Pining for the Fjords

****

"He's not dead, he's pining for the Fjords."
(Monty Python. The Dead Parrot  Sketch.)

****
 

"Hey! Look where you're going," complained Harry Kim as Tom Paris,
late as usual, barreled across the Bridge and knocked Commander
Chakotay over. "Get back here and help me."

The two men lifted the First Officer to his feet.

"Sorry about that, Commander," Tom apologized, brushing some lint off
the front of his superior's uniform.

Chakotay didn't reply so Tom hurried down to the helm station and
tapped the standby pilot on the shoulder, relieving her.

Four hours later, Tom passed by Chakotay standing over the Ops boards
on his way to the 'lift. Tom nodded an acknowledgment, but the First
Officer seemed engrossed in the readouts. There had been a several
unexplained power fluctuation earlier. Tom shrugged. The big Indian
had always been a man of few words and lately seemed to be a man of
even fewer.

****

Tom hooked a chair with his foot, slid it out and plopped down next to
Harry at the table. He frowned down at his food. "You know when
Neelix was here, we actually got something edible from time to time." He
poked dubiously at his dinner. "Chell's stuff always sounds good, but it
doesn't taste any better."

Harry took a bite of his dinner and wrinkled his nose in agreement.

A few moments later, B'Elanna Torres joined them at the table, sliding
heavily into a chair next to Tom.

"Hey," Tom greeted his wife. He made a small show out of peering
behind her. "Where's Miral?"

B'Elanna sighed exhaustedly. "In holodeck 2, playing with Trevis and
Flotter."

"Alone?" Tom's voice piped in alarm and he half-rose from his seat.

His wife tossed him a 'you're a complete idiot' look and finished
unloading her tray. "No. Icheb and Naomi are with her."

"Nice trick," complimented Tom, "How'd you manage that?"

"Told 'em that unless they took her off my hands for at least an hour a
week, they weren't going to pass their engineering practicum this
rotation."

"That's blackmail!" chortled Harry gleefully around a mouthful of
Radiant Musso Gently Simmered in Pink Sweet and Sour Sauce.

B'Elanna shot him a 'Well, doh! You're even a bigger idiot than I
thought' look before turning back to her husband. "She's driving me
crazy, Tom. She's not a baby that I can strap on my back and carry with
me anymore. She's mobile and she climbs and she's into everything. I
can't keep taking her to Engineering with me. It's dangerous."

"I know, I know," Tom soothed, "but if you're suggesting I ought to take
Miral with me to the Bridge...we've already discussed that option and
why it won't work.."

B'Elanna sighed and slumped her head into her spread hands. "Yeah. I
know...Sam Wildman didn't know how good she had it when Naomi
was little. All she had to was crook her finger and Neelix came running
to babysit. Or one of the Delaneys. Or Nicoletti. Or somebody." She
ran a finger up and down her medial brow ridge as if she was trying to
smooth away a headache. "But nobody seems to be volunteering to help
me with Miral." And here B'Elanna shot a slightly accusatory look in
Harry's direction.

"Could be the difference being the only child aboard the ship and one of
several children aboard," suggested Harry. "Naomi was a bit of a
novelty. Miral is just somebody's kid."

B'Elanna stiffened at the implication that Miral wasn't special, but Harry
was oblivious.

"You know what Voyager needs," he continued, "a cr*che or a co-op
daycare. A voluntary thing where the parent of each child contribute one
off-duty shift a week to watch the rest of them."

Tom and B'Elanna looked thoughtful. "Think there'd be enough demand
for something like that?"

Harry considered, ticking off his fingers. "Well, let see....Megan and
Jenny are talking about doing the parthenogenetic thing *again*. So
that's at least one. And Sisk down in Life Science has those four kits or
buds or sibs or whatever you want to call them from his last mitosis.
Makes five. Six. Then there's Myer and Frazier's little boy."

"And the Gillets are expecting twins any day now," Tom supplied, a grin
beginning to break out across his face. "You know it just might work."

"There's Chakotay." B'Elanna pointed toward a solitary figure staring
pensively out the window at the far end of the dining hall. "I'm going to
go talk to him about it."

Moments later she was back, looking less excited than she had before
she'd sought out the First Officer.

"Well?" Tom asked. "What did he say?"

B'Elanna gave a half shrug. "He didn't say yes. He didn't say no. In fact
he didn't say a damned thing. Probably wants to discuss it with the
Captain before he makes his precious decision. You know how
conservative he's gotten lately. Afraid to say anything other than 'Yes,
Ma'am.'"

"Well, it was worth a try" Tom replied. He checked the chronometer in
the mess and a crafty look spread across his face. He leaned forward
toward B'Elanna, whispering. "We've still got 30 minutes before Icheb
and Naomi will be bringing Miral back...what say we head back to the
cabin and....." His words trailed off and he winked.

Abruptly B'Elanna stood and grabbed Tom's wrist, yanking him to his
feet. She turned toward Harry. "Be a dear, Harry, and take care of the
dishes for us."

"No problem, " answered Harry morosely, though by then Tom and
B'Elanna were long gone. "No problem at all."

****

Exploring the universe.

Tom Paris had wanted to explore the universe since...since forever. He
wanted to seek out new life, find new civilizations, see strange and
unknown planets. He wanted to boldly go where no man had gone
before. It informed his dreams, shaped his daydreams, and had, in fact,
molded him into the man he now was. Now, under his fingertips,
Voyager leapt ahead into the unknown reaches of the Delta Quadrant.
Under his command, landing parties made first contact with exotic, alien
cultures. He was living his dream. He was exploring the universe---only
today the universe was pretty much confined to Jeffries Tube 42-Tango
on Deck 6

He crawled forward, wishing only to be done with his fool's errand so he
could get out of accessway and find a space where a human being could
stand upright and ease the kinks out of his 37 year old back. His knees
were none too happy either. They groaned and popped and complained
about the polysteel grating that gouged into the tender area just below his
kneecap.

He paused where the tunnel deadended in a T to read the location plaque.
41-Charlie to the right; 41-Dogwood to the left. He turned left and
reared back on his heels.

"Ow! Shit!" His hand reached up to cover the sore spot where he'd
bashed his head against the ceiling in avoiding bashing his head into
Vorik.

"Lieutenant." The Vulcan engineering ensign sounded
almost....happy.... to see him. "Are you searching for Miral also?"

As his lips were puckering to ask why, Tom decided that if Vorik were
playing hide-and-seek in the Jeffries tubes with his daughter he really
didn't want to know about it. "No...."

The young Vulcan closeted his face, carefully erasing all trace of
emotion

"Actually, I'm looking for Commander Chakotay. Sensors show he's in
this area, but he's not answering his page. Have you seen him?"

Vorik paused thoughtfully. Tom would have suspected he was weighing
payback if he hadn't been a Vulcan and supposedly above such behavior.
"I saw him effecting repairs to the auxiliary EPS relay in Junction box
644, about 50 meters back along this tubeway."

"Repairs? I didn't know there'd been a problem with the EPS conduits."

"Nor was I aware of any."

Tom backed around the corner and pressed against the tunnel wall to
allow Vorik to pass. He suppressed the urge to wish the grimly crawling
young officer 'Happy Hunting.'
 

Tom found Chakotay lying the in Jeffries Tube with his hands stuck
deep into the guts of the relay conduit.

"Commander," he shouted. "Commander." When he didn't get a
reponse, he crawled closer and tugged on Chakotay's pant's leg. There
was a grunt in response and Tom delivered his message. He waited a
beat to see if there was any reply, but when the Commander didn't say
anything, Tom shimmied backwards and headed for nearest exit. He was
getting too old to be doing this shit.

****

"Are you sure she's going to stay down this time?"

"She'd better," B'Elanna answered testily as she stood by the side of the
bed to shuck off her nightgown and toss it across the foot of the bed
before crawling under the covers. "I told her that there was a Kolkkoam
just outside her door that would chew on her ankles if she got out of bed
again."

"A demon? Isn't that a bit...harsh?"

The five impertinent toes that had been scraping so enticingly up and
down the back of Tom's calf halted. B'Elanna laid a hand in the center of
his chest. "Were *you* planning on getting up with her every 15
minutes for the rest of the night?" When there was no reply, B'Elanna
used the hand to push off and roll over, presenting her angry back to her
husband. "I didn't think so. Besides, it always worked when my mother
did it."

Shit. Parenting seemed to be filled with hidden landmines and he'd
obviously just stepped on one of them. There was only one thing he
could do. Tom curled against his wife's back, tucking his knees behind
hers and insinuating his nose through her hair to nuzzle the back of her
neck. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to second guess you." Of course, he
meant to second guess her, but he wasn't ever going to admit the fact to
her. Marriage had taught him not to be that stupid. He felt her tense
shoulders relax fractionally so he took that as an invitation to scoot
closer, pressing his warm groin against the cleft of her buttocks. His
hand slid around her waist, then he spread his fingers to caress the soft
skin below her navel. He smoothed the pads of his fingers in small
circles, reaching lower....and lower.

"Ow!" B'Elanna's heel cracked sharply against Tom's shin. OK, so
maybe she wasn't in as forgiving a mood as he'd thought. Sighing out
his disappointment, Tom rolled onto his back and cast around for a
suitably neutral topic for talk. "I ran into Vorik in the Jeffries Tubes this
afternoon."

B'Elanna's shoulders went rigid again and Tom belatedly remembered
why Vorik had been scuttling through the Jeffries Tubes and hurried on
to make his point. "I didn't know there was a failure in the EPS relays
this afternoon."

Voyager's Chief Engineer rolled onto her back, curious. "There wasn't."

Ah ha! The ploy worked. He could always count on her wanting to talk
about the ship. Now if he could only distract her from her pissy mood,
maybe he could get her back to being interested in other, more
pleasurable activities.

"Did Vorik tell you there was?" She sounded puzzled and more than a
bit...annoyed.

Judging by the level of irritation in her voice, Tom could easily envision
the young Vulcan spending his next three or four duties shifts scrubbing
the plasma manifold with a sonic toothbrush--or even worse, set to
babysitting Miral--for telling tales out of class. Tom gave a mental head
shake. As much as he disliked the stiff young Vulcan, Vorik really didn't
deserve punishment detail for something he hadn't actually done.

"No, but when I finally tracked down Chakotay this afternoon, he was
doing repairs on a relay on Deck 6."

B'Elanna was silent for a long moment. Tom could almost she hear her
reviewing readouts in her head. "That's not right. We did a Level Two
diagnostic on the EPS system just three days ago. Nothing showed up
then and nothing could have gone wrong since without it showing up on
report." She started to roll out of bed.

That wasn't what Tom had in mind. He touched her wrist. "It'll wait 'til
morning. It was just Chakotay and you know how...peculiar...he's gotten
lately."

Yeah," B'Elanna admitted softly as she relaxed back into bed. "Real
strange. Withdrawn. Did you know that the last three times I stopped by
his cabin to visit, he wouldn't see me? Said he was undertaking a spirit
journey or something and didn't want to be disturbed." She turned to
look her husband in the face. "I know he was awfully broken up when
Seven died, and I felt sorry for him, but it's been a while and he's not
moving on with his life. I've known him longer than anyone on this ship
and he didn't act like this even when his whole family was murdered
back on Dorvan. I'm worried about him, Tom."

Tom drew B'Elanna into his arms. "I know you are, sweetheart," he
murmured into her hair. " I know you are. Your loyalty is one of the
things I love about you."

B'Elanna hugged Tom fiercely, then tipped her head back to meet her
husband's eyes. "One of the things.....?" she asked coyly, sliding her
knee up to part his.

"Yeah.... that and you can rebuild an antimatter distributor faster than
anyone I ever met...."

B'Elanna gave Tom a playful shove toward his side of the bed. "Good
night, Flyboy."

"And here, I'd always heard that Klingon women were insatiable, " he
teased, obediently rolling onto his side and letting her press her forehead
between his shoulder blades as she arranged herself against his back in
preparation for sleep. "You mean I'm not going to get any tonight?"

"Only in your dreams...."

****
"Commander Tuvok. Commander."

Tom hurried after the retreating back of Voyager's chief of security.

"Commander," he called again.

The Vulcan's pace slowed and he glanced over his left shoulder. Tuvok's
normally implacable brow was creased from one upswept eyebrow to the
other with a line of puzzlement, as if he could not quite comprehend that
someone was calling after him in a public corridor at two in the
afternoon.

Tom waggled his hand like a first grader signalling the teacher that he
needed a potty break and jogged up to fall in step beside the older man.

Tuvok eyed him suspiciously. "If this about the complaint I filed with
Captain earlier to day regarding Miral's contamination of the Bridge's
security station with her 'glop-on-a-stick', you are wasting both of our
times."

"Um..." Tom hadn't heard about that yet. It seemed that he and the little
woman were going to have quite a lot to talk about when he finally got
home to quarters later. "Actually, this is about another matter entirely,
sir."

Tuvok looked Tom up and down apparently deciding if Tom Paris might
possibly have anything to say which could be of interest. Finally, the
Vulcan gave a curt nod. "Very well. You may walk with me."

They had taken about three steps down the hallway that led to Tuvok's
quarters when 'The Lecture' began. Tom had been on the receiving end
of hundreds of lectures in his life--not that any had ever made a
memorable impression on him--and long experience had taught him that
the faster way to get through them was simply to shut up and pretend to
listen.

"I am continually disquieted by the lack of appropriate supervision both
you and Lt. Torres afford your daughter." the Vulcan began. "Miral is
unable to comport herself in a socially acceptable manner and lacks basic
discipline. A Vulcan child would not behave so..." Tuvok intoned.

Right, Tom thought sourly. They were all models of stick-up-the-ass
decorum and never once caused their parents grief. He'd heard that song
before--and from individuals from six different species no less. Tom
remembered that Tuvok had four children and he sincerely hoped that, if
there was any justice at all in the universe, at least one of them had made
Tuvok's life pure hell. Tom wondered how well Tuvok would cope with a
feisty and free-spirited, part-Klingon three year-old who seemed
temperamentally more suited to sneaking out into the woods to hunt
nautargs than to rattling around inside this tin can of a spaceship. Not
well, probably. That thought brought a small grin to Tom's face. Tuvok
quirked an eyebrow and Tom hurriedly wiped the smirk off his face.

"...Of course, the lack of mature and competent role models upon which
to base her behavior must be accounted for..."

Great, Tuvok had finished belittling his parenting skills and was now
insulting him personally. Tom rolled his eyes. Fortunately, Tuvok was
busy keying in the access code to his quarters and didn't notice.

Inside, Tuvok pointed toward a chair and Tom understood he was to go
sit in it like he was some naughty schoolboy waiting for the principal.

Moments later Tuvok reappeared from his bedroom, dressed in an ankle
length robe of muted colors--Vulcan casual wear, Tom supposed-- and
resumed the lecture right where he had left off, never missing a single
word. Neat trick, Tom decided, and he wondered if the Vulcan had his
speech pre-recorded and had merely used the pause and resume buttons
to accomplish the feat.

The Vulcan ordered tea from the replicator and handed Tom a thin
walled porcelain cup filled with pale straw colored liquid. Tom sipped
tentatively at it. The tea tasted faintly grass-like. Not unpleasant, but
something he particularly liked either.

Tom wondered what kind of lecture-giver he would be in 15 years. All
parents lectured. He accepted that much. Would he be blunt and to-the-
point like his own father who favored the "Whatever in the fuck were
thinking, Tom?" style. Or like Tuvok who was long-winded and
peppered his lectures with erudite insults? He was still trying to imagine
himself fifteen years from now--or more importantly trying to imagine
Miral fifteen years from now--and failing, when he realized that Tuvok
had ceased talking.

Shit, he'd missed the end of the lecture and now Tuvok was looking at
him with expectation.

Tom set his teacup down. "I'll try to keep that in mind, sir," he replied,
hoping that the generic answer would do and not make him look too
much like a total moron.

It apparently satisfied Tuvok who gave a slight nod of approval and
picked up his own teacup. Tom realized that it was now his turn to talk.

"I'm here about Commander Chakotay, sir.....Have you noticed anything
different about him?"

Tuvok sipped his tea mindfully. "Your question is unnecessarily vague,
Lieutenant. Could you be more specific?"

"Have you noticed any changes in Chakotay's behavior since....since
Seven's death?" There it was out there. He'd promised B'Elanna that he'd
ask.

Tuvok settled his cup back into its saucer and slid his hands inside the
sleeves of his loose-fitting robe. His pose reminded Tom of many
centuries old woodblock print he once seen of a Mandarin emperor, the
face at once both thoughtful and detached.

"Yes. He seems much less inclined to conversation and less socially
involved in ship's activities. He personally requested his transfer to
permanent alterday duty status. However, I might remind you that he has
experienced a personal loss of some magnitude and that, in my
experience, humans often react to grief in an unpredictable manner. I
would hasten to add that his logs and duty reports are being filed with
great promptness. In fact, he is demonstrating greater efficiency than he
ever has before. Nor have any complaints regarding the fulfillment of his
duties been lodged with either the Captain or myself. I see no significant
cause for alarm."

In other words, Tuvok didn't care so long as the paperwork came
through on time. Well, Tuvok and Chakotay had never been the greatest
of friends anyway and Vulcans weren't always the most perceptive
people in the galaxy either.

Tom stood and excused himself. There was another person he needed to
see--the Captain.

****

Captain Janeway and Chakotay had been close friends for years now. In
fact, right up until Chak had married Seven, Tom had always suspected
that the Captain and the First Office had something going on. He'd even
dropped 10 credits in the ship's betting pool once upon a time when the
two officers had been stranded together on that moon. Tom wondered
whatever had become of that bet...it had never been proved--or
disproved--as far as he could tell whether Janeway and Chakotay had
become lovers while marooned together. That kitty ought to be floating
around somewhere...and then he remembered. He was the one who was
holding it and he'd spent it years ago on specialized parts for the Flyer.
Well, he rationalized, at least it went for the good of the ship. He
shrugged and headed toward the Bridge.
 

Tom pushed the annunciator again. And this time he held it down. After
a long moment, during which Tom's fertile imagination time offered a
whole smorgasbord of guesses as to what the Captain was doing which
would cause her to either not hear or wholly ignore the persistent
buzzing of the door chime, the Ready Room door finally opened.

Janeway sat behind her desk, looking unflustered and professional. Her
terminal was open and active and she wore an old-fashioned headset.

She gestured toward a chair in front of her desk and by her demeanor
Tom realized that she meant to put his whole visit on a 'off-the-record'
status. Good, that was exactly what he wanted.

As he moved to sit, Tom couldn't stop himself from leaning forward just
a bit to glance at her computer monitor. He knew it wouldn't be
displaying any sensitive materials. She would have blanked those before
answering the door. The screen showed a planet-based spaceport, dimly
illuminated by the cold glitter of starlight and a few distant klieg lights.
There was a flash of movement and the image changed to the riveted
underside of a small atmosphere-to-space fighter.

Tom hid a small smile. He recognized this: Rebel Queen 2226, one of
the last and most sophisticated of the old flatscreen game sims. Although
Tom was a child of holodeck age, he had once spent a summer at camp
on Fourways. Fourways was a relatively young colony and as such its
entertainment technology was a decade or two behind Earth's. He'd spent
the summer complaining and making do with flatscreen sims. Oh, he
hadn't actually played Rebel Queen. Its POV character was female and at
age 10, he wouldn't have been caught dead simming a girl, no matter how
cool the game was. He'd played Lord Chu'Vak and Empire of Fire
instead, even though its battle bots and swordplay got pretty hoary after a
while. The acrobatic fighter battles of Rebel Queen had always looked
totally hot.

Janeway mumbled something inaudible and offered Tom a crooked,
apologetic smile. Tom realized she'd kept the game active and had just
subvocalized a pause command into the microphone resting against her
throat. Hooked good, huh, Captain? Oh yeah, he remembered.

Janeway folded her hands neatly atop of her desk, her body language
announcing she was ready to give Tom her complete attention. "Is this
about Miral?" she asked.

"Um...I understand there's been a problem, Captain. Let me assure you
that it will be dealt with and that steps are being taken to make sure it
won't ever happen again." Tom fervently hoped that what he was saying
was true. He and B'Elanna really needed to talk.

"Officially, " Janeway said, and gave Tom a quelling look that warned
against interrupting,,"I'm glad to hear that since several complaints have
been lodged recently." She moved out from behind her desk, though not
before glancing at her terminal screen--to make sure the game really was
paused, Tom guessed. "However, unofficially, let me say that I do
understand that raising a child aboard a small vessel such as Voyager is
not the best of circumstances. And that an active child like Miral is
bound to ruffle a few feathers. If you can keep Miral out of vital sections
of the ship, say the Bridge, Engineering and Life support, that's all I can
reasonably ask. I'm willing to overlook anything else."

"Yes, Ma'am. Understood, " Tom answered. It was as much as he could
possibly hope for.

"Coffee?" Janeway asked from the replicator.

"No. Thanks.... Captain, I'm actually here about Commander Chakotay."

"Oh?" Janeway's voice was suddenly cautious. She took her coffee mug
and sat on the couch. Tom took that as leave to join her.

"Yes, Captain. I was wondering if you'd noticed any change his behavior
lately?"

Janeway lifted her mug to lips and held it there, hiding the lower portion
of her face. "I'm not sure what you mean, Tom," she said with deliberate
slowness. She set the mug down without drinking from it. "Are you
suggesting that the Commander is less than fit for duty?"

That question made Tom wonder just exactly what Janeway knew or
thought she knew. He was about to ask her to explain when his sense of
self preservation kicked in, Warp 10. Tom had learned to listen to his
survival instinct--it had gotten him throught 37 years as Admiral Paris's
son, four years at Starfleet Academy, two years of active service, six
months in the Maquis, eighteen months in prison and four years of
marriage to a Kllingon-- and now it was screaming at him to shut the
fuck up. This woman held the power to make his life a living hell and he
was poking at an obviously senstive spot, if her defensiveness was any
indication, with a pointy stick.

"Ah, no ma'am," Tom backpedalled. "It's just that, well, he seems awfully
quiet lately. Withdrawn. And B'Elanna's worried about him." That's
right. A man can aways blame any unwarranted snoopiness on the wife.
That was one of great unwritten rules of marriage.

Janeway relaxed against the sofa's cushions and took up her coffee cup
again. "Oh yes, I'd certainly say he's been quieter lately. Less inclined to
argue. We haven't had a professional disagreement in....months. But I
don't think there's anything to worry about. He still engaged actively with
running the ship. And...." she continued with almost girlish shyness,
"...now all this time after Seven's death, he's starting to get socially
involved again. We've resumed our dinner meetings a couple of weeks
ago. Chakotay never was a great talker, but he's developed into a
marvelous listener. He's my rock and my constant and I've missed
him....Besides, I really can't blame him for not eating my cooking. I
always could burn water--even using a replicator." She chuckled and
shook her head at some private memory.

She stood and Tom understood the interview was over. "Thank you for
being concerned, Tom," she said as she moved back toward her desk.
She touched her fingers against her throat mike, but before she resumed
her game, she asked, "Was there anything else?"

Tom shook his head. "Unless you share..."

Janeway cocked an eyebrow.

"Rebel Queen," Tom explained. "When you're done, I'd like to borrow
it."

Janeway grinned at him. She was busted and she knew it. "As long as
you don't tell who you got it from."

Tom grinned back. "Your secret is safe with me, Captain." He was
already envisioning a holodeck version with lots of dogfights. He could
even add a romantic storyline. Maybe one with a handsome rebel
captain....He wondered if Harry had some free time and would be willing
to help him write the conversion program.

*****

Sometimes life sucked.

Like now.

Oh, Tom understood all the reasons: Voyager was a small ship with only
150 crew; they were far from home and couldn't exactly pull into
Spacedock I at Terra to pick a few replacements if the unthinkable
happened--you know, a Borg attack, a warp core breech, a major
bulkhead blowing open to empty space. No, the reasons all made sense,
had made sense ten years earlier when Chakotay had first proposed
mandatory crosstraining for all the crew.

But just because Tom understood the necessity, it still didn't mean he
had to like it.

Sometimes--like now--the whole idea just plain sucked.

He was stuck in Sickbay while Harry got to take the Rebel Queen's
newest holographic fighter, the Hawkwing, out on her maiden flight.
Stuffing a half dozen rolls of bandages in a drawer, Tom tried to
remember why he'd volunteered for medic training in the first place. Oh
yeah, Kes. Ten years ago, he had a serious lust on for Kes and a weekly
shift next to her in Sickbay had seemed like a good way to get close to
her. A decade had come and gone. His crush had come and gone. Kes
had come and gone (and come back and then left again). But Tom still
spent every sixth shift playing Number One Son to the holodoctor's
Charlie Chan. There was a cautionary tale in there somewhere, he was
sure.

OK, he had to admit that the duty wasn't too tough, provided the Doctor
didn't decide Tom needed his operatic education broadened, and he'd
learned some pretty useful stuff, like not to panic when Miral bashed her
nose and started spewing blood, but still he'd much rather be testing the
Hawkwing's lateral stability with a few corkscrew rolls than restocking
supply cabinets in Sickbay.

"I'm finished now, Doc," Tom announced, poking his head into the
Doctor's office at the back of Sickbay. "If you don't....."

"In a hurry, Mr. Paris?" The doctor's smug and condescending voice
followed Tom back into the Sickbay proper just a step ahead of the
holographic doctor himself. "You have two hours left on your shift."

Sighing, Tom resigned himself to another round of scutwork. He wasn't
going to get to fly the Hawkwing today. And that role-playing costume
he'd designed for B'Elanna--the one with molded steel breastplate-bra
and the thong-cut chainmail loincloth--that was going to have to wait as
well. Not there was much of chance he'd see her in *that* anytime soon.
Not after the fight they'd had last night. Over Miral again, as usual.
Children sure put a crimp in one's sex life. If he had known just how
much four years ago....No, he couldn't regret his daughter--or her often
tempermental mother--no matter how hard he tried. He loved them both
so much it hurt.

The doctor pushed a rolling tray of surgical implements in Tom's
direction. "Here. You can calibrate these."

Tom picked up the nearest one, scanned his body, squinted at the readout
and made a minute adjustment before returning it to the tray.

The doctor didn't return to his cubby. Instead he hovered about three
feet from Tom's elbow. Tom suspected the doctor was checking up on
him. Despite ten years of training, it seemed the holodoc was convinced
that Tom would still fuck it up.

Gee, thank, Doc, Tom thought with more than a whiff of self-pity and
resentment, appreciate the show of confidence. If you're going stand
there and kibbutz while I'm missing my chance to test the Hawkwing, the
least you can do is entertain me.

So Tom asked the Doctor that same question he'd earlier asked of Tuvok
and the Captain.

"Different?" ruminated the Doctor. "Different how?"

"I don't know." Tom flapped his hands in frustration. "Just different.
You know. Quiet. Stiff."

"Oh, stuffed! Of course, he's stuffed." The Doctor waved a negligent
hand toward Chakotay who was studying some text on the medical
computer near the back of Sickbay. "Why didn't you just ask that in the
first place?"

Tom did a double take. He hadn't heard the First Officer enter Sickbay.
If he had, he never would have raised the topic in the first place. "No,"
Tom hissed, lowering his voice to what he hoped was an inaudible level
and dragging the Doctor to the other side of the room "I said stiff, not
stuffed....although, I have heard that some of Starfleet's
underendowed...." He couldn't help himself. His eyes were drawn to the
Commander's crotch.

The Sickbay doors swooped open. Tom yanked his eyes back to front
and center, flushing in embarrassment at having been caught checking
out another man's equipment.

"Not that kind of stuffed." The Doctor waved an dismissive hand.
"Taxidermied stuffed. Not codpiece stuffed, although...it appears that
someone has been 'enhancing' the Commander again." The hologam
made a quick appraisal of the Commander's groin and turned a accusing
glare on Harry Kim who had joined Tom and the Doctor beside the
biobeds. "Gym socks this time, Mr. Kim, or have you gone back to the
hand towel?"

Harry pointed at his own chest and widened his eyes in an affected 'who
me?' look of innocence.

"I suppose he's wearing the purple satin boxing shirt too." The
holodoctor sounded resigned, like he'd had this discussion too many
time before.

Smirking, Harry nodded vigorously.

"Now wait just a minute...." Tom whirled around to face them, his fists
resting on his hip and his arms akimbo in his best Janeway-in-charge
imitation. "Are you trying to tell me that Commander Chakotay is dead?"

A secret look passed between Harry and the doctor.

"As the proverbial doornail," the doctor said while Harry tried manfully
to smother a fit of giggles.

Tom slumped back on the edge of the biobed in disbelief. "How long?"
he croaked.

The holodoctor chewed on his lower lip, calculating. Harry tipped his
head back to stare at the ceiling, then dropped it back down to look at
Tom. "Six months? Eight?"

"Could have been longer," offered the doctor. " Years, even. His vitals
were always so low it was hard to tell."

Tom was shaking his head and rubbing his hand across his forehead.
"But I've heard him talk."

"Ventriloqism," supplied Harry.

The doctor beamed in approval. "Nice touch, Mr. Kim."

"Oh no, not me," Harry said. "Tuvok."

"Tuvok? Simply not possible. I'm sure he is unaware of the true
situation. He'd never go along with it."

"But I see his lips moving," insisted Harry.

"Oh, that." The hologram's voice lingered over the 'that' as he slouched
back on the biobed next to Tom. "Ignore that. That's simply the first sign
of his secret, degenerative, never-before-heard-of mental illness that will
gradually over the next few years relegate him to a rubber room never to
be seen or heard from again. Except by the Captain and then only on
Sundays."

Tom gaped at the Doctor's callous revelation.

"Don't blame me," the doctor protested as he drew himself up, wrapped
in wounded dignity. "I didn't write the plotline."

Tom rattled his pinkie in his ear. He couldn't believe what he was
hearing. Chakotay was dead. Tuvok was going insane. This had to be
dream. A bad dream. He tried biting the inside of his cheek. Nothing
changed. Except his mouth hurt. He raked his fingers through his hair
and mentally listing the possibilities: holdeck program gone bad;
telepathic mind invasion; or worse yet, this was somehow a directed
visualization exercise gotten out of hand, part of his rehabilitative
therapy, and he was still back at the penal colony in New Zealand. A
clammy film of sweat soaked his armpits and his breath puffed out in
short pants. Shit. Shit. Shit. Was any of this real? His hand swept over
his hair again. No. No. This had to be real....in no fantasy he could ever
imagine would he envision himself with thinning hair and a fat ass.

A tiny sigh of relief slipped out between his lips. Tom opened his eyes
to find Harry and the Doctor staring at him with their arms folded across
their chests and their heads tipped slightly to the side like non-identical
mirror images.

"Done with your moment of existential angst?" asked the holographic
doctor sarcastically.

"Don't mind him," Harry said, clapping a sympathetic hand on his
friend's shoulder. "It happens to all of us. To some of us more than
others." He rolled his eyes significantly in the doctor's direction.

"So this is all true? Right? Chakotay is really dead? But I've heard him
talk." Tom looked from Harry to the Doctor, seeking answers.

"Verbal sampling, " the doctor finally explained. " The computer has
plenty of recordings of the Commander's voice. When alerted that a
question has been directed at Comander Chakotay, it searches through
its files and, based upon an interpolative algorithm, it selects what fits its
criteria for an appropriate response. Then it strings the words or phrases
together and projects it out through the comm badge."

Tom looked doubtful. "Well, I guess that does go a long way to explain
some the more impenetrable 'stories of his people' I've heard from him
over the last few years. They were random verbal phrases."

Harry cleared his throat and looked vaguely embarrassed. "Uh...Tom...I
know exactly what you're talking about and I think most of those
were...live."

Tom's lips made an silent O.

A moment later, Tom said, "And the moving around.... by transporter.
Right?"

Harry and the Doc both nodded.

"The reports and logs?"

"The logs are just computerized summaries of his watches automatically
forwarded to Tuvok and the Captain. The adminstrative stuff was a little
more tricky." Harry looked almost gleeful as he explained, like the
overgrown kid he was who was pulling off the biggest pranks of his
life. "But what does he really do as First Office anyway? Personnel and
disciplinary problems usually resolve themselves. And what doesn't,
simply gets kicked upstairs to the Captain. She likes to have the final
word anyway."

Tom could see the sense in that and said so. "But I still can't believe that
no one's noticed," he continued.

"Think about it, Tom," Harry cajoled. "Other than saying 'Yes, ma'am' on
the Bridge, when did Chakotay ever have a real function aboard the
ship?" When Tom couldn't answer, Harry poked a finger into the center
of his chest and said, "See my point exactly."

"But why not just...let him die? I mean we're lost crew before. It wouldn't
be anything so out of the ordinary."

"No, but it would be bad for morale, " the Doctor stated, turning serious.
"Plus the ensuing backstabbing and interpersonal turmoil as the junior
officers jockeyed for promotion... It could get ugly. In fact, it could
undermine the whole underlying emotional and psychological stability of
the ship. I'm sure that not even you would want that, Mr. Paris."

Tom knew the Doc had insulted him somehow, but wasn't quite sure as
to how or about what. Did the hologram see him as part of that
destabilizing element? Before he could think any more about it though,
Harry took up the argument.

"Besides, Tom, the Captain would be so lonely if Chakotay was dead.
He's practically her only friend shipboard. She even took him back after
he married Seven....I'd personally would have scratched his eyes out,
but...." Harry shrugged as if to say 'to each hir own'.

Tom raised his hands in mock surrender, then turned to look at the stiff,
silent former First Officer propped up against the computer station.
"OK, OK, You've convinced me. I'll go along....but.... I want some
perks."

Harry and the Doctor regarded him with suspicion. "Like?"

"I want to be relieved of all this Sickbay make-work." Tom noticed the
Doctor looked anxious at this declaration. "I mean I'd be willing to keep
up my training as a medic. I know we need one, but I'm tired of doing
your scutwork, Doc. Let somebody else stack bandages."

The hologram cautiously nodded assent.

"And I want a minimum of an hour week for the Rebel Queen on the
holodeck."

Both the conspirators quickly nodded yes.

"And since I assume the dead don't sleep...." Tom jerked his chin toward
the ex-Commander in the corner, "I want Commander Chakotay to
babysit Miral--that is when you're done playing with him, Harry."

Harry managed to agreed, even though he was coughing and blushing
furiously.

Tom grinned. "Great. I thought so." He tapped his commbadge.
"B'Elanna. Whatcha ya doing, sweetheart? How would you like to meet
me on the holodeck? I've talked with Chakotay...he's going to take Miral.
Yeah. Really. And B'Elanna, if you look in the bottom drawer of my
dresser, there's this costume. Yeah, *that* one....bring it with you..... "

*****

The End

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