh was, Tom knew, a last layer of defense, and he
relished it.
"Do tell, Mister Genuine Failure. How do I get away with things?"
Tom had heard lots of cell doors slam shut, but the one he heard in his
mind actually sounded sweet.
"It should be obvious, Nick. As opposed to ducking responsibility like
I do, you got away with things by taking responsibility for them. You
never stopped doing the same sort of things, mind you, but each time,
you moved up in--certain people's eyes."
Again, Tom heard a voice much his own.
"You--are delusional--and self-absorbed. And again I quote Tom
Paris--You are a genuine failure."
Tom never even once raised his voice. That fact and the broad smile
that followed told Nick everything. But again, this knowledge came too
late to save him.
"I am a genuine failure, Nick. The real thing. Better that, though,
than a phony success--which is what you are. Know two things,
Locarno--there is always one person who sees your method for what it is,
and he only regrets that his own innate stupidity will surely prevent
him from being there to see your exposure. One day, you will take
responsibility--and they will force you to keep it."
The gritted teeth said it all as Tom got up to leave. Nick was furious,
and in his mind, invented many reasons why this was so--other than the
truth contained in Tom's words.
"Anything ELSE, PRISONER!!?"
Tom turned back and looked his double in the eye.
"Nope. Nothing else. Dismissed, Cadet."
Tom wasn't a praying man. But he did ask Heaven later on to forgive him
on behalf of whoever got in Nick's way on the transport back--and he
gave thanks that he was not that person.
---------------------------------------------------
3 Months After The End Of The Dominion War, Starfleet HQ, Earth.
"Captain Locarno, it is established that you broke off your support of
the Romulan Fleet on our vital march toward Cardassia Prime to attempt
to take out the Dominion's Main Polar Orbital Battle Platform. This led
to the near collapse of those lines, and Defiant being forced to
sacrifice much of its battle group in the ensuing chaos, as we all
regrouped. What say you before these cold hard facts?"
Inwardly, Nick reminded himself to keep to his routine. The routine
that had seen him to a Captaincy over a small ship and would, by his
calculations, have him up for a run at whatever replaced the Sovereign
Class, down the road.
"Sir, obviously a demotion is in order. I take full responsibility for
my actions, and those of my crew. I will go wherever you send me."
He would, too, no matter how far below him the place or the task was.
These things never lasted long, and they usually begged him to come back
around.
The presiding Admiral hadn't told Nick that Tom Paris had once sent a
letter to Starfleet Command, praising his cousin and how he always took
responsibility for everything. Command saw through Tom's code-talking,
but the hard truth of his words were evident, then as now. The Admiral
smiled, and shook his head. He almost felt sorry for Nick. Almost.
"So."
Locarno nodded, and smiled back.
"So, sir."
"So."
"So---what---Sir?"
There hadn't been any tone in Nick's voice then, but there would be
soon.
The Admiral asked one last thing.
"So what do you think of New Zealand?"
****
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