DISCLAIMER: You know the drill.  Paramount owns all.  I just have fun with em’ Don’t sue me 
please. Story, however, is MINE!!!!!! 

				Memoirs
				By: Strwriter

The sun faded slowly over the hills of the endless Montana horizon, painting the sky with 
molten color. Wildlife stirred, beginning the second of the day’s two transitions; creatures who 
spent their lives under the sun retreating for the night, while those who flourished under cover of 
darkness began to emerge. Beside the brilliant disc of the sun, the evening star was just visible, 
shining over the hills as a promise of the starlit night to come. 
	
On one of those golden hills, an old woman looked wistfully out the window of an ancient 
ranch house, watching the sunset. The building was over a hundred years old, built in the style of 
houses hundreds of years before that, it’s weathered timbers and occasionally peeling paint  well-
suited to the rustic landscape that surrounded it. 

As the woman watched the last traces of daylight fade into the blues and violets of dusk, 
she sighed deeply. Another day was melting away. Another day gone, and when one was ninety-
three, each day was more precious than the last. She could remember when she was younger, 
how an hour was a long time indeed, and a day a virtual eternity. 

The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime softly, reminding the woman of her 
duties. Forcing her eyes away from the spectacular vista, she resigned herself to another difficult 
night. She would spend the next several hours dredging up events and memories that had lain 
comfortably dormant for years, sometimes decades, and transcribing them all in narrative form.
	
Glancing back toward the beautiful view out her window, she decided to take advantage 
of the perfect May weather and work outdoors. She would need her portable PADD then, but 
where was it? She knew she had set it down right here on the dining room table, next to the 
remains of her breakfast, which she still hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up. Had her large 
mixed-breed dog, Talon, somehow decided to add theft to his list of mischievous deeds? Perhaps 
a visitor had moved it?

As she searched, her gaze fell on a small table top hologram, and she smiled with fond 
nostalgia. The hologram was of a young woman, no more than twenty-five. Her slender figure 
was clad in the black and gold uniform of a Starfleet engineer, but the Lieutenant’s rank insignia 
on her collar marked her as a Maquis. This odd paradox was reflected in other ways on her as 
well.

Her dark brown hair was cut to chin length, revealing a beautiful face with strong, high-
cheekboned features, and a delicate pattern of bony ridges down her forehead. It was a youthful, 
almost girlish face, one that could have been fresh and innocent were it not for the one factor that 
was the first thing anyone noticed about the hologram. 

The eyes. Large and piercing, they seemed to burn with an inner fire that looked out of 
place on someone her age. There was a hard, cynical quality to their dark depths that told of her 
hot temper and the chip on her shoulder that came from growing up half-Klingon in a world of 
humans. Such hard eyes on one so young. 
	
*So very young*, the woman thought. Her own hair had long ago turned to white, wrinkles 
etching the once-smooth skin with the unforgiving march of time. 
	
Time. She had spent almost five minutes looking at that old hologram, an absolutely 
unacceptable waste of that precious commodity. *Inefficient!* The word was like a wash of cold 
water, snapping her back to the harshness of reality. She couldn’t afford to lose her discipline 
now.  

As she made her way to her workstation, there was none of the weakness that affected 
most women her age in her gait or posture. A lifetime of athletics had left her body hard and 
supple, and despite the protests of her friends and family, she would often go rock climbing, or 
even just run. This morning, she had been feeling particularly energetic, and had gone over five 
kilometers as the sun rose. Her body was reminding her now, however, that such distances took 
a much greater toll than they once did. And so she sat down to begin something a little less 
physical but no less difficult.    

Her work was not of her own choosing, the strange adventures of her youth had made 
her famous, and her best friend had finally persuaded her to write her memoirs. She had fought 
him for quite a while, but even though he was not the warrior she was, he had his own brand of 
quiet stubbornness that had won out more times than she cared to think about. After knowing her 
for almost seventy years, he could manipulate her as skillfully as the computer programs he 
designed. 

And as usual, he had been right. She needed to do this, not just for public enjoyment, but 
to provide some closure to the many wounds in her life that she had simply covered over, and 
though buried, were still raw and bleeding. She needed to do it for the young woman in the 
hologram, as well as all those who had come before and after her. 

It was time to confront them all. 

Lifting the neuro-receiver, she placed it on her forehead, where it would pick up her 
thoughts and memories and transcribe them for her to examine and edit as she saw fit. It beeped 
to indicate that it was ready, and she began.

“File. Memories of a Voyager: By Admiral B’Elanna Paris. Dedicated to those whose 
voyage never reached it’s end”

She though back as far as she could remember, and past the disjointed images and 
feelings of early child hood, one day stood out in brutal clarity....

				*	*	*

“It’s all your fault! I have been trying to raise our daughter to be an honorable Klingon 
someday, and you keep undermining my efforts!”

“Dammit, I’m not undermining anything! She’s my child too, and I’m trying to give her 
some kind of balance!” The angry voices rose louder and louder until they finally awakened the 
young girl sleeping in the bedroom at the end of the hall.

B’Elanna’s eyes opened slowly, and she frowned in annoyance. Mommy and Daddy were 
fighting again, and while that wasn’t unusual, this time it was keeping her awake. 

They seemed to be fighting more and more these days, saying very mean things to one 
another for no particular reason that she could figure out. Sometimes, Mommy would even hit 
Daddy, but she would always say she was sorry and Daddy would kiss her to let her know it was 
okay. He said that was just the way Klingons were. 

Sometimes he would say that to B’Elanna as well, when she had gotten in another fight 
at school, or when she wouldn’t play nice with the other boys and girls. But he would also say it 
when she won a race, or climbed higher on the tree than even the big kids, so she wasn’t really 
sure exactly what was the way Klingons were. 

But she was sure that she wanted to get some sleep tonight, and that was quickly 
becoming impossible. 

 She pulled her soft blue comforter over her head, packing it tightly around her ears in an 
attempt to shut out the noise. Her efforts were successful for a while, but soon the volume 
increased to the point where not even her pillow and all her stuffed toys helped anymore. 

Finally, B’Elanna realized she had only one choice left.  She had to make Mommy and 
Daddy stop fighting so that she could get some sleep. It was a risky maneuver—carrying the 
threat of a possible spanking—but it had worked in the past. With an exasperated sigh that made 
her seem much older than her five years, she put on her purple fuzzy slippers and started down 
the hall, hands on her hips. 

But something made her pause just outside the living room. This was a no ordinary fight; 
Mommy and Daddy were using all the bad words, and getting angrier and angrier. This was the 
worst one she had ever heard! She started forward again, thinking her intervention was even 
more desperately needed, when she heard something that stopped her cold: it was about her! 

Her mind raced to think of something she had done to make them so mad. Daddy 
couldn’t have known about his special watch—it worked just fine when she put it back together—
and she had been especially good lately so she could go to the wildlife preserve. Had they found 
out about that little incident on the playground? Jordan said he wouldn’t tell! If he had.... 

Suddenly her attention was jerked away by a loud crash in the living room. B’Elanna 
stuck her head around the corner just enough to see what was going on. Mommy had Daddy 
pinned to the wall by the throat, and Daddy was turning a funny shade of purple.

“Are you saying I lied to you?”, Mommy growled. Daddy tried to answer, put he was 
being held so tight, all he could manage was a funny gurgling noise. Mommy let him drop, and 
he sank to his knees, rubbing the bruises forming on his neck.

“That’s it,” he rasped, “If you think you can push me around forever, you’re sadly 
mistaken.”

“What do you plan to do?”, was the sneering reply, “Fight? I’d love to see you try.”

Daddy stood, moving resolutely toward the door. B’Elanna had never seen him look so 
calm, so determined...and for some reason it scared her. Scared her a lot. 

“No, Tavara, I’m not fighting you any more. I’m leaving, I’ll send for my bags tomorrow.”

Mommy spat out a Klingon curse—one that B’Elanna had never heard her use before. 

“What about B’Elanna, are you just going to abandon your daughter like a spineless 
greeworm, or can you tell her to her face?” 

The child in question stood paralyzed in the hall, numb from shock, waiting for the 
answer. 

*No, no. . .please tell Mommy it was all in play! Not for real! Don’t leave me for real! Don’t 
ever, ever, ever, leave me for real!*

But Daddy did not say any of the things his little girl was hoping for so desperately.  
Instead, he just shook his head sadly.

“It’s better if I’m just gone. Easier.” Mommy snorted in disgust, 

“For you, maybe. What about me, am I to be stuck with her?” Daddy stopped, turned 
around to face Mommy, saw the Klingon fury glowing in her eyes, and tried to explain. 

“It’s for the best. I wouldn’t know what to do with her.”

Icy fingers clutched B’Elanna’s heart. Daddy was leaving! And it was her fault! 
Abandoning all stealth, she ran out into the living room and grabbed on to her father, little fingers 
digging in so deeply he winced. 

“I’m sorry!,” she wailed, “please don’t go, Daddy! I’ll be good, and I’ll play nice, and I 
won’t ever touch anything not mine again! I’m sorry!” Daddy looked over B’Elanna’s head, his 
eyes asking Mommy to do something about the child holding on to him for dear life. But her 
response was not what he had hoped.

“Can you do it? Can you tell her you’re leaving because it’s the easy way out?,” she 
challenged. 

B’Elanna felt Daddy’s body tense, and knew what was about to happen, and that she had 
to stop it. She pushed herself just far enough away from Daddy that she was looking into his 
eyes. Placing both hands on his cheeks, she shook his head gently from side to side. 

“No, no, no, no,” she said firmly, imitating Daddy’s B’Elanna-Torres-you’re-in-big-trouble-
now voice, “No more fighting and no going away. Please, Daddy, say you’re sorry.” She looked 
at him with the big liquid eyes that always got a second scoop of ice cream, “Please...for me?”  
She hoped he would remember how much he loved her, and how he really didn’t want to 
leave...because leaving would break her heart forever.

B’Elanna saw tears begin to gather at the corners of her Daddy’s eyes, and he wrapped 
her in a hug that was so tight, so desperate, that she immediately knew that this time, he meant 
what he’d said to Mommy. 

“Oh, B’Elanna...” he whispered, so softly that even though his mouth was less than an 
inch away from her ear, she could barely hear him, “I am so very sorry, but your Mommy and 
your Daddy have been having problems for a very long time. We thought a pretty little girl like 
you would make it better, but sometimes, problems are so big, not even the most wonderful little 
girl can fix them. They just won’t go away. So Daddy is going to go away and live some where 
else.” B’Elanna bit her lip, trying hard to be very grown-up and not cry,

“But you’ll come back, won’t you? You’ll take me to the preserve, and we’ll see the 
hipp...hipp....,” her tongue tripped over the difficult word, “hipplebottomusses?” 

He shook his head, and she was horrified to see that Daddy was crying! Daddy! Big, 
strong, Daddy—who protected her from monsters, knew everything about anything, and could lift 
her all the way up to the ceiling—her Daddy was crying! At he sight of those tears, she knew.

“No, I’m not coming back, baby.” A deep sob racked B’Elanna’s little body, and she threw 
herself onto her Daddy, holding so tight she thought her fingers would snap off. She was 
hysterical, screaming over and over again for him not to leave her, not now, not ever. 

Daddy lifted her up in his big, strong arms, and rocked her gently back and forth, like he 
did when she was a baby, trying in vain to soothe her heartache. 

“Shhhh, shhhh, quiet now, B’Elanna. You’re going to have to be a really big girl now, 
okay? Be a big girl for me, please?” The sobs gradually subsided, and when she was reasonably 
calm, he set her down, and turned to the door. 

He put his hand on the knob, and stopped, looking back at B’Elanna, who was standing 
there, looking much too brave for such a young child. Then he knelt down, and opened his arms 
to her one last time. 

She ran to him, but stopped a half-meter away. Her fingers reached out, playing over his 
face, memorizing her Daddy. The exact shade of his deep brown eyes, with the little slash of 
olive green on the left one. The slightly prickly feel of his cheeks, with their strong, high 
cheekbones and golden-brown hue. The tiny scar on his right temple. The spicy, pine scent of his 
aftershave.  All the things that meant Daddy, forever burned into her mind. 

Then she said the most difficult, grown-up words of her brief life,

“Good-bye, Daddy, I love you.” He reached down and rumpled her hair. 

“Good-bye, B’Elanna.” 

And he was gone. Out of her life forever. But not out of her heart. As the door closed, 
B’Elanna’s brave facade crumbled, and she sank to the floor, weeping bitterly as her world came 
tumbling down around her.

Suddenly, she was pulled up by her shoulders and Mommy slapped her harshly across 
the face.

“Klingons. . . don’t. . . cry!” 

Shock stopped the flow of tears and the sobs, but shock did not stop B’Elanna from 
noticing that Mommy seemed about to cry too.

				*	*	*

The same tears that had once rolled down the soft, round cheeks of the child, now ran 
down the cheeks of the woman as the neuro-receiver brought the memory into painfully sharp 
focus. She could almost feel her face burning from the slap, see her father just as he had looked 
almost ninety years ago...when he had left and taken away her only anchor against a hostile 
world. Better to think of a time when she was older. When the pain of her father’s desertion had 
dulled with time....    

				*	*	*

It was never meant to take that kind of strain. Seventeen PADDs, gym shoes, gym 
clothes, what was left of her lunch, parts for a science project, and sensors for the tricorder she 
was making in her spare time. It was more than the little backpack would handle. The seams 
burst, scattering B’Elanna’s belongings all over the street.

Quickly, she knelt down, picking things up as fast as she could. The wind had kicked up, 
sending leaves and pebbles skittering down the road. She looked up, golden clouds were rushing 
through the sky, as if being chased by an unseen monster.  This was a sure sign of an impending 
storm on Kesslik III, and that meant she wanted inside, now.  Thankfully, her house was less 
than a block away, if she hurried. . . . 

A large, heavy boot stepped on her gym shirt, splattering blue-tinged mud all over the 
white fabric. Her eyes traveled up the bull-like body to the face, where her worst fears were 
confirmed. Manuel Condreras. And where there was Manuel. . .sure enough, his two brothers, 
Alex and Eduard,  were also present. 

Those three brothers, also known as Crushers One, Two, and Three, made up for having 
the collective IQ of a potted plant by having the collective musculature of a platoon of Klingon 
warriors and an unswerving tendency to beat up anything smaller, smarter, or different than they 
were. Which meant B’Elanna was Dead Meat three times over.

Manuel snatched away her hat, revealing the ridged forehead she had tried so hard to 
conceal. He reeled back in mock horror, as if he had seen some hideous monstrosity. 

“Aargh! What is it?!” , Alex leaned over and grabbed B’Elanna’s chin, jerking her face 
upward,

“Someone step on your face, girl?” Eduard laughed, 

“You stupid, Alex? See how ugly she is, that face has got “Klingon” written all over it!”

B’Elanna felt like a volcano about to explode, and all it took was one more comment 
from Manuel to set it off.

“Jes’ a half-breed.,” he snorted, “Ugly like a Klingon, but she aint even legit!” 

Mount Torres erupted. 

“You want ugly, try a mirror someday, you stupid p’takh!”, she snapped, then hauled 
back and punched him in the jaw with all her considerable strength. He staggered back, and 
when he brought one gigantic paw up to his mouth, it came away stained with blood. 

At the sight of the angry black clouds gathering in his eyes, B’Elanna realized that she 
had made a big mistake.  No nine year old—not even a tough, half-Klingon nine year old—stood 
a chance against twelve, fourteen, and sixteen year old hoods. Now that she had landed the first 
punch, they would no longer be content to simply let her go with a bruised ego. Now she would 
be extraordinarily lucky if she came away with just bruises. 

She had only one chance, and she took it. B’Elanna ran. In a full burst of sprinters 
speed, she burst through them and took off down the road. She ran right past her own house—
they were still too close—knowing that if she slowed down for a moment, she would be caught 
and pulverized. 

The desperate chase continued for another half-mile, taking her well out of her 
neighborhood and down the twisting streets of Kressik into a part of the settlement she had never 
seen before. This was the low-rent district, where the dregs of Kressik civilization lived. The 
houses were in desperate need of repair, litter was everywhere, and the pavement was breaking 
up, making footing treacherous.

B’Elanna glanced behind her, trying to see where her pursuers were. As she had hoped, 
they were tiring badly, and had fallen far behind, while she still had plenty of stamina. 

That glance turned out to be her undoing. Her toe hit a loose chunk of pavement and 
sent her flying. She landed hard, her cheek striking a jagged chunk of concrete that gashed it 
deeply.  Stars danced across her vision and she screamed in pain. Pressing one hand against 
her bleeding face, she swayed drunkenly to her knees.  

Thankfully, shock saved her most of it, because she soon had bigger worries. Three of 
them in fact. Manuel was standing over her, breathing like bellows, face red with exertion and 
anger. 

“Watcha’ doing, Klingon? Hit and run? That aint very honorable.” His brothers pulled her 
to her feet, but Alex hesitated to position her for the kill. Sensing his uncertainty, B’Elanna turned 
to him, begging with her eyes for him not to do this. 

Alex looked at her, and for one moment, saw beyond the Klingon ridges to a nine-year-
old half-Human child with a five centimeter laceration down one youthfully rounded, mud-
covered cheek. She was terrified, in great pain, and likely to be in a lot more pain...all because of 
something she couldn’t do anything about. Who she was. Suddenly, it all seemed so wrong. He 
turned to his older brother, trying to gain a reprieve for the child without seeming soft.

“Come on, Manuel, she’s jes’ a little girl, and she’s bleedin’ already.” His brother was 
unmoved as he rolled up his sleeves, and the look he gave his kid brother informed him that if 
he didn’t help, he’d be the next victim of Manuel’s ham-sized fists. It wasn’t much of a choice. 

Pretending to tighten his grip so she wouldn’t escape, he managed to whisper into the 
girl’s ear without his brother knowing. 

“Sorry ‘bout this.” 

Her pretty young face twisted in anger, and she spit at him, calling him a surprising 
number of vile names in Spanish, English, and Klingon.  

Seeing this, Manuel’s anger grew, and he shot a triumphant look at his little brother,  who 
had moments ago wanted him to take pity on this child-sized Klingon monster.     

“Now you so worried ‘bout how she’s feeling? She’ll be bleedin’ even more when I get 
done with her! And maybe, she’ll go back to her own kind and tell ‘em humans can take care of 
themselves!” 

He knelt down and looked at B’Elanna, staring straight into her eyes. She met his gaze 
with her own fiery glare, equal amounts of pain, fear, hatred, rage, and contempt fueling a stare 
that would put a phaser blast to shame. Unknowingly, by confirming his opinion of her as a 
violent, inhuman creature, she was signing her death warrant. Manuel sneered at her, glorying in 
her helplessness.   

“Hear me, half-breed? You crawl back home and tell ‘em when I get done with you. And 
you tell ‘em who, I aint afraid of Klingons!” 

He tagged his words with a vicious blow to her gut. She doubled over, quivering with 
pain, but the attack continued. Hands and feet were coming at her from all sides, pounding at her 
fiercely. 

It was an almost surreal scene, for despite the continued beatings, there was no sound 
other than the pummeling of fists and boots against soft flesh. B’Elanna did not cry out, did not 
beg them to stop, made no pleas for mercy, for she knew they would be ignored. As a 
particularly vicious assault slammed into her ribcage, it took every ounce of her self control not 
to scream, not to grant them the pleasure of knowing what they were doing to her. 

While allowing her to retain some measure of pride and honor as she was pounded into 
the muddy street, it only served to heighten the resolve of her attackers. The new, unspoken goal 
was to wrench a scream from this steely little warrior.  

The assault intensified, and though she twisted around like a landed fish, B’Elanna was 
unable to escape them. Soon, everything melded into a red haze of agony, time slowed to an 
indistinguishable crawl, and then finally, mercifully, it all blinked out. 


When B’Elanna came to, she wished she hadn’t. Every nerve was screaming for her 
attention, and they weren’t happy. She opened her eyes slowly. Thankfully,  her tormentors were 
nowhere to be seen. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but it was dark out, 
and she was soaked to the bone from the storm she had seen approaching earlier. 

She rocked to her knees, and abruptly realized something else. Her left side was bathed 
in fire, one cracked rib, maybe two. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to her feet and began 
the long journey home. 

Her mother was waiting when she climbed up the large Tessika tree and pulled herself 
through the bedroom window. Seeing her scowling face, B’Elanna momentarily considered 
turning around and climbing right back out again. But that choice was quickly taken away from 
her as her mother gripped her by the collar and lifted her over the ledge and into the room. 

“Where the hell have you been?!”, she growled, and for a moment seemed ready to hit 
her, until she saw her daughter’s swollen, multi-colored face. 

Instantly, her anger evaporated, and B’Elanna found herself grateful that her mother’s 
temper was as transient as her own. It flared brighter, but when it was over, a Klingon mother 
was as maternal as any other when her child was hurt. 

The next hour passed quietly, her mother wordlessly tending to every little scratch. Only 
occasionally, when she came upon a particularly nasty cut or bruise, would she make a little 
noise: of anger, disappointment, sympathy—B’Elanna couldn’t be sure which. Except for the 
gash on her face, that one caused a response that was most definitely anger...her mother 
growled something in Klingon that rather colorfully described the moral character of the girl’s 
attackers and where their dishonorable souls would spend eternity. 

Finally, when everything  had been tended to, and B’Elanna was tucked into bed with a 
bowl of hot soup, her mother spoke to her directly, her voice laced with anger and concern.        

“What happened, B’Elanna? Mrs. Chi found your backpack ripped open on the street, 
and now you come home looking like you fought the Romulan wars all by yourself!” 

B’Elanna looked down, pretending to be suddenly engrossed with the hunter green 
threads running through her comforter and the tiny beads of oil floating in her soup. It was 
chicken soup, and the warm, appetizing aroma brought back a surprising rush of memories of 
when she was little. Daddy always brought her this when she was sick with some Human disease 
she didn’t have antibodies for. He said it was an ancient folk remedy from Earth. Well, Daddy 
might be gone, but she was definitely feeling bad.

“The backpack just ripped on its own ‘cause I put too much stuff in it. Nothing happened.”  
Unfortunately, her mother’s reaction was exactly what she had feared. The soup was snatched 
away, and little bits of meat and vegetable sloshed onto the nightstand as the bowl was slammed 
down.

“Don’t you dare try to lie to me! You know I don’t care about that backpack, what I want 
to know is what happened to you, and don’t tell me you ripped on your own!” 

She leaned in close, and B’Elanna could see the concern behind the anger. She felt bad 
for lying to her mother, but she didn’t really want to tell her what happened. Nevertheless, want 
to or not, she knew she couldn’t hold out forever. Closing her eyes, she took the plunge.

“Some boys were teasing me and they said I was ugly because I was Klingon so I hit one 
of them and that was a stupid thing to do because I’d made them mad and then I had to run 
because they were gonna kill me and I almost got away but I tripped and fell and cut my face 
and they caught me and beat me up.” 


Tavara’s eyes widened, not only from the story, but from the fact that such a little girl 
could get it all out in one breath. She looked at her daughter, lying there in bed. She knew 
B’Elanna was tough for a human, but could not help comparing her to the girls she had grown up 
with, and next to them, the half-Klingon seemed so tiny and frail. It was almost harder that the 
child was taking her injuries like a warrior, instead of crying like the little human girl she looked to 
be. 

But no matter how she was handling it, B’Elanna was still her baby, and someone had 
done this to her. It was a matter of honor, and vengeance was clearly called for. She leaned 
over, brushing the hair out of the girl’s eyes. Those big brown eyes looking up at her through 
swollen lids seemed to be ordering her to do something. And she would. 

“Don’t worry, B’Elanna,  you just tell me who did this to you.”


B’Elanna looked up at her mother—and lied through her teeth. 

“I. . .I don’t know,” she mumbled, “I didn’t recognize them, guess they just didn’t like 
Klingons.” The lie was totally transparent, and she knew it. So did her mother. Tavara pushed off 
from the bed and slammed her fists against the wall in frustration. 

“Dammit, let me help you!” B’Elanna sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain erupting from her 
side, and proved she had quite a temper of her own. 

“No! I don’t want your help! You’ll go out and yell and hit people, and it’ll ruin everything! 
I have been trying to get people to accept me, and you’ve already made that hard enough,” she 
gestured at her ridged forehead, which though far less prominent than her mother’s, still seemed 
like her own personal mountain range, “by letting the whole world know that I AM NOT HUMAN! 
Do you know what that *means*? It means I’m not like anyone else on this whole planet! I’m half-
Klingon and everyone hates me and is afraid of me because they never know when my stupid 
Klingon temper is going to come out!” 

The anger faded out as she saw the hurt lurking deep in her mother’s eyes. 

“Just leave me alone.” 

“I’ll leave you alone,” her mother growled, “since you can take care of yourself so well, 
you should be just fine!”

With a slam that shook the entire house, and knocked several items off B’Elanna‘s 
shelves, she stormed out of the room. B’Elanna listened to the sounds of destruction as her 
mother vented her rage on furniture and knickknacks. As the slams and crashes moved farther 
away, she relaxed a little. 

Now that her mother was gone, other things came to her attention. Like pain. Despite the 
tape binding her chest, her cracked rib felt like a red-hot poker from the stress of all the shouting. 

And with what she had just said, her mother would be in no mood to give her a painkiller 
or take her to the community clinic in the morning. What was the phrase her teacher used? 
Shoot yourself in the foot. B’Elanna had scored a perfect bulls-eye. 

She sagged back on the pillow and sighed as deeply as she could tolerate. This was not 
her day.             

				*	*	*

She was shocked back to reality by a hand on her shoulder, but when she opened her 
eyes, the receiver made the mental images appear superimposed on the real world.  Removing 
the device, she found herself looking up into the gray eyes of an old friend.

“Annika.  What brings you here?”

Annika Kim smiled brightly, and B’Elanna felt a familiar twinge of envy.  Borg drones 
were designed to last, and though far removed from the drone she had once been, she retained 
most of her old implants.  Enough that she hadn’t aged a day since coming aboard Voyager, her 
porcelain skin still flawlessly smooth, her long hair still soft and honey-blonde, her figure still a 
perfect hourglass shape.  Eternally locked in her late twenties. 

“Do I really need a reason to visit?  I just felt like talking.”  Her voice was expressive, 
musical.  “How’s our baby?” 

“Kathryn is fine...but Annika, she’s almost fifty-five years old.  She’s a grandmother!  How 
long are you going to call her a baby?” 

The woman sniffed regally, “Until someone in Starfleet can figure out a way for me to 
have one of my own with all this Borg crap in my body.” 

B’Elanna laughed,  “Calling it ‘crap’ is questionable, Annika.  Half the women in the 
galaxy would willingly get assimilated if they’d still look like that at ninety-eight.  Harry’s a lucky 
man... not many have such a lovely wife at his age.” 

The bright spark in Annika’s eyes dimmed slightly, and B’Elanna remembered that she’d 
touched on a very sore subject for the former Borg.  The fact that Harry was aging at a normal 
rate and would likely live only another twenty or thirty years was painful for the virtually-immortal 
Annika to consider.  Harry was everything to her, her husband of over sixty years, the man she 
loved more than life itself, but more than that, her best friend...something very special to 
someone who remembered when he was her only friend. 

Quickly, and with an air of forced lightness, she changed the subject. “What were you 
doing before I came?” 

B’Elanna made a face. “Writing my memoirs.  Harry finally convinced me to dredge up all 
the skeletons in my closet for public amusement.”

“That must be hard.  How far have you gotten?”

“Oh, I’m up to my early teens.” 

Annika grimaced.  “I’ve been told that’s a difficult time for most human children.” 

“I’m not fully human.” 

This earned a faint, sad smile.  “Neither am I.  Though I wish I had been.”

B’Elanna realized that this person, more than any other, could sympathize with what she 
had gone through.  As Seven of Nine, she had endured much the same prejudice.  Even from 
her.  Looking into Annika’s large, gray eyes, she saw...was that envy?  She truly desired to have 
had the experience of being a girl. 

Carefully, the half-Klingon affixed the receiver on the proper spot on her forehead.  
Meeting her friend’s gaze, she offered, “It’s not easy to go through this alone...perhaps, we could 
do it together?”  She emitted a short bark of laughter, “Though I’m not exactly a prime example of 
a well-adjusted kid.” 

“I would be honored to share your memories nonetheless.”  A feather-light touch of her 
Borg-modified hand against the receiver, and they were of one mind, Annika looking through the 
chocolate-brown eyes of a thirteen year old, half-Klingon girl along with the woman who had once 
been her....       
       
				*	*	*	

Squinting into the mirror, B’Elanna carefully blended the highlighter by the bridge of her 
nose. It was a skill she had developed into an art form over the years—the art of hiding her 
Klingon features. She studied her reflection, the right hat, the right hairstyle, the right 
makeup...and B’Elanna made a pretty good human. Someone would really have to look—and 
know what they were looking for—to notice the well camouflaged line of bone on her nose that 
was the only remaining visible sign of her Klingon half.  

Satisfied with her appearance, she moved on to the next phase of her plan. Opening her 
bedroom door a crack, she yelled down to her mother. 

“Leave me alone, I’m studying!” 

“I love you too,” was the sarcastic reply. B’Elanna smiled to herself, one good thing 
about Klingons wearing their emotions on their sleeves, was that you knew immediately if they 
suspected anything. And her mother clearly had no idea what was really going on. 

B’Elanna checked her chronometer again. 19:54. She went over her preparations one 
last time. Clothing, food, credit chips, tricorder, PADDs, tool kit, and the holocard of her father. 
She re-zipped the sturdy black duffel bag, sealing her supplies inside. 

Suddenly, she heard footsteps in the hall. She barely managed to get the bag shoved 
under her bed before the door opened and her mother came in. B’Elanna whirled on her, furious.

“I told you to leave me alone!”

“I’ll be leaving you alone, I just wanted to give you these first.” She handed B’Elanna four 
credits. 

“For you. I figure that by now, you could use an allowance.” B’Elanna looked down at the 
thin wafers of silicon in her palm, and felt a twinge of guilt at her plans to run away. 

But then she thought about the last eight years, growing up without her father, the brutal 
discipline, being forced into a Klingon mold by her mother, and a human mold by everyone else, 
the teasing, being beaten and shunned because of what she was. . . because of what her mother 
had made her. The guilt evaporated. 

“Thanks. Bye.”, she said brusquely. Without another word, her mother left. As soon as 
the door shut, she snapped into action.

Tossing her bag out the window, B’Elanna positioned herself on the ledge, carefully 
gauging the distance she would have to leap. 

After her last escape attempt, the large tree outside her window had been drastically 
pruned to prevent exactly what she was trying now. But her mother hadn’t counted on her 
daughter’s growing strength and agility when she cut it back, and B’Elanna was sure she could 
make it.

Coiling like a cat, she fixed her eyes on a large branch. . ..concentrated. . . and launched 
herself through the air. 

The instant stretched into an eternity as she flew towards the beckoning limbs of the 
tree.  While still several precious feet away, she began to lose her forward momentum and 
gravity began to take over. She fell. . .down. . .down. . . and at the last second her fingers 
snagged a branch. For a moment, she hung suspended in mid-air, then her body swung down 
and impacted against the trunk with a sickening THWACK. 

B’Elanna gasped as the breath was driven from her by the unyielding wood. Stunned, 
she hung numbly until she could breath again, then scrambled quickly down the rest of the tree. 
Picking her bag out of the shrubbery, she set off down the street, vanishing into the inky 
blackness.


The next morning, B’Elanna joined the Andromeda Tours sightseeing group, sitting in the 
very back of the hovercraft as it pulled out of town. She kept her head down, remaining as  
inconspicuous as possible as they glided by the familiar buildings of her hometown.   

The day went by smoothly, off the hovercraft with the rest of the tourists at each stop, 
back on again at the end, each time getting farther away from B’Elanna’s house. No one 
suspected a thing, she was just “someone else’s kid”, and because she was quiet and polite no 
one cared. No one knew the things being planned within her head. 

When the tour reached the point nearest the Kressik capital, a place called Hasselbury 
Mansion, she would leave the group. Then, it would be a relatively simple matter to get off 
planet. There was always someone willing to take on a pair of willing hands, no questions asked, 
and B’Elanna was counting on that fact. 

Suddenly, B’Elanna was jolted out of her reverie by the friendly voice of the tour guide.

“Please gather your belongings and prepare to disembark at our next stop, historic 
Hasselbury Mansion.”

This was it. B’Elanna picked up her duffel bag and moved out smoothly with the rest of 
the sightseers.  

At first, it was like every other stop, moving slowly through the long-abandoned house 
while the guide recited boring, useless information about who carved the furniture and whatnot. 
B’Elanna quickly tuned it out, thinking only of her plans for the future, for escape. 

She saw that chance in the grand ballroom. As the guide spoke of grand parties and 
famous guests, B’Elanna was studying the huge staircase that curved majestically out of sight 
into an upstairs hallway. Her escape route. 

Quietly, she moved away from the group, a few steps, then a few more. Finally, she was 
able to slip out of sight behind the thick cranberry velvet drapes that framed the windows from 
floor to ceiling. No one even noticed she was missing as the tour group moved on to the foyer.

With them gone, B’Elanna dashed up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Hiding 
herself in an old bedroom, she waited for the tour to leave. 

Suddenly, something tapped her on the shoulder. B’Elanna spun around, landing in a 
fighting stance, heart pounding against her ribs so hard it hurt. She was ready for anything, no 
one would stop her, no matter how big they were, how many of them, how hard they tried. 

There was only one of them. It was a little boy, no more than three years old, and he 
looked every bit as scared as she was. Struck by the absurdity of it all, B’Elanna laughed tensely. 

“You almost....” She couldn’t bring herself to say she nearly took his head off.

“Don’t ever do that again!” His large eyes stared at her, sapphire circles of fright beneath 
a unruly mop of downy red hair. 

“I...I’m sorry...I’m really sorry...I didn’t mean to make you mad!” He was nearly crying, 
and as her adrenaline subsided, B’Elanna realized how badly she had frightened him. 

“It’s all right,” she soothed, “what’s your name?” 

“Sean Michael McDonnaugh-Benson Junior.” She smiled slightly, such a big name for 
such a small boy.

“Well, Sean, you just go downstairs and find your parents, but don’t tell them about me, 
all right, it’s a secret.” His sweet little smile changed to one that reminded her eerily of a Ferengi 
as he immediately grasped that B’Elanna was doing something bad. 

“Why shouldn’t I tell on you?” Slightly irked that she was being blackmailed by a three 
year old, B’Elanna dug around in her bag, coming up with two credits and a bar of Aldevian 
chocolate. She held them out to Sean, and he studied them like a jeweler looking over the latest 
shipment of gemstones. Finally, he came to a decision and snatched them out of her hand. 

“You’re a nice lady, but I never did see you nowhere.” With a final grin, he dashed out 
the doorway, and B’Elanna settled down to wait. 


The next thing she knew, she was waking up, coughing harshly. Smoke was everywhere, 
and she could hear shouts and the sound of stampeding feet. Obviously, she needed a new 
place to hide. Choking on the noxious fumes, she hurried out of the room into the hallway. 

There, the smoke was much worse, forcing B’Elanna to her knees. There, at least the air 
was a little clearer, and the heat—though it still felt as though she was being broiled alive—was 
bearable.  Flames could be seen licking out through the smoke as she made her way down the 
stairs and out of the house. 

Coughing so hard she thought her lungs would burst, she moved toward the rescue 
workers who were handing out inhalers to the victims. Suddenly, a woman grabbed her by the 
shoulders, screaming hysterically as she shook B’Elanna. 

“Where is my baby?! Have you seen my baby?!” Two men came over and pulled the 
woman off of B’Elanna, but they couldn’t stop her anguished screams.

“Have you seen him?! Has anyone seen my baby?!”  As they dragged her farther away, 
the woman’s cries turned away from the confused girl and were directed at the mansion itself, 
pleading with the impassive structure to give her back what it had taken.

“Sean! Sean! Where’s my baby! What have you done with my little boy!”

At that name, B’Elanna’s stomach knotted as she thought of the angelic little boy with the 
Ferengi smile. After leaving her, Sean obviously hadn’t gone down to his mother, he was still in 
there, somewhere. In that house. That burning house.
	
If she had thought about it, she would never have done it, it was too dangerous. But she 
didn’t think. She acted. Slipping past the people who tried to stop her, B’Elanna reentered 
Hasselbury Mansion, now enveloped in a crackling wreath of fire.
	
Inside, visibility was nonexistent, breathable air only right at the floor, the temperature 
like hell itself. B’Elanna only managed to call Sean a few times, then her throat closed against 
the smoke and it was all she could do to breath. Finally, just as she was about to give up, she 
caught something. 
	
Aldevian chocolate. 
	
B’Elanna was intensely grateful for her heightened Klingon senses as she followed the 
faint scent of the candy, barely discernible over the myriad other smells of a burning house.  
Finally, she reached the source, a crying, whimpering bundle named Sean, huddled at the base 
of a thick column. 
	
She knew she must have looked horrifying, a Klingon demon surrounded by fire and 
smoke, but she was another living being, and without instruction, Sean wrapped his arms around 
her neck. 
	
That was when B’Elanna realized she was lost. Trapped in a burning mansion with over 
fifty rooms, and no idea where she was. The trusting child pressed against her made it worse, 
this was not just her life she was risking. It was not just she who would die if she made a wrong 
turn. She had heard about death by fire. Supposedly it was one of the most horrible, agonizing....
	
Suddenly, a flaming sheet fell from above, a thick curtain of fire that nearly buried them 
both. Sean screamed in absolute terror, but B’Elanna saw it as their salvation. 

The velvet drapes. The grand ballroom. The foyer to the left. Straight ahead to the 
outside world. To safety. 

But as she pulled herself along the floor, she found it becoming harder and harder to 
think. The toxic smoke had been eating away at her lungs and brain for the past several minutes, 
and higher functions were beginning to shut down, giving way to pure instinct. One of those 
instincts was self-preservation, and despite the fact that her mind was operating at the level of a 
small animal, she pressed onward. 

The mansion was beginning to disintegrate, and fiery debris rained down around them. 
One glowing ember landed on her back, burning through her shirt and charring the skin. B’Elanna 
screamed in pain, huddling down to shield the boy’s body with her own as she scurried away with 
a speed that she didn’t know she possessed. 

She reached the doors, but the latch was too hot to touch, and in her panicked, semi-
aware state, she couldn’t think of any other way out. With the fire blazing behind her and the 
doors barred ahead, something inside of her snapped. B’Elanna staggered to her feet, primal 
Klingon impulses disregarding her blistering skin and smoldering clothing as she clutched Sean 
tightly and rushed the doors. 

They burst open with a loud crash, and she stumbled through, falling headlong down the 
stone steps outside the mansion. She heard something in her right arm break, absorbing a blow 
meant for the boy as she tumbled, too disoriented to catch herself. 

But oddly, she didn’t care about the pain. She wasn’t pleased to have escaped. She 
wasn’t proud of saving Sean’s life. All she felt was a horrible sense of bitter disappointment. This 
had been her one chance to get off this hellish backwater planet, and now, that chance was 
gone. She had distinguished herself by getting injured, and now they would look up her mother. 

It was all over.

				*	*	*

B’Elanna heard a quiet sob, and opened one eye, feeling the connection between her 
and Annika terminate as the other woman drew back her hand, covering her mouth with it as her 
tear-filled eyes widened.  “Oh, B’Elanna....” she whispered, “that was so...intense.  I’ve never felt 
those kind of things before.” 

“We can stop.” 

“No.” The hand was back, touching against the small device and bringing their minds 
together once more.  She heard Annika’s next words as though they were her own thoughts, and 
her lips unconsciously formed the words along with her.  “We need to finish what we started.” 

Their eyes closed, and B’Elanna/Annika whispered, “I was only fifteen....”
	
				*	*	*			

The door of the transport opened slowly, with the loud groan of mechanical parts long 
past their prime, admitting the musty odor of the Klingon space station. The first out was a girl of 
fifteen, with the distinctive sullen air of one who has made up their mind not to like a place. 

She was supposed to be dressed as a young Klingon woman, in the light formal armor 
and the met’kara amulet that would have shown both her house affiliation and the fact that she 
had not yet reached the Age of Ascension…but she wasn’t. In fact, what she had on didn’t even 
come close.

The girl was wearing her favorite casual outfit: a loose rust-colored tunic and comfortable 
gray trousers that had a hole worn in the right knee from years of hard use. The only concession 
to her heritage was the amulet—which she had dropped conveniently out of sight down the front 
of her tunic.

She also wore a large purple bruise on her ridged forehead, only partially covered by a 
few strands of thick brown hair that had escaped their braid. That had come from the “discussion” 
she and her mother had had about the clothes. Her mother had yelled and raged for hours about 
honor and heritage, rattling the bulkheads with the force of her anger; but the girl had been as 
stubborn as a Terran pit bull, and her attire bore witness to her victory.    
	
B’Elanna looked around the aging air lock, and shook her head in silent contempt. *I 
wonder if there even are Klingon engineers…or are they all so busy fighting and killing that they 
don’t care about their technology?*  
	
One thing was for certain, the large Klingon heading towards her was no engineer. This 
was a full two meters of warrior, bristling with ferocious bravado in his silver and black uniform 
as he strode down the corridor, broad shoulders nearly brushing the bulkheads to either side. 
There was an air about him that said that he was Klingon, and the entire universe should 
consider that  reason enough to grant him honor and respect. Seeing who was waiting at the end 
of the corridor, he threw his arms wide and roared in inarticulate welcome. 

B’Elanna rolled her eyes and snorted derisively, *I wonder how long it took him to learn to 
grunt his name?* Much to her relief, the Klingon—whose IQ she was mentally adjusting downward 
from “ape” to “paramecium”—strode right past her and embraced her mother, who had just 
stepped out of the transport. 
	
“Tavara, my sister!,” he bellowed, “It is good to see you have returned to us!” Her mother 
returned the embrace, and then cuffed the large Klingon across the chin as her daughter moaned 
in quiet anguish. *It’s worse than I thought! I’m actually related to it! I think I’ll just die right here.*  
	
“It is good to be home again, N’Gar,” Tevara was saying, “but I did not come alone.” 
N’Gar turned, and grinned boisterously as if seeing B’Elanna there for the first time. Before she 
even had time to brace herself, he strode over and lifted her off the ground in a gigantic bear 
hug. 
	
“This must be your daughter!”, he roared, “She’s a tiny little p’takh, isn’t she!” Tavara 
smiled, baring her sharp teeth in an expression that seemed as though it would be more suited to 
a wolf. 
	
“I brought her here so that she might learn what it is to be Klingon!” 

After what seemed like an eternity, the pressure on her ribcage relaxed, and B’Elanna 
could breath again. As soon as she was back on her own two feet, she shuddered inwardly. *I’ll 
have to shower for weeks to get rid of that smell.* 

This entire place was repulsive, and the people worse…the people her mother wanted 
her to become. She kept reminding herself that this was only a visit, her mother had promised 
that if she did not wish to stay on Qo’Nos after six months, she could return to Kressik. B’Elanna 
could safely say she was in no danger of becoming enamored with the Klingon way. 

But how to get that across to her thick-headed mother? Fighting back the only way she 
could under the circumstances, she  locked eyes with her mother and did something that she 
knew would infuriate and mortify Tevara. 

With her most excessively polite tone of voice and sickly-sweet smile, she held out a 
hand to N’Gar. 

“Miss B’Elanna Torres. I am very pleased to meet you, sir.” Stunned, N’Gar took her 
hand in his own beefy fist, and she shook it limply, cringing inside at her own behavior. 

She hated this, hated the sugary persona she was presenting, so unlike who she really 
was. It made her think of Charlene Morrows, a girl she had known and hated on Kressik, who had 
all the backbone of pudding, and who seemed to B’Elanna to be nothing more than a giggling 
mass of lace and ruffles.  

As her Uncle’s giant paw crushed her hand, she had to muster every ounce of self-
control not to reply with equal force—or even tense her hand to prevent it from being destroyed. 
Usually, B’Elanna had a grip that made even the toughest boys back home wince, but this time, 
she was deliberately being as un-Klingon as possible. 

Because if nothing else, she knew she didn’t belong here. She wanted to be in Starfleet, 
Chief Engineer on a Starship like her father had been. It was something no Klingon—or even 
part Klingon—had ever done before, and she was determined to be the first.   

It was therefore quite ironic that as she smiled innocently at her uncle, she was feeling 
the hot thrill that only a Klingon can feel at the dishonor of the enemy—in this case her mother—
and she didn’t even know it.  
                    
				*	*	*

*You didn’t have to stay on the Klingon homeworld, did you, B’Elanna?*  There was no 
need to say it aloud, their thoughts were still joined.

*No, but my mother was very angry when she had to honor her word and take me back.  
Things just got worse and worse between us. . .arguing all the time. . ..two all-out fistfights that 
left me pretty well battered.  My anger at home bled out into the rest of the world.  No one would 
get anywhere near me, and I got in trouble with the law several times.*  

*Then I met Annette.*

				*	*	*

B’Elanna ducked, narrowly avoiding the pillow that flew by her head. Sliding under her  
opponent’s dive, B’Elanna was the first to grab the discarded projectile. The deadly sack of 
feathers clutched firmly in her hands, she turned and mercilessly pummeled the girl who threw it 
in the first place. Between gasps and giggles, the victim, Annette Lockland, surrendered.

“I give up! I give up!”

“Unconditional surrender?”, B’Elanna pressed, tickling just a little to drive her point 
home.

“Yes! Yes! Just stop!” Satisfied, she rocked back onto her heels, letting Annette up. 

Annette Lockland was B’Elanna’s total opposite, both physically and temperamentally.  
Where B’Elanna was dark, Annette was pale, a willowy blonde with eyes the color of a summer 
sky. B’Elanna was athletic,  with a disposition given to violent mood swings and long periods of 
brooding. Annette, on the other hand,  was a free-spirited dreamer, easygoing to a fault. 

By all logic, the girls should have had no common ground. But nonetheless, they were 
the best of friends, sharing some intangible bond that made them closer than sisters. The true 
explanation for their friendship was actually simple, so simple that neither girl would admit it. 

Annette’s family was very open-minded, and their daughter had been raised without the 
cultural prejudices that colored the thinking of most of the other children on Kressik. The first 
time she had met B’Elanna, she had not seen a half-Klingon with a bad attitude and a racial 
predisposition for violence, but a girl that nobody liked, someone who’s harsh demeanor probably 
stemmed for the fact that she had no friends. 

Her heart had gone out to this lonely outcast that first day as a matter of sympathy, but it 
had blossomed into so much more. There were secrets, sleepovers, sweethearts, stories, 
everything that being a teenager was all about. From the simple power of friendship, a new 
B’Elanna Torres was emerging. One with a growing sense of self-worth, who occasionally let her 
guard down to laugh. 

She was laughing tonight, and Annette was determined to keep her friend’s good mood 
going all evening if it killed her. B’Elanna had come to Annette’s house to celebrate her sixteenth 
birthday. She spent most of her time there, almost another member of the Lockland family, as 
she escaped her own unhappy home and domineering, abusive mother. 

This was to be her first birthday party ever. Klingons did not celebrate birthdays, and 
while there had been a cake every year when her father had been there, Annette insisted that 
was not a proper birthday. 

B’Elanna had no idea what a proper birthday meant, and had allowed Annette to make 
all the arrangements. It had all sounded like great fun until she mentioned that she had invited a 
few classmates to come over. That was the death knell of the pleasant evening. She knew she 
was not the sociable type, knew she was abrasive and hostile...but most of all, she knew that no 
one would care about any of that because she was part-Klingon. That would be reason enough to 
dislike her right there.  

Annette seemed to sense her dark thoughts. 

“It’s going to be fine, B’Elanna. Sheryl, Melonie, Carla...I’ve told them all about you, and 
they think you’re totally stellar.” 

“You must be some liar.” Just then, Mrs. Lockland’s voice called upstairs, announcing 
the arrival of the guests.  Annette bounced off the bed, grabbing the sleeve of B’Elanna’s plain, 
dark blue pajamas.

“Come on!” 


Later that night, even B’Elanna had to admit that she was having a good time. No one 
had said a word about her heritage, and everyone seemed to be genuinely friendly. They had 
played a number of games, gossiped for almost an hour, and eaten all the junk food they could 
stand. If this was a birthday, maybe she could talk Annette’s parents into doing it again next year.  

Now, Carla had opened the large green duffel bag she had brought with her, and 
everyone had gathered around to see what mysteries it held. Carla reached in and pulled out 
handful after handful of things, which she then dumped on the bed. Brushes, cosmetics, ribbons, 
scarves, jewelry, perfume. B’Elanna’s mood took an abrupt downward turn. They wanted to play 
dress-up. She was not the dress-up type. 

Oh, she had used makeup, but only to cover her Klingon features, and she was over that 
now. Her new outlook was “I’m here, I’m part Klingon, and if you don’t like it, too bad.” Her new 
haircut was evidence of this. The bangs were gone, and the simple shoulder-length style seemed 
deliberately chosen to emphasize her Klingon facial structure, with its high cheekbones and 
delicate pattern of bone on her forehead. 

While B’Elanna was preoccupied with these thoughts, the other girls had paired off, 
doing each other’s hair and playing with different combinations of color. *Good,* she thought, *I’ll 
just stay over here, and no one will even....*  She felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Melonie, a tiny 
Asian girl who hadn’t spoken three words all night. When she did speak, her voice was like an 
elusive butterfly, so soft that you could barely hear her.

“Could I be your partner, please. Unless...that is...I mean if  no one else wants....”

Her almond eyes looked like those of a frightened deer. *I don’t think she could take the 
strain if I said no.*  B’Elanna knew she projected a harsh persona, and admired the courage it had 
taken the tiny girl to approach her. Besides, participating would make her seem less of an oddity, 
and she didn’t want to do anything that would remind everyone of what she really was.  

“Why not.” 

As Melonie worked, her soft voice spun wonderful tales of exotic places, and B’Elanna 
realized the hidden treasure behind the girl’s quiet exterior. Her older sister had won a 
scholarship to the prestigious Risian School of Beauty, and Melonie would be attending the next 
year. Her talent was in clear evidence as she brushed and teased, and the other girls were slowly 
drifting over to watch. 

B’Elanna felt terribly self-conscious under their eyes, but Melonie’s gentle spell kept her 
from bolting. Yet even Melonie couldn’t make her completely comfortable, so she just closed her 
eyes, pretending they weren’t there, pulling into place the hard shell that protected her from 
harassment. When they eventually began the sharp, teasing barbs she knew were coming, they 
wouldn’t hit home, and B’Elanna would be ready with scathing remarks of her own. 

When she opened her eyes again, ready to fight, she saw a face in the mirror that she 
knew could not be her own. This was almost.... 

“Beautiful.” Annette spoke the word with a hint of envy, but mostly appreciation of 
Melonie’s skill. Sheryl, a tall girl with tastes as flamboyant as her fiery red hair, nodded in 
agreement. 

“Very exotic. And that,” she pointed to the pattern of bone that marked B’Elanna’s 
forehead and struck a playfully vampish pose, “is so sexy.” 

B’Elanna was startled, she’d never heard her ridges described that way before. Never 
thought of them in any way other than as a brand, a mark on her face that  announced to all the 
world that she wasn’t completely normal. She suddenly realized that these people knew what she 
was. Her Klingon half hadn’t just slipped their minds...they just didn’t care. 

Surrounded by all these smiling faces, she felt an odd new sensation of warmth 
spreading through her. She felt...beautiful...accepted...popular. Strange emotions she had never 
before experienced and hadn’t in her wildest dreams imagined she would. It felt good. Very 
good. Slowly, a smile spread over her own face as she looked at her new friends. 


The next morning at Matthew Decker Memorial Highschool, B’Elanna was still in a haze 
of happiness from the night before. Her first class only heightened that mood, it was Advanced 
Placement Science and Engineering, B’Elanna’s favorite. 

The teacher was an old Bolian, J’Karlin, who noticed her special talent for machinery, 
and did all he could to help it blossom. Under his careful tuition, her skills did indeed flower, to 
such a degree that next year she would be a candidate for an Engineering scholarship to 
Starfleet Academy.

Her high spirits were brought down, however, peg by peg, as she saw the girls that had 
been at the slumber party. So friendly and cheerful the night before, they now seemed quite cold. 

Every time she crossed paths with one of them in the halls or in a class, they avoided 
her. When she did manage to catch their eye, they gave her an odd look, then immediately 
found something else to look at. Even Annette displayed this strange behavior. B’Elanna felt like 
she’d contracted the Tarrelian Death! 

Finally deciding to ignore them, she threw herself into her studies, working as though 
driven by demons—which indeed she was. No matter how challenging the equation, how 
intriguing the assignment, she was plagued by troubled thoughts. *I should have known. They 
were just having a good time last night, stringing me along. Maybe someone told them something 
today? Maybe they realized what part Klingon really means. Maybe. . . ..* 

The bell rang, and B’Elanna moved out into the halls, still mulling over possibilities in her 
mind. When she reached her locker she nearly tripped over the janitor, who was on his hands 
and knees, repainting the locker next to hers. Annette’s locker. 

Curious, B’Elanna knelt to his level. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Painting.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“I can see that. Why are you painting?” He hesitated for a moment, than apparently 
decided he could tell her. 

“Surprised you haven’t heard, Miss. Somebody wrote all sorts of obscene names on the 
door, here...trashed all the young lady’s belongings too.” He shook his head sadly, “These hate 
crimes...I was sure we’d seen the last of them here at Decker when the Cardassian wars ended.”

Suddenly, B’Elanna knew. It all fit together like pieces to a puzzle...the girls odd 
behavior, the “hate crime.” She only had to know one more thing. 

“Did this happen to anyone else?”

“Yeah, it’s too bad. They’re all nice girls, and they were so upset. Can’t imagine why 
someone would do a thing like this to any of them.” She leaned forward urgently, gripping him by 
the shoulder. 

“Who? I have got to know who else!” He studied her carefully.

“I’m not supposed to talk ‘bout this, it’s confidential. Do you understand that?” She 
nodded rapidly, why couldn’t this old man just get on with it.

“Melonie Huang, Sheryl Tallaver, and Carla Giegen. Now, excuse me, I have to be 
going.”  

All the girls who had been at the party last night. They had associated with her, and now, 
were the victims of vandals, with the clear promise of more to come. B’Elanna couldn’t blame 
them for avoiding her. After all, she couldn’t very well ask them to subject themselves to the 
same kind of abuse she put up with. They were human.    

B’Elanna smashed her fists into the door of her locker, pretending it was the vandal’s 
face. Every time she made any headway, someone always slapped her with her genetic code, 
preventing her from moving any farther. *Cowards! Attacking my friends—my EX-friends! If they 
would dare face me directly, I would. . . .* 

There it was again. Her Klingon half flaring even in her thoughts. How could she have 
thought of it as anything other than a genetic curse?! It had ruined everything! Like it always had. 
As she supposed it always would.     

				*	*	*

*You blamed your Klingon nature.*

*Yes.*

*I recall the feeling.  You are part Klingon. . .I am part Borg.  Others reject what we are, 
they consider the advantages of our mixed species irrelevant.  But it is they and their opinions 
which are irrelevant.*

A wrinkled hand reached out, caressing a smooth, soft cheek in an almost motherly 
gesture as tears welled in chocolate brown eyes.  

*I wish I had known you then, my friend.  You have a remarkable view of life.* 

Annika blushed, changing the subject.  She had never taken compliments well. . .another 
trait they shared.  

*I wish to continue.  I sense the next significant even in you life included Starfleet.  That 
interests me.* 

*That’s right. . .*
  
				*	*	*

 T’Saria didn’t even look up when her roommate came storming into the small dormitory 
they shared at Starfleet Academy. However, when she threw open the closet and began to hurl 
her clothing out onto the bed, T’Saria finally spoke. 

“May I ask where you are planning to go in such a disorganized manner?” 

Cadet Third Class B’Elanna Torres didn’t pause as the unloaded her belongings from the 
closet. 

“Chapman wants me out, well he’s going to get his wish! I’m leaving!” T’Saria raised one 
eyebrow in curiosity, she had seen many displays of B’Elanna’s temper in their two years as 
roommates, but this episode seemed much more serious than most.

“It would be most unfortunate for the opinion of a single Professor to end your Starfleet 
career.” B’Elanna whirled on her, venting all the frustration within her on the impassive Vulcan. 

“Do you think I care what Chapman or any of them think of me? I am leaving because 
I’m not the kind of person Starfleet wants!”

“Upon what have you based this assumption?” B’Elanna savagely jammed the last of her 
things into the suitcase, then began to pull off her Cadet’s uniform, the uniform she would no 
longer need.

“Enough things to know.” T’Saria was not impressed,

“Indeed.” Dressed in her civvies now, B’Elanna picked up her suitcase and headed for 
the door. She stopped only long enough to say good-bye to the strange girl with whom she had 
forged a highly illogical bond over the years.

“T’Saria...” she raised her hand in the splay-fingered gesture of the Vulcan people, 
“...peace and long life.” Her roommate returned the sentiment. 

“Live long and prosper, Mr. Torres.” With a faint smile, B’Elanna left. Left the room. Left 
the academy. Left Starfleet. Forever.


On the shuttle back to Kressik, B’Elanna’s mind turned over the events that had led to 
her decision. The more she thought about it, the more she knew it was the right choice. She 
wasn’t Starfleet material. Never had been. Never would be. 

Oh, she had some of the qualities that made a good officer. B’Elanna was independent, 
resourceful, brave, and she was the envy of her classmates for her creative, skillful approach to 
engineering. Those things had led her to believe she could make the grade at the Academy. But 
she had been wrong. 

A good officer needed people skills too, and that was where B’Elanna was lacking badly. 
The same childhood that had toughened her body and honed her instincts had also hardened her 
heart. She was suspicious of everyone, unwilling to turn her back on her classmates for even a 
moment for fear of being betrayed.  Not to mention the chip on her shoulder that could be seen 
from orbit. 

B’Elanna recognized her problems, but that knowledge only frustrated her because no 
matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to do anything about her fits of anger. 

“Damn my temper! Damn my stupid Klingon temper!,” B’Elanna slammed her fists into 
the back of the seat in front of her, working out her rage on the unfortunate upholstery. 

She had wanted to be in Starfleet so badly! It would have been the ultimate opportunity 
for adventure, the best way to exercise her love for engineering. But most of  all, it would have 
shown everyone that they were wrong, that she could rise above her heritage and temper to 
make something of herself. 

But she couldn’t. She’d failed! Failed! Failed! 

The seat was taking a beating that would have broken most of the bones in a human’s 
body. (as well as several in B’Elanna’s hands if it had not been so well padded) Finally, the 
intense pounding motivated the transport’s pilot to speak up. 

“Would you mind stopping that?” The pilot turned in her seat, and B’Elanna could see 
that she was a dark haired Bajoran, not much older than she was. There was something in her 
eyes, something that said not to push her, she had seen hard times herself. Unfortunately, 
B’Elanna was too mad at herself to care about angering someone else. 

“I’m not a Cadet anymore,” she said sullenly, “I don’t have to listen to you, Ensign....” 

“Ro. Ro Laren,” the pilot supplied, “and this is no pleasure trip for me either, believe me. 
I was on leave from the Wellington, when they tapped me to ferry some hot-head cadet who 
couldn’t cut it at the Academy.” Ro turned back to her console, 

“I was hoping for at least some decent conversation.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” As she slumped down in her seat, arms laced tightly across her 
chest, B’Elanna became aware of an unusual feeling. Ro had bothered her. She was used to 
many reactions to her formidable temper, but this was something new. Ro was acting like she 
was something to be scraped off a boot, and strangely, B’Elanna respected her for that.

“I suppose I can talk,” she allowed.
				    

“I’m flattered,” Ro deadpanned, “but don’t put yourself out.” In the reflection of her 
console, Ro saw the dark scowl on her passenger’s face, and decided she had had enough of 
B’Elanna Torres’ attitude.

“You think you’re tough, don’t you? You think you’ve been around, seen it all, that life’s 
been real rough.” Ro could see her nod. 

“That about sums it up.” 

“You’ve had it easy,” the pilot said bitterly. 

“What do you know about my life?” Ro shrugged, still not turning, watching B’Elanna’s 
responses in the console only. 

“Nothing. But I know that it could be worse.” B’Elanna got up out of her seat and stalked 
forward into the cockpit, leaning over Ro like a predatory bird. Looking up into her fierce dark 
eyes, Ro saw that this was not just another spoiled-brat Cadet who couldn’t take the discipline. 
For the first time, Ro Laren saw the same fire that burned in her own eyes. And she respected 
this extraordinary half-Klingon young woman. 

She knew that tales of her own difficult past would impress B’Elanna no more than her 
rage had impressed Ro. And she knew B’Elanna knew. 

So there was only one thing left now that no one was impressing anyone.  Ro jerked her 
head towards the co-pilot’s seat. 

“You were offering conversation.” 

				*	*	*

*After your disaffiliation with Starfleet, did you progress directly to the Maquis?*

*Not quite.  Annika. . .this next part of my life wasn’t too pleasant.  Are you certain you 
wish to continue?  I can do it alone.*

*You don’t have to.*  

				*	*	*

B’Elanna stuck her tongue between her teeth, concentrating on the delicate task of 
soldering together two microcircuitry relays. The one spot where they could be fused without 
destroying the fragile components was a scant two millimeters across—exactly the size of the 
beam on her laser welder. 

As B’Elanna stared through the magnifier, her tired eyes rebelled, refusing to let her 
focus without rest. Recognizing the futility of trying to continue, she snapped off the laser welder 
and stuck it in her belt. She would take a short nap, get a bite to eat, and then return to the task. 
It wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait, just a backup temperature control for crew quarters that were 
vacant anyway. 

As she turned to crawl out of the confines of the Jeffries tube, B’Elanna felt a pair of 
strong hands gently massage her knotted shoulders. It was something she might have enjoyed 
under different circumstances, but his was just the latest in a series of unwelcome advances by 
the Captain of the Orion freighter she’d shipped out on. Reaching back, B’Elanna firmly removed 
the hands.

“I’m not interested, Jaheel. Just like I wasn’t interested yesterday, or this morning, and 
just like I won’t be interested tomorrow. In fact, you better keep your hands and everything else 
to yourself for the rest of this voyage.” 

“And what about after this voyage?” His voice was light, teasing, totally unconcerned with 
the dangerous tone in B’Elanna’s voice. 

“Then I’ll take a job on another ship and hopefully never see you again.” Jaheel feigned 
a hurt expression,

“Now how can a beautiful woman like you say a thing like that to a handsome man like 
me when we’re all alone like this.” 

B’Elanna rolled her eyes and turned away. It was hard to imagine, but she had initially 
found his chauvinistic, self-assured nature to be charming. So charming in fact, that she’d 
shipped with him even though other captains had made higher offers. Now that same personality 
was just damned annoying. 

Suddenly, she felt him grab onto her boot as she crawled away. She tried to pull away, 
but his grip was relentless, and only got tighter as she pulled harder. Fighting down rising panic, 
she kicked at his hand. 

“Let me go now!,” she warned. But Jaheel pulled her in like a fish, and soon had his arms 
around her, ignoring the shouts and struggles of the terrified woman he held against his chest. 
Holding her head still with one of his arms, he leaned down and whispered in her ear. 

“I want you, B’Elanna. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you in the employment 
center.” Her response was to drive a knee up into his groin. Jaheel gasped in pain as he sagged 
to his knees, and for a moment, she was free. 

B’Elanna scrambled to her feet and slid out of the Jeffries tube, then ran down the 
corridor as fast as her legs would carry her. She didn’t know where she was going, or if there was 
any where to go, trapped on a tiny two-deck freighter with a madman.  

Next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, pinned to the deck by Jaheel’s 
considerable weight. Instantly, she knew what her mistake had been. In her panic, she had 
turned left at the last junction and gone in circles. Now she would pay for her mistake. Pay 
dearly.

Because now the lust flaring in Jaheel’s eyes was mixed with equal measures of pain 
and rage, making him all the more dangerous. B’Elanna now knew two things with absolute 
certainty. One: That she was going to be raped. And Two: That she was utterly helpless. 

Orions were huge, and Jaheel was no exception. At well over two meters tall and one 
hundred and fifty kilograms of solid muscle, he would have been a giant for a human. 

But B’Elanna might have been able to handle a human. Her difficult childhood had 
trained her to fight against larger, stronger opponents, and her Klingon heritage gave her 
strength that most people would never have guessed in a woman her size. Unfortunately, Jaheel 
was Orion, and that gave him strength three times that of a human, and an amazing tolerance 
for pain—as shown by his quick recovery from her previous attack.

As he pressed his face to hers, and his fetid breath filled her nostrils, her stomach 
contracted in fear and anger and she felt as though she was going to be sick. But her mind was 
still as sharp as ever, and some small part of it had detached from the terrifying scene and was 
analyzing it like the engineer she was.  And that small part saw an opportunity to save herself.  

B’Elanna went limp, pretending to give up, to submit to his superior strength. Her lips 
parted, and when his mouth eagerly pressed against hers, she came to life, snapping her jaws 
shut and biting completely through his lower lip. The bitter, metallic taste of Orion blood filled her 
mouth, and as he drew back, bellowing in pain and rage, she spit his own blood back at him. 

For a moment, her left hand was free, and it flashed to her belt. B’Elanna prayed to all 
the deities she had ever heard of to let it be there, and it was. Her hand closed over the smooth 
grip of the laser welder, and in one motion, she pulled it out and activated it, wielding the thin 
green beam in front of her like a meter-long broadsword.  Propelling herself back across the deck 
with her heels, she put her back up against a bulkhead, and waited. 

She didn’t wait long. In fact, she didn’t wait a full five seconds. Jaheel rose himself, 
looking like some hideous demon, crawling from the bowels of hell to wreak terrible vengeance 
on B’Elanna.  His hands and the lower half of his face were covered in shiny copper blood that 
set off the look of vengeful hatred on his face. 

“You’re gonna pay!”, he hissed. 

“I’m warning you, don’t come any closer!” B’Elanna shouted, and her voice sounded at 
least two octaves higher than usual from sheer panic. 

But come closer he did. For a split second, B’Elanna hesitated to use the potentially 
deadly device she held, but then his great paws were ripping at her shirt, and she hesitated no 
longer. She slashed out with the laser. It had been designed to fuse the durable alloys in a 
spaceship, and made short work of even the tough hide of an Orion, burning a charred black 
path across Jaheel’s face. He screamed—a terrible, primal howl of agony—and insanely, came 
at her again.

The stench of burnt flesh filled the air as B’Elanna struck out again. The next moments 
were like a surreal nightmare—blurred and uncertain in memory, but terrifying nonetheless. 
There were screams and blood and pain, hers or his? She didn’t know. So many emotions and 
so much adrenaline was flooding her system that she didn’t care. She would just. . . go. . .and. . 
..and—she saw Jaheel pitch forward, slamming into her. B’Elanna fell back into the bulkhead. 
There was a bright flash of pain at the back of her skull, and then...nothing.

When she regained consciousness, it was to terrible carnage. . .of her making. Jaheel 
was lying flat on the floor, his face deeply etched with black gauges that stood out strangely 
against the olive green of his unmarred skin. As if in a dream, B’Elanna moved slowly over to 
him and knelt to check his pulse. 

But there was no need. His neck was bisected by another of the charred black lines, and 
the front of his shirt was soaked with shimmering copper blood.  The same blood that she now 
saw coated her hands and clothing, speckled in her hair, streaked her face.  She knew it would 
never wash off entirely.  It would always be there.  Marking her as a killer.

A killer.  A Murderer.  Before her lay the corpse of her victim, the man she had. . .she 
had. . . oh God!  B’Elanna doubled over, vomiting up the horror of it all. 


She spent the next three months living hand-to-mouth in the streets of Cestus IV, 
repairing children’s toys or hovercraft in exchange for food or a place to stay Finally, she worked 
up the courage to ship out again, but she took every precaution she could think of. B’Elanna 
Torres learned from her mistakes, that terror would never happen again. 

This new ship was a large one, with fifty-six other crewmembers besides herself. It was 
going to be traveling through the well-populated Federation/Cardassian Demilitarized zone. It 
was on the innocent mission of delivering medical supplies to some people called the Maquis. 
And even though Chakotay—the first officer who recruited her—was a man, the captain was a 
Vulcan woman, the safest combination B’Elanna could think of.

Nonetheless, though this ship seemed perfectly safe, B’Elanna was not going to let her 
guard down for a moment. Not on this voyage. Not ever.

				*	*	*

*That was the beginning of your affiliation with the Maquis.  With Commander Chakotay.*  
A slight smile touched Annika’s lips, growing as she felt something else in B’Elanna’s mind.  

*And it was the beginning of your affiliation with Tom.*

				*	*	*

B’Elanna wiped her hands with the greasy rag, stepping back to view the product of 
hours of work.  There.  You couldn’t even tell the Cardies had touched it, much less shot it half 
way to scrap.  She had accomplished remarkable engineering feats with the tiny fighter, not 
merely repairing it under primitive conditions with makeshift tools and half-adequate parts, but 
making it better.  More responsive.  Faster.  Of course, not that it mattered considering who’d be 
flying it. 

She felt a growl building in her throat.  Chell was a miserable pilot, but he was the best 
they had, and she knew that with the young Bolian at the helm, she’d probably be seeing this 
ship again soon.  With more Cardie wounds violating it’s hull. 

“B’Elanna Torres?”  She spun around at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice.  Captain 
Chakotay was there, and beside him. . .a stranger.  The one who had spoken.  

He was young, no more than twenty-four, yet he seemed hardened.  His clothes were 
dirty and virtually threadbare in places, worn over a frame that was tall and well-muscled, yet 
thin.  Clearly, he hadn’t had a good meal in a while.  He moved with remarkable grace for a man 
of his height, and there was a cockiness about his manner that indicated supreme self-
assurance.  His sandy blonde hair was an unruly mass of curls that might one have been cut 
Starfleet regulation, but was now significantly longer than any drill instructor would have allowed. 
Brilliant blue eyes sparkled from his handsome face, the features fine-boned and boyish, yet his 
smile that of a rogue as those flashing azure eyes roamed appreciatively over her body. 

She was immediately on the offensive.  Whoever this good-looking stranger was, she 
wouldn’t let him near her.  She would ignore the fluttering in her stomach and the strange tingle 
building in her fingertips.  He was just another man.  The enemy.  She could scare him away as 
easily as any other.  

“I didn’t think it was like you to take in charity cases, Chakotay.”

“He’s not a charity case.”  The older man’s dark features were stern.  “His name’s Tom 
Paris. . .I picked him up on Delitros Prime.”    

Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, B’Elanna fixed this Tom Paris with a skeptical 
glare.  Much to her surprise, he didn’t flinch like most men did under the venom of her stare.  
Instead, his smile widened, and he tossed her a cocky wink as though she had been flirting with 
him.  The pig!  

With an exaggerated toss of the head, she looked away from the young vagabond, 
looking at Chakotay instead.  “So,” she asked, “what’s he good for?” 

“He’s a pilot,” the Captain answered, his voice a subtle reproach for her rudeness.  She 
didn’t care.  

She sniffed derisively, “A pilot.” 

“And a damn good one, B’Elanna.”  Chakotay’s voice had grown quiet, but hard, 
something that B’Elanna knew to mean that he was serious.  He leaned a bit closer, fixing his 
dark eyes on hers.  “An ex-fleeter, dishonorably discharged.  He’s a mercenary now, and I know 
he’s hard to get along with, but you’ve got to just grin and bear it for the time being.  Whatever 
else he may be, he’s rated level nine proficiency.”   

“Nine!”  She gasped, not caring that the surprise showed clear on her face.  Level nine 
was the highest level human pilots were able to attain on the Starfleet proficiency tests, past that, 
and the reaction times required were beyond human capabilities.  For the Maquis to have such a 
pilot at their disposal was beyond her wildest dreams. . .and yet. . . . 

Couldn’t Chakotay have found them a pilot that wasn’t so young, so handsome, and so 
very annoying?  She hadn’t known the man more than five minutes, and already she hated him.  
He drove her half-mad, sending her human hormones into frenzied response, even as her 
Klingon honor and carefully erected defenses screamed their distaste.  Worse, knowing 
Chakotay, he would want to. . . .

“B’Elanna, you and Paris will be working together on this one.”  He rapped his knuckles 
against the metal hull of the sleek fighter.  “I want her and her pilot combat-ready in three days.  
I’m sending Paris on the Terrakoff run.” 

B’Elanna almost sighed in relief at those words.  The Terrakoff run.  A one-way trip to 
bring supplies to another Maquis cell and join them at the end.  Her heart lifted as she picked up 
her tool kit and re-entered the ship, not bothering to look at Paris.  

Three days.  She only had to work with him for three days, and then she would never 
have to see Tom Paris again.  

				*	*	*

Annika giggled girlishly. . .*never again.  Oh, B’Elanna!* 

*Yes.  That’s what I thought.  And I would probably have been right.  But then fate threw 
us onto Voyager, and he and I were together again.  I still hated him at first, hated him with a 
vengeance.  Then. . . .*

*You don’t need to tell me.* 

*Really?  But you weren’t with us until Tom and I had already fallen in love.  Almost four 
years into our journey.*  

*That’s true.  But I seem to recall the Paris’ and Kim’s sitting around reminiscing for more 
than a few hours.  I could probably tell the old stories better than you could now. . . I still 
remember each retelling perfectly.  The days in the Viidean prison.  Your experience with ponn 
farr.  The Argala habitat.  Your confession of love as your oxygen waned.  When you. . . .*

*All right, all right!  I’ll transcribe those later, just so you won’t have to live through them 
again.*   

*Thank you.*  

*Then we’re through for today?*  

*I suppose so.  Perhaps we could have dinner.  I’ll call Harry and have him bring a bottle 
of wine.  Do you like Chateau Picard Burgundy? Excellent vintage.*

*I don’t really care for. . .*

*Oh, my!*

*What is it?* 

*The wine.  It sparked a brief flash of memory.  Caves.  You and Tom.  Blood. . . .  
B’Elanna, I do not believe you have shared this memory.*  

*No.  I haven’t.*  

*The intensity is overwhelming. . .you keep it buried just below consciousness.  Yet I feel 
that the outcome was pleasant.*  

*The outcome was.  But I don’t care to remember how I got to the outcome.  I don’t like to 
think of those years much.  The happy years. . .Tom and I. . .it hurts more to remember that time 
than any other time in my life.* 

*Perhaps it would hurt less if you didn’t have to remember them alone.  But you do need 
to remember them, B’Elanna. . . I think Tom would be saddened if he knew you had spent so 
many decades trying to forget him.  You’ve almost succeeded.  It’s so far buried.  But it’s not 
gone yet.  Please, B’Elanna. . .bring his memories back to life.*  

A tear trickled from B’Elanna’s eye, but she took a deep breath, steeling herself.  Annika 
was right, she could do this.  And it was what Tom would have wanted.  He had often said that 
he would prefer to die young and heroic. . .as long as he was remembered.  It would be the least 
she could do to grant him that.  

*I will, Annika.  But promise not to leave me during this.  I cannot bear these memories 
alone. . . .*

				*	*	*

 “You brought wine?” B’Elanna stared incredulously at the dark liquid that filled her glass. 

She and Tom were on shore leave, caving in the Crystal Caverns of Ventax Three. They 
had to carry everything they would need for their two-day expedition into the caves, and 
therefore space and weight were at a premium. 

They had needed to do some fairly creative packing to simply fit the necessities: 
clothing, food, water, camping gear, and climbing equipment. B’Elanna was thankful for her 
precise, mathematical mindset, it was probably the only thing that had made the trip even 
possible.  
	
Nevertheless, when they had reached their first destination and made camp for the night, 
B’Elanna had discovered that Tom had somehow managed to hide a gourmet dinner in his pack, 
complete with a lace tablecloth...and wine.  
	
“I felt it only appropriate for the setting.” And it was true, they were sitting on a wide 
ledge that protruded from the rock wall, surrounded by nature in all it’s subterranean  majesty. 
Shimmering crystal formations danced the light from their lanterns back at them as they fell in 
graceful waterfalls, rose in towering spires, and formed fanciful bridges that looked to be made of 
lace. The colors were stunning, the reflections breathtaking, the scale immense, in short, it 
was....
	
“Beautiful.” In the light of her lantern, Tom’s eyes sparkled. 
	
“Remember the last time we were in caves like this together?  Two years ago.” B’Elanna 
felt her cheeks heat with the memory. 

They had been searching for gallacite on a seemingly deserted planet, when she had 
been telepathically infected with pon farr by Vorik, a young Vulcan engineer. The resulting neuro-
chemical imbalance had nearly driven her mad...and she had done some rather embarrassing 
things while under it’s influence. Thinking about her behavior, she grimaced in the half-light.
	
“Don’t remind me.” Tom smiled mischievously,
	
“It wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was pretty interesting for a while there.” B’Elanna smiled back 
and edged closer, slipping one arm around his waist. 
	
“It was, wasn’t it.” He leaned down and kissed her softly, and when he spoke, his voice 
was nearly a whisper.
	
 “Let’s pick up where we left off.” She kissed him back, and there was nothing soft about 
it. 
	
“Get the light.”, she murmured, reluctantly pulling herself away so that he could get up. 
Gently disentangling himself, Tom stood and walked a few steps away to extinguish the lantern. 
B’Elanna watched him reach for the switch, then saw where his left foot was about to step, and 
her eyes widened in alarm.
	
“Tom, watch out!” He turned quickly at her cry of warning, but in the process, put all his 
weight on his left foot. The loose rock gave way, and for a moment, he seemed suspended at an 
impossible angle, hands clawing instinctively at the air in a futile attempt to prevent the fall. Then 
he vanished over the edge, his cry of alarm cut short by a sickening thud as he hit the rocks 
below. 
	
B’Elanna leapt to her feet and ran to where Tom had disappeared, afraid to look, afraid 
of what she might find. Suddenly, those crystal spires seemed like deadly spears, the jagged 
formations now anything but romantic. She shined the light over the edge, and spotted him 
immediately. 
	
Tom had fallen over ten meters onto a slab of smooth crystal, where he lay, a growing 
crimson stain spreading beneath his still form. 
	
Suppressing a scream, B’Elanna grabbed a rope and harness, then dumped their packs 
upside down, searching for the medical kit. She rummaged through the pile of gear, but all she 
found was clothing, climbing supplies, and food—the all-important kit was nowhere in sight. 
	
With sudden, horrific clarity, she realized where the kit was, sitting on the table in her 
quarters on Voyager, waiting to be packed. She’d forgotten it! Filled with a new purpose, and a 
ever-heightening sense of urgency, B’Elanna went back through the scattered items, looking for 
anything that might be useful. 
	
Sheets, a phaser, climbing poles...she scooped it all up and had a safety line rigged in 
record time. A quickly as she could, she descended toward the slab, careful not to rush to the 
point of joining him. After all, a dead rescuer does no one any good. 

As she got closer, she realized that the crystal ledge was nowhere near as smooth as it 
had looked from above, instead, it’s surface was studded with a number of small formations 
about a centimeter high and sharp as knives. They would have cut Tom to pieces! She had to 
get to him, just a little lower…not far now...and she was there, by his side so quickly that she 
didn’t even notice as her fingers released the harness. 
	
 Her lantern illuminated the motionless body, allowing her to see him up close for the 
first time. B’Elanna felt the bile rise in her throat at the sight, and icy hands gripped her heart. 

Tom was dead. 

He had to be. 

There was a ghostly pallor to his fair skin, the only color provided by a bright red trickle 
of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, and he hadn’t moved a muscle. 

Yet, just to confirm what she already knew, she put two fingers to his neck...could she be 
sure—yes! His pulse fluttered beneath her fingers, thready and weak, but there. He was still 
alive, and she intended to keep it that way. 
	
Her mind raced to recall everything she could from her basic first aid courses at the 
Academy. Bits and pieces came to her...direct pressure to control bleeding...don’t move him...but 
none of it came easily, and she got the feeling she was missing something important. 

*Why couldn’t it have been me!* she thought frantically, absurdly angry at Tom for getting 
hurt. *You’re the one with all the medical training! I don’t know how to help you! Why are you 
forcing me to watch you die?!* 

She placed a hand over his mouth, and felt his breath warm her palm, it was shallow, but 
at least the rhythm was steady...it would do for now. 
	
Circulation was another matter, Tom was bleeding all over the place, and it didn’t take a 
Doctor to figure out why. His right leg was twisted under him at a grotesque angle, shattered 
bone poking through the flesh and tearing the once-gray cloth over his lower leg. Blood was 
flowing freely from the wound—indicating that a major blood vessel had been severed—as well 
as from several smaller cuts, soaking the cloth of his climbing suit, spilling over her hands and 
the rock beneath. 
	
So much blood...B’Elanna knew she had to stop it, or Tom would bleed to death right in 
front of her. 
	
Tearing the sleeves off her shirt to serve as bandages along with the sheets, she tapped 
her communicator. 
	
“Torres to Voyager, medical emergency! Tom’s been injured, I need immediate transport 
to sickbay!” Janeway’s voice replied over the comm link, and B’Elanna could tell that the news 
was not good, she had heard that tone too many times before. 
	
*And usually somebody died,* she thought, then chastised herself for thinking such things. 
No one was going to die!
	
“There’s some kind of reflection effect from the crystal formations around you, it would 
scatter the transporter beam.” B’Elanna heard the muffled sound of a conversation just out of 
range of the communicator, and then Janeway’s voice again, this time with a faint note of 
triumph.
	
 “Harry’s beaming down to a cavern five hundred meters from your position with pattern 
enhancers. He should get to you in about twenty or thirty minutes, you’ll have to hold on until 
then.” She wanted to protest, insist that they do something sooner, let them see Tom’s pale 
complexion and mangled leg, understand the gravity of the situation...but there was only one 
answer.
	
“Understood.” Suddenly, B’Elanna felt a movement against her leg where she was 
kneeling on the cold crystal slab. She looked down, expecting to find some local insect, and a 
smile of utter relief washed over her face. 
	
The movement had been Tom’s hand brushing against her, he was awake, his eyes wide 
and alert, though they mirrored obvious agony. He tried to smile, and his ashen lips parted in a 
hoarse whisper.
	
“B’Elanna....” She leaned down close, pressing a finger against his mouth,
	
“Shhhh, you took a bad fall, save your strength.” He tried to move and his handsome 
features contorted in pain.
	
“Figured,” he gasped, “hurts....” She looked down at his leg, despite her best efforts to 
bandage the wound and apply pressure, the flow of blood had barely slowed. A tourniquet might 
cost him the limb, but he couldn’t afford to lose any more blood. Was it worth it? Were there any 
other options? 
	
B’Elanna racked her brain for an answer, finding nothing until she remembered an old 
Klingon technique. It surprised her that she could recall the incident so vividly; she had been 
fourteen at the time, and not really listening to her Uncle anyway. He had been telling her how he 
had received the hideous scar that ran halfway down his forearm, all that remained of an injury 
that had nearly cost him his life. 
	
He had been slashed by a Bat’leth on the field of battle, the artery severed, and he was 
bleeding to death. But a fellow warrior had used his disrupter to heat his dak’tagh white hot, 
pressing the heated knife against the wound and effectively sealing off the flow of blood. At the 
time, she had thought it nothing more than just a gruesome Klingon war story, but now it could 
very well save the life of the man she loved. 
	
This inspiration filled B’Elanna with a new confidence, and she managed to put on a front 
of brave self-assurance as she looked into the injured pilot’s eyes.
	
“Tom, you broke your leg, and it’s bleeding pretty badly...I haven’t been able to stop it.”
	
“Guess that’s...not…very good.” She squeezed his hand in hers, pleased that he could 
still joke, but grim because of what she was about to do to him. 
	
“I’m going to have to cauterize the wound, and I won’t pull any punches here, this’ll hurt 
like hell.”  Despite the pain, his mind was clear, and it didn’t like what it heard. B’Elanna saw a 
mixture of fear and determination appear in his expression,
	
“What…will you use...no boiling oil...nearby.” She had already set to work on the 
intended device,  and lifted it into his field of view. Had someone else told her, she would not 
have believed it possible, but Tom’s face paled even further, and he closed his eyes. 
	
“Phaser...crazy...cut the leg...off.”, his voice held a note of quiet desperation, the 
prospect of greater agony looming large in his thoughts.  She stopped her work for a moment 
and ran a gentle hand through his sandy hair, now brick red and matted with blood from a cut 
somewhere on his scalp. He opened his eyes, and the naked trust she saw reflected in them 
made her feel strangely guilty.
	
“Probably”, she deadpanned. 

Tom snorted derisively, “And here...I thought...you liked...me.” 

B’Elanna allowed herself a half-smile, and continued her work. “Must have been that 
crazy imagination of yours. I’m going to use the phaser to heat one of these crystals, I’ll cauterize 
the leg with that.” He made a sound that might have been trying to be a chuckle, then his eyes 
lost their focus and began to drift close. 

“Better...” 

Galvanized into greater urgency by his worsening condition, she managed to work even 
faster, surprising herself with her own speed and accuracy. Finishing the adjustments to the 
phaser, she snapped off one of the larger formations that was scattered over the surface of the 
slab. It’s razor-sharp edges sliced into her palm, and she bit back a curse as several drops of her 
own purplish blood joined the scarlet stain on the rock face.     

“All right, I’m just about ready here.” 

Tom’s hand moved up and clamped onto her wrist with surprising strength. 
	
“Wait!” She pulled her hand away and went back to his leg, determined not to let a plea 
for mercy stop her from saving his life. B’Elanna had just set the phaser on it’s new modified low, 
when some little voice in the back of her mind told her to stop, that had not been a plea to spare 
him the pain. 
	
“What is it?” His hand rose weakly, trembling a few centimeters off the crystal as he 
reached for her, she extended her hand to meet his, and he took it gratefully. His face was not 
what she had expected, no fear; just urgency, determination, and love. She met his gaze evenly, 
trying to transfer some of her own strength to Tom through the link forged by their eyes and 
hearts. 
	
“B’Elanna...,” he struggled, “will...will you...will you marry me?” B’Elanna’s mouth hung 
open in utter shock, and she fought to regain her voice. 
	
“Marry you?” Eyes closed, Tom nodded, his remaining strength rapidly draining as he 
bled onto the uncaring crystal.  
	
“You’ve lost too much blood, you’re delusional. I need to get that bleeding stopped, get 
you to Voyager....” Realizing that she had begun to babble, she closed her mouth, but her mind 
was still spinning. 

Trying to dismiss what he had said as the wanderings of a mind in shock, she took the 
phaser and aimed it at the broken piece of crystal. As the thin golden beam heated it to a 
glowing orange, she spared a quick look toward her patient’s face, and saw him gazing back at 
her, and though too weak to talk any more, it was there in his eyes, as clearly as if he had 
spoken. 
	
He was serious. Tom had not been delusional, nor frivolous in his request. He really 
meant what he had said.
	
“I love you too,” she whispered, and slipped the end of a climbing pole between his teeth.

“Bite down on this.” He nodded slightly and braced himself as well as he could, and then 
she wrapped her hand in one of the torn sheets and lifted the heated chip of stone

The air filled with the stench of burning meat as the hot crystal made contact with the 
exposed tissue. Tom went rigid, fists clenched as he sank his teeth into the unyielding deuritium 
of the climbing pole. 

Then, she moved into the heart of the injury, with its exposed nerves and ripped flesh.  
Unable to bear it anymore, he screamed, writhing in an instinctive attempt to escape the pain. 

“Hold still!”, she cried, afraid that she would inadvertently burn him even worse. But Tom 
was past reason, brought to the edge of madness by pain and shock. Faced with no other choice, 
B’Elanna pulled back her hand and curled her fingers into a fist. 

“This is for you’re own good!”, she told him, then let fly, punching him squarely on the 
jaw as hard as she could. Abruptly, the cave was silent as Tom sagged limply back onto the slab, 
unconscious.

She felt guilty as she saw she had added a split lip to his list of injuries, but she knew it 
had been an act of mercy; the screams had stopped, and he felt no pain. Quickly, she finished 
her grisly task, and not a drop of blood flowed from the blackened gash. 
	
Physically and emotionally drained, B’Elanna dropped the stone, noting with a dull 
detachment that it had burned almost all the way through the cloth and would have burnt her 
hand in a few more seconds. 

Unmindful of her own shredded hands and knees, she moved up the slight incline of the 
slab and cradled Tom’s head in her lap. B’Elanna looked into his face, chalk white, soaked with 
sweat and streaked with blood, but peaceful. A single lock of hair had fallen down over his 
forehead, and she brushed it away absently, just holding him, and waiting.   



Three hours later, the Doctor stepped out of sickbay, his annoyed expression even more 
intense than usual as he looked at B’Elanna. 

“How is he?”, she asked.

“You made a mess of what was left of his leg,” he glared at her, the look in his 
holographic eyes one of intense disapproval, “there is a reason phasers are not included in the 
standard med. kit, Lieutenant.” She smiled, The Doctor’s disapproval meant that Tom was all 
right, his program made him terribly sympathetic when something was really wrong. 

“Sorry, Doc, best I could do at the time.” He rolled his eyes and motioned her into 
sickbay,

“Mr. Paris wants to speak to you.” Before the words were even out of his mouth, she had 
slipped past him.  

Tom was sitting propped up on a biobed, his leg encased in a regenerative arch from 
thigh to ankle and numerous dermograft patches dotting his exposed skin. He was still far from 
well, the massive blood loss evident in his pale complexion and weakened posture, but he was 
smiling at her, and his eyes were clear and alert, possessing the same sparkle as before the 
accident.  

She crossed sickbay in two strides and took his hand in both of hers, trying not to flinch 
at how cold it was. 

“Tom...., she began, but he spoke before she could continue, his voice strong and steady 
despite his appearance. 

“You were right,” he paused, and the smile turned mischievous, “that did hurt like hell.”  

“So I gathered.” Her smile faded and her voice softened sympathetically, “I’m sorry I had 
to do it.” He shrugged, as if the agonizing experience in the cave had been a stubbed toe.

“You saved my life, B’Elanna, how can I complain?” 

“By saying it hurt like hell!” 

“It did!” They both laughed, and then an awkward silence fell upon them, both thinking 
about what had happened back on the planet. B’Elanna was the first to voice her thoughts.

“I know you lost a lot of blood…and you were in a lot of pain…so I understand that you 
weren’t thinking clearly....” Tom cut her off with a raised hand, his usually cheerful face dead 
serious.

“Yes, I was. I know I said I was willing to wait for you to come around the last time I 
asked you, but back in those caves I realized what dangerous lives we lead. Either one of us 
could be killed at any moment.” 

She frowned in confusion, was he saying what she thought he was saying? “Tom...do 
you mean?”  

He nodded. “I love you, and I want you to be my wife, but I can’t wait forever. That’s why 
I’m asking for a yes or a no. Please say yes, B’Elanna.” 

Her mind reeled at the enormity of the question. Marry him. For better or worse, richer or 
poorer…forever. Could she make that kind of commitment? Would she? She had sworn never to 
marry when she was five years old, and had watched her parent’s marriage fall to pieces, leaving 
a little girl stranded in the wreckage. But this was different…wasn’t it? She loved Tom—that 
much was for certain—and she was equally sure that he loved her. Could she do it?

“Yes.” A dozen emotions ranging from excitement to relief washed over Tom’s face, 
even as B’Elanna felt her stomach contract with one unmistakable emotion…fear. While most of 
her mind tried to adjust to the life-changing consequences of that one little word, some part of it 
was dimly aware of Tom sitting up as far as he could and calling out to the Doctor.

“Hey, Doc, come here!” The Doctor poked his holographic head out of his office, 
scowling as he saw that his patient was rapidly exhausting what strength he had regained by 
sitting up and waving him over. 

“Exactly what is so critical, Lieutenant?” His withering glare usually conveyed his 
displeasure even through Tom Paris’s thick skin, but this time it was completely ignored by the 
grinning pilot. 

“Where did you put my combadge? I’ve got a wedding to plan!” 

“A wedding?,” the Doctor asked. 

B’Elanna smiled, amused by her new fiancee’s enthusiasm. “It’s all right, Tom, it’s not 
like we’re getting married today or anything.” She meant it lightly, but then she saw the look on 
his face and her own went stark white. “Oh my God...you really want to. You really want to get 
married today.” 

He shrugged, “Why not?” 

 “Excuse me, Lieutenants!” The Doctor stepped in between the two of them, his face a 
mask of frustrated confusion. “Mr. Paris is my patient, and I don’t care what he wants to do or 
how it will affect his marital status, he is not leaving this sickbay until I say so!” 

Tom gave the Doctor a smile of such cherubic innocence that B’Elanna instantly knew 
he was up to something. “Doc, you know I would never even think of leaving without your explicit 
permission.” 

“Perish the thought.”

“But I have promised to marry B’Elanna, and I’m obligated to fulfill that promise as soon 
as possible. So...when can I be back on my feet?” 

The Doctor sighed deeply as he called up a status report on the biobed’s console. “You 
sustained severe injuries resulting in the loss of almost half your blood volume. This is not a 
case for a quick fix.” He paused, then continued with a decided air of martyrdom, “However, 
providing you refrain from anything strenuous and promise to return at twenty-one hundred hours 
for a second round of transfusions...I suppose I can let you go in approximately two hours.” 

Grinning triumphantly, Tom whirled to face B’Elanna, who was still standing there 
numbly, mouth open. “Meet me in two hours in the Captain’s ready room?” 

She looked up quickly, startled out of her stunned reverie. 

“Two hours? You...you want to get married in two hours? That’s ridiculous! It’s crazy! It’s 
impossible!” 

“Not really. It won’t be anything fancy, but somehow I just don’t see you as the type to go 
for a flowers-and-lace storybook wedding anyway. The Captain will perform the ceremony, I’ll 
see if Harry can be Best Man, and I’m sure Commander Chakotay would be happy to give you 
away....”

She shook her head vigorously, trying to adjust to going from single, to engaged, to 
going-to-be-married-in-just-a-few-hours within less than five minutes. “But...what about clothing? 
And rings?,” she protested. 

“We’ll wear our dress uniforms. The rings are in my sock drawer—top right-hand side. 
I’ve had them for months now.” 

B’Elanna laughed, realizing that Tom had covered every contingency and would have an 
answer to any argument. And when she thought about it, what difference would it make if they 
were married in two hours, two days, or two months? Would she love him any less? No. And, as 
he had pointed out, ‘carpe diem’  was a pretty wise philosophy for those who flirted with the Grim 
Reaper on a daily basis. 

Still feeling as though she was jumping off a cliff, she gave in. 

“All right! All right! But you know, Tom, this is crazy.” 

He gave a casual, ‘who cares’ shrug, then lifted B’Elanna’s hand to his lips and kissed it 
gallantly, eyes twinkling. 

“I know, but that’s why you love me.”         

				*	*	*

“NOOOoooooooo!!!!”  The sound was half-scream, half moan as B’Elanna ripped the 
receiver from her forehead, burying her face in her hands as all the old memories surged to the 
surface.  Her slight figure trembled, her shoulders heaving as she took great, sobbing gulps of 
air.  Her voice shook even worse than her body as she spoke, more to herself than Annika, the 
words mumbled.

“I remember now!  His face. His touch. The way he looked at me.  The sound of his voice 
when he said he loved me.  The way his eyes sparkled when he smiled.  The first time we made 
love.  The way he used to. . . Oh, God, Annika!  How could I have forgotten?!  How could I have 
made myself forget?!”  

Annika wrapped her arms around her friend, gently stroking her hair until the flow of tears 
gradually subsided.  “Perhaps. . .because you loved him so much.  Perhaps remembering what 
you had after it was gone was worse than never having it at all.” 

B’Elanna nodded, blotting her eyes with a tissue.  “Perhaps.” She pressed her hand to 
her temple, squeezing her eyes shut as her face crumpled in pain.  “So much in one day. . .so 
many memories. . .so much pain. . .I can’t do it any more.” 

Annika smiled compassionately, wrapping a blanket around B’Elanna’s shoulders to try 
and stop the shivering that had nothing to do with temperature.  “You don’t have to.  Let’s stop for 
now.  We can pick it up another day.”

She touched her Borg hand to the spot on the other woman’s head where the receiver 
had rested, knowing that the proper sections of her brain were still quite active after the 
prolonged link.  Knowing that she could still form a weak bond.  Enough to help her friend relax.  
Help her find refuge in sleep for the time being.  

It was almost midnight, and Annika had to admit that she too was looking forward to 
sleep.  Retrieving so many of B’Elanna’s memories had been an exhausting ordeal for both of 
them.  

As B’Elanna drifted into a drained slumber, she murmured words that echoed Annika’s 
thoughts.

“Another day.  We’ll finish my life. . .another day. . . .”

Finish. 

(Yes, there will be a sequel soon)