NEW Leadership [PG] VOY AU (P)
Title: Leadership
Author: Dave Rogers (daverogers@geocities.com)
Series: VOY AU (Virtues series, 5/?)
Part: NEW 1/1
Date:
Rating: [PG]
Codes: P
Warning: Some swearing, some corpses.
Summary: Sequel to "Justice", fifth in the Virtues series. Tom
Paris needs to regain both the crew's confidence, and his own.
Disclaimer: Paramount leads, I follow.
Acknowledgements: Jeri Taylor's "Pathways" for background
material.
Leadership
A week may be a long time in politics, as a long-forgotten national
leader had once said; but four months is an eternity on Kennar III.
The USS Bohr, investigating the rather high probability that the Borg
had been involved in the disappearance of the system's two Romulan
colonies, had enough to do for several such eternities, though, so
there was to be no respite for Tom Paris from the numbing boredom of
it all.
It was at times like this that Captain Culbertson came into his own. A
modest man, with much to be modest about, his talent was for the finer
points of organisation and management, not to mention bidding
conventions and suit preference signals, and in the presence of three
like-minded souls and the regulation red and blue packs of cards, his
long term happiness was assured. While on duty, he alternated between
slowly and meticulously inspecting the ship to ensure that all the
crew were carrying out their duties willingly, slowly and meticulously
inspecting the investigation sites to ensure that all the science team
were carrying out their duties willingly, and slowly and meticulously
writing reports to Starfleet that somehow minimised the importance of
the will of the crew and the science team to carry out those duties.
While off duty, he immersed himself so deeply in the eternal bridge
school as to fail to notice the relief of the crew and the science
team at his absence. And in the resulting power vacuum, two lesser
beings vied amicably for control of an increasingly easy-going crew.
Nasir, like any good First Officer, was practically obsessed with the
ability of the crew to perform any and every standard drill in less
time than any other ship of the same class. Quite where he got his
information, nobody in the crew knew - none dared suggest he simply
made it up - but he was able to construct a league table for all
Einstein class science vessels and rank the Bohr on it day by day. The
aim was obvious, but still compelling, and it became a matter of pride
in the whole crew that they could assemble and beam out an away team
of six in three seconds less that the USS Fermi, or drop, recover and
refit the warp core in two minutes less than the USS Heisenberg -
although, based on one of Paris' more unbearable jokes, where the
Heisenberg's times were concerned, Nasir wasn't certain.
Paris, on the other hand, found routine drills rather tedious, and
preferred the excitement of battle exercises. Whenever Nasir was down
on the surface, therefore, the Bohr was usually executing high-gee
turns with the shields at maximum, phasers fully charged and photon
torpedo - there was only one launcher - at the ready. The Bohr dragged
its aged hull around the Kennar system with the grace of a hyperactive
elephant, and had any enemy of appropriate ability been available - a
Klingon warbird with seventy per cent of its systems disabled, say, or
the stern half of a bisected Ferengi attack launch - their days would
have been numbered. All in all, the crew couldn't form any consensus
as to who irritated them more.
Matters came to a head, though, when Tom took the Bohr through the
asteroid belt, an insanely dangerous jumble of rock that was all the
Borg had left of Kennar IV, while Culbertson, Nasir, Mulholland and
Shabeer were all away at the investigation sites. An hour of tension,
fear and lightning-fast reflexes left Tom exhilarated and most of the
crew suffering from nervous exhaustion. The next day, Tom was off
duty, idly setting up trick shots on the pool table, when Shabeer
sidled in with Mulholland in tow.
Ali Shabeer coughed nervously, and began, "Tom, some of the crew have
asked me to speak to you."
"Is this about the pool tournament?" asked Tom, his mind on his latest
idea for crew recreation. "Nasir's handling most of the details now,
maybe you should ask him."
"No, it's not the pool tournament." Shabeer gave the strong impression
that he would rather be just about anywhere else right now. "There
have been some rumours, Tom, about your past..."
Tom turned to face him, and fixed him with an icy stare. "My past's no
secret, Ali. The shuttle accident's on record, and yes, it was my
fault, and yes, my three best friends died. Was there anything else?"
His words were harsher than he'd intended, but the wounds Shabeer had
re-opened were still too fresh.
Shabeer's mouth opened and shut for a few seconds, but no sound came
out. Tom realised, with a slight pang of guilt, that this must be very
hard for Shabeer, normally the most polite man on board; he couldn't,
offhand, ever remember him speaking an unkind word to anyone. Dermot
Mulholland, though, was cast in a very different mould, and he stepped
in to rescue Shabeer with his characteristic Old Etonian confidence.
"Look, Paris, stop chucking the bloody ship around so much, will you?
And stay out of the asteroid belt, you're scaring the shit out of the
poor bloody crew."
"You mean they don't trust me?" Tom's hands were still at his sides,
but his fists were clenched and anger showed in his eyes. "Did they
think I'd crash them into an asteroid too?"
"Tom, no offence was intended," Shabeer said with a pleading note in
his voice. "This is an old ship, if something broke down..."
"Don't be such an arse, Paris. Give the poor sods a break. Save it for
when you need it." Mulholland seemed to have a gift for using the most
insulting language possible, yet still sounding like Tom's best
friend. Tom idly wondered whether amicable swearing was on the
syllabus at English public schools. The thought of a schoolteacher
formally instructing the English aristocracy in obscene language
cheered him a little, and he found his anger retreating.
"Okay, okay, I'll take it easy. Maybe I'll stick to weapons drill, or
something. But I'll have to do some flying, sometimes," he insisted,
smiling, "or I'll go insane. It gets so boring round here."
"Too bloody right there," agreed Mulholland. "Just cut down a bit,
there's a good chap."
Tom kept up the air of easy-going charm until he was alone; then, he
sank into black despair. Nasir's lesson, when they first arrived at
Kennar III, had gone deep, and he'd been working hard since then -
for all the appearance of a reckless thrill-seeker that his battle
exercises might have conveyed - to understand the people under his
command, and gain their trust. The thought that he had so quickly lost
the crew's confidence left him wondering whether he would ever be fit
to lead men again. Despair began to give way to depression; after all
he'd come to know in the last year, was there any point anyway?
Slowly, though, his training and upbringing took over. If a Paris had
a problem, he faced it, Tom thought; broke it down into manageable
pieces and work through them one at a time. The first step was to
regain the confidence of this crew, here and now. The confidence of
any other hypothetical crews could wait.
So a week later, when all the senior staff were again on the planet,
Tom instigated a shipwide weapons drill, and picked a near-approach
asteroid for some target practice. A few gentle manoeuvres wouldn't
upset anyone, there were no real hazards involved, and everybody
always loved blowing things up. Tom suspected that was why most
crewmen joined up.
"Cardassian attack cruiser approaching to starboard," announced Petty
Officer Roberts at the science station.
"Red alert. All crew to battle stations," ordered Tom, trying hard to
sound interested. "Shields to maximum. Charge phaser banks, load
photon torpedo tube. Engineering, prepare to re-route warp power to
the forward shields."
"Shields at maximum, all weapons ready," chimed in Crewman Andri at
tactical. "Ready to fire on your command, Captain."
Tom stifled a chuckle. He'd told Andri not to call him that, but she
insisted on doing it, then pretended it was a mistake if he objected.
He was sure she was doing it on purpose, but he let it go usually
because it seemed fairly good-natured. Anyway, she was Betazoid, very
attractive and not much older than him, and he was starting to realise
that maybe Odile hadn't been the only woman in the world.
"Three Romulan warbirds decloaking on the port bow, sir!" exclaimed
Roberts suddenly.
Tom frowned. Roberts wasn't supposed to improvise like that. He
turned to reprimand him, but realised immediately that Roberts wasn't
looking at him. The entire bridge crew was staring at the forward
viewscreen. Tom spun round, and froze for an instant as he saw the
three huge green monsters shimmer into vision, any one of them capable
of swatting aside the Bohr like a troublesome insect. Part of his mind
heard Roberts continue, "Lead ship is charging weapons, sir," as he
leapt for the pilot's seat, pushing aside Crewman Martelli, and then
the ship was under his control, lurching to one side as the Romulan
disrupter bolt tore up the empty space where the Bohr had been an
instant earlier. Then he was issuing orders.
"Martelli, take the Captain's chair, prepare to relay my orders from
there. Paris to crew: Battle stations, we are under attack. This is
not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Engineering, I need all the
power you can give me. Akell, hail the Captain and warn everyone down
there they may have company. Hold on, everyone, this is going to get
rough."
As the lead warbird charged up for a second shot, Tom took the Bohr
under full impulse power around the planet, and for a moment the
horizon came between them. Then there were two shapes visible, and
Roberts was relaying more information.
"Two warbirds following us, sir. They're scout ships, type unknown,
look like about three times our size. The third has dropped shields -
I think they're beaming down an away team."
"Damn. Let's see if we can change their minds about that." There were
seventeen people on the surface, armed but unwarned; if the Romulan
ship had time to beam down enough troops they would be defenceless.
Angling the thrust of the impulse engines outwards, Tom flung the Bohr
round the planet, almost grazing the atmosphere as he did so. The two
following warbirds held back, unwilling to risk quite such a hazardous
manoeuvre, and in a few moments were gone from sight again. "Andri,
prepare to fire photon torpedo. Martelli, tell weapons to stand by to
reload."
Andri frowned. There wasn't anything to fire a torpedo at. But scant
seconds later, the Bohr completed its forced orbit, and there above
them was the third warbird, shields still down for transporting.
"Ready to fire, sir."
"Target their warp engines. Fire!"
The torpedo sped away, and at once Tom threw the Bohr round in a tight
turn, heading out of orbit and towards the asteroid belt. As the first
two warbirds reappeared around the curve of Kennar III, Roberts
announced, "Direct hit on their warp engines, sir. They're raising
shields and pursuing." Good; that meant the senior staff and the
science team had a fighting chance. Roberts confirmed his conjecture.
"Transporter signatures indicate they've beamed down ten to twenty,
sir." Ten to twenty against seventeen; maybe a fair fight. Then,
quietly, Roberts added "Thanks, sir." Maybe Roberts had a good
friend down there; anyway, the rest of the bridge crew seemed to share
his approval.
Tom remembered his next duty. "Akell, send a subspace message to
Starbase 718. Tell them our situation and request support." Support
was a forlorn hope; even if a pair of Galaxy class starships happened
to be visiting, an unlikely scenario but one that would provide about
the minimum force to counter this threat, the Romulans would have
finished off the Bohr and had plenty of time to deal with the
officers and scientists before they could get to Kennar III even at
maximum warp. But Starfleet had to be informed, at the very least;
and as he finished the thought, the Bolian replied, "Message sent,
sir."
"Prepare logs for jettisoning," added Tom, remembering another duty of
the captain whose starship was doomed to defeat and destruction. Not
yet, though; she still flew, and with, Tom believed, the best pilot in
Starfleet at the conn, there was a ghost of a chance. If only he could
make it to the asteroid belt.
Kennar III receded behind them as the Bohr drove outwards towards a
place of relative safety. The two trailing Romulan ships were gaining
now, but the leader was clearly inconvenienced by the damage to its
engines, and the Bohr's lead was maintained. Minutes after leaving
orbit, though, the undamaged ships passed their consort and took over
the chase. They spread out slightly, cutting off any line of escape.
"Roberts, monitor their weapons systems. I want some warning when
they fire." Tom's left hand was tapping in a prepared course
correction as his right set up an automated response to the
appropriate signal from the science station. "Engineering, prepare to
engage warp engines."
The bridge crew looked nervously at one another. Warp speed, this deep
in a solar system and this close to an asteroid belt, was an insanely
dangerous measure. But the odds were insane, so maybe it was the only
way.
"Weapons charging," shouted Roberts. As he did so, the Bohr lurched
sideways again, and evaded another bolt.
"Engage warp engines, warp factor one," ordered Tom. Then:
"Disengage."
In a perfectly executed Picard Manoeuvre, the Bohr jumped instantly to
the edge of the asteroid belt, leaving an afterimage behind which was
instantly surrounded by the three warbirds. Disrupter bolts blazed in
empty space at the very moment the afterimage vanished, and for a few
seconds the Romulan ships were still, looking for the wreckage their
fire must have left behind.
Meanwhile, on the real Bohr, Tom's leadership was about to be tested.
"Sir, we can't go in there!", insisted Martelli from the command
chair. "We'll never make it, it's too dangerous..."
"Do you have a better plan?" asked Paris curtly. "If we don't go in,
we're dead. Those three aren't looking for prisoners."
Andri and Akell were silent, looking back and forth between Paris
and Martelli, uncertain which way to turn. Looking back, Paris
noted that Akell was looking more at Martelli, and Andri more at
him. Suddenly, though, another voice spoke, and the deadlock was
broken.
"Martelli, get down to the weapons deck and help out there. Akell,
take the Captain's chair. Andri, watch for debris and take out
anything that's going to bother us. Carry out your orders, all of
you." It was Roberts' voice, and as the Petty Officer backed up Tom's
authority he breathed a silent sigh of thanks. No more time to decide
now; with a brief "Look sharp, everyone, this is going to be rough,"
he took the Bohr in.
Moments later, three Romulan warbirds followed.
Once inside the asteroid belt, there was no more time for dissent, no
more time for orders, no more time. Tom felt the familiar sensation of
the moments slowing and spreading out, and he disconnected his fingers
from his conscious mind and simply thought of where the ship was to
go, leaving it to a different part of his mind, one that worked
silently without interrupting his thoughts, to translate the wish into
commands, and the finger movements to carry them out. Ahead, two
jagged rocks converged on the Bohr's path, and a third, smoother
fragment lay beyond. Delicately squeezing the Bohr through the closing
gap, Tom briefly checked the rear viewscreens. Good. All three
warbirds had had to go round, and he'd gained a few more seconds.
Here, in the midst of chaos, on the very brink of destruction, he had
an edge. The warbirds were bigger, stronger, faster, for sure, but
only in open space and at warp speeds. In the asteroid belt, one
impulse engine was much the same as another; but the Bohr was shorter,
stubbier than the elegant warbirds, and could turn on a dime -
whatever a dime was; the original 20th century meaning had been lost.
Now, he needed a distraction. "Roberts, check for a subspace homing
signal, frequency band C-three," he ordered, as his hands, acting on
their own, hit a series of control pads, the lateral thrusters
fired and a long spike of rock appeared to move off the edge of the
forward viewscreen.
"Picking up a signal, sir; fourteen degrees left, five degrees up,
seven hundred kilometres distant." Roberts answered quickly, without
questioning Tom's intentions.
The asteroid looked familiar, and there was a dark spot on its near
face; the same ruined city that had so shocked Tom before. He could
find another momentary advantage here, if not a pleasant one. This was
life or death, though, and there was no time for scruples.
"Andri, target forward phasers on the city." At first she just
stared, puzzled; then her mouth and eyes opened wide in horror as she
experienced the same perspective change that had chilled Tom, months
earlier. Still not realising Tom's plan, she fired, and the ruins of
the city exploded into space around them.
"Look away from the viewscreen," Tom said quickly. But as Roberts,
Andri and Akell averted their eyes, Tom forced himself to watch.
As he'd suspected, the Borg had not assimilated Kennar IV, but simply
destroyed it with all its inhabitants - and the inhabitants were still
there. Their corpses were scattered among the debris as the city
exploded, and for a few macabre seconds the colony seemed to return to
life. Shrunken, shrivelled corpses, well preserved by the cold and
vacuum of space, swirled around in a gruesome dance, mixed among the
slabs of rock and lighter wreckage. One woman seemed about to burst
through the main viewscreen, her open eyes staring sightlessly into
Tom's soul, shouting a silent accusation at the one who had disturbed
her rest. There were children, too, and men old and young; and every
one of them clearly, recognisably Romulan. Tom felt the sting of tears
on his cheeks, and knew that whatever effect this might have on him,
for his pursuers it would be multiplied tenfold.
The viewscreen cleared, and the horror abated. "You can look now,"
said Tom quietly. "Andri, phasers and photon torpedo ready. I want
you to fire phasers on a tight beam, overload the shields locally,
and put a photon torpedo through the hole. We'll only get one shot."
"Ready, sir," replied Andri, waiting for a target.
Again Tom pulled the Bohr round in a high-gee turn, this time dropping
behind the asteroid. Just before he lost sight of the Romulans in the
rear viewscreen, he checked that the damaged ship was still lagging
behind a little. Then they were gone, and he prayed silently that they
would be just distracted enough not to anticipate his actions. If one
of the undamaged warbirds turned back or slowed, the Bohr was dead.
Suddenly, they were round, and the stern of the damaged warbird almost
filled the main viewscreen. "Andri, fire when...", began Tom. Before
he could finish, the phasers whined, the warbird's rear screen glowed
into incandescence and faded, and a photon torpedo shot straight into
the darker gap. Then there was the flash of a thousand suns, and
fragments of hull spinning through empty space. "...ready," finished
Tom, unable to stop himself.
"Direct hit - we triggered a warp core overload," announced Roberts.
"Warbird destroyed. No life signs."
"Nice shooting," commented Tom, and added, too quietly to be heard,
"One for you, Charlie." Then, audibly again, "Recharge phasers. There
are still two more. And get the torpedo tube reloaded. " He thought
for a moment. "Cancel that. Martelli, get back up here."
The two surviving warbirds had already spotted the Bohr, and were
again in pursuit. They were holding their distance now, as their
pilots learned to cope with an environment where death was a matter of
a momentary lapse of attention. Seeing another chance, Tom pulled the
Bohr tightly round a cratered, honeycombed asteroid to keep it between
him and the Romulans - then saw the rear viewscreens light up. Instead
of going round, the warbirds had simply fired a salvo of plasma
torpedoes, vaporising the asteroid, and their straighter path meant
they had closed slightly on him. And they could do so again, with
their firepower. Catching the Bohr was now only a matter of time.
"Over here, Martelli," rapped Tom as the crewman stepped out of the
turbolift. "I need a photon torpedo rigged to emit an intense
magneton pulse just ahead of us. Can you make the modifications?"
"Sir, that'll shut down our viewscreens!" exclaimed Andri from
behind him. "How can we get through this if we can't see?"
"I know what it'll do," replied Tom, as his fingers danced across the
controls and the Bohr sideslipped between two enormous discs of
basalt. "It'll shut down their viewscreens too. Martelli, can you do
it?"
Martelli was clearly almost paralysed with indecision, and his hands,
hanging loosely by his sides, were shaking. As Roberts opened his
mouth, Tom silenced him with a glance; he needed to win Martelli over
himself. "Come on, Adrian," he said gently. "There's not much time.
Trust me, I can get us through this."
Martelli swallowed, blinked twice, then took a breath. "It'll take
about five minutes, sir. I'll get right on to it."
"When you're done, load it and tell me." Tom's voice was more relaxed
now, even as he flung the Bohr round in another impossibly tight turn.
"I can just about hold them off that long."
Over the next five minutes, he began to doubt whether he, the rest of
the bridge crew, or the Bohr itself could last that long. Twice
Andri, who had previously only fired on the Romulans, had to react
quickly to destroy asteroids that Tom simply couldn't avoid, and three
times salvoes of plasma torpedoes from behind announced that the two
warbirds had created another short cut. At last, though, Martelli's
welcome voice announced, "Torpedo loaded, sir," over the intercom.
Now it was simply a matter of picking the right moment. For a few
seconds the viewscreen was clear, then suddenly seven asteroids of
different shapes, sizes and trajectories entered their view, and Tom
knew that this was the best chance he would ever get. Slowing time
again, he took the space between the moments to study every last
detail of the picture before him; then he ordered, "Andri, fire the
photon torpedo," shut his eyes, and let that other part of his mind
take over.
Andri, Roberts and Akell were quiet as the seconds stretched into
an eternity. Tom thought he heard someone praying. Three times, some
command was entered, as if by a stranger, and the Bohr lurched into a
tight turn; and once the impulse engines were momentarily switched
into reverse thrust, then restored as something unseen passed the
bows. Then, from behind closed eyelids, Tom became aware of a change
in the light levels on the bridge, and Roberts was saying, "Main
viewscreen is back on line."
Looking into the rear viewscreen, Tom could immediately see the
absence of anything Romulan. "Roberts, scan the area - where are
they?", he asked nervously.
"I'm picking up debris, and there's a residual signature of a warp
core explosion, sir," replied Roberts. "Hang on, sir - one warbird,
moving at quarter impulse, distance of - they're heading out of the
asteroid belt! You shook them off!" His voice, for the first time,
lost its professional coolness, and rang with triumphant excitement.
"And the other one?" Tom still needed to be sure.
"No other vessels in maximum sensor range," answered Roberts, his
voice still slightly raised. "There's enough debris to account for a
vessel the size of a warbird, sir."
"One for you, Bruno," whispered Tom. His conscious mind took back
control over his hands as he slowed the Bohr to one quarter impulse,
then turned to follow the surviving warbird at a safe distance.
"Sir," Akell's voice cut the disciplined silence of the bridge. "Why
are we following? Can't we just hide out in here till they've gone?"
"I'm not leaving the Captain and the others," Tom replied, eyes still
fixed on the viewscreen. "They've only got to head for the planet, and
then we'll have to follow. It won't take them long to figure that out,
then they can smoke us out any time they like. We've got to do
something while they're still off balance."
"No!" Akell leapt up from the command chair, his skin tone lightening
from its normal blue to a pale grey, and strode round to the front of
the conn station. Putting his hands on the front, he leaned over so
his face was close to Tom's, and hissed, "Listen, *sir*, that warbird
can take us out without trying. We're safe here. We can wait for help,
and the others can look after themselves. Don't try to be a hero!"
"All stop." Tom stood up, and looked down on Akell. "Starfleet
doesn't work that way, crewman." And even as he said the words, he
felt himself believing them, believing for the first time in nearly a
year that there was some truth in the ideals he was serving. "We go
back for them, Akell. We'll deal with this warbird the way we dealt
with the other two. Get back to your station." He sat down again, and
started to study the navigational display.
"We got lucky!" Akell was shouting now. "You're insane, Paris! You
took some mad risks and you got lucky!" He grabbed Paris' jacket and
pulled him to his feet, as Tom punched a command into the panel. "I'm
not letting you... What did you just do?"
"We're moving at half impulse, and nobody's at the wheel. You'd
better let go, Akell, before we hit something. We're going after that
warbird. How many men do you think they can beam down? A hundred? Two
hundred? The others back on Kennar III won't have a chance. We have to
stop them."
The Bolian stepped back in confusion, as Roberts hit his commbadge and
called, "Security to the bridge. One to escort to the brig."
"Paris to security, cancel that," Tom countered. "Remain at battle
stations, everyone. Akell, get back to the comms station. Martelli to
the bridge." Sitting down at the conn again, he threaded the Bohr
delicately through the chaos while his mind worked furiously. He
vaguely noticed the Bolian going back to his post, and hoped that at
least that little crisis was over.
Was Akell right? Was it just luck? If so, he felt, he had some luck
due. But as he thought back over the last hour, he knew that there had
been more, that he'd faced each situation as it arose and found a way
to make the most of it, that he'd used his skills and his training to
good effect, and that all along he'd been in control. And even as his
faith in Starfleet began to resurface, so did his faith in himself. He
was, after all, he reminded himself, the best pilot in Starfleet. Then
suddenly he laughed as he imagined his father's reaction if he gave up
now. "You faced three warbirds with an underarmed garbage scow, and
you only destroyed two of them? Not bad, I suppose, but you could have
done better. I'm disappointed in you, Thomas." He could almost picture
the shaking head, the furrowed brow, and the look of disapproval. To
hell with you, Admiral Paris, he thought. I'll do it, sure, but I'll
do it for my reasons, for my ship and my crew. And with a lighter
heart, he started planning for the final round.
THE END
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