This story is the rewrite of an original effort which did not accurately reflect canon, due to an error in which the author reversed the order of two episodes. This version is set between "The Raven" and "Scientific Method", in the order in which they appeared. It includes a little more material directly from the episodes themselves than I had originally planned, but it seemed necessary to carry the story. This rewrite was completed 12/7/97. Thank you to Janet for her commentary and her interest. It meant a tremendous amount to me. Janet, I hope you enjoy this version. I would welcome any constructive feedback and comments to Jen2777@AOL.COM. In writing this, I gained a whole new appreciation for the effort that goes into capturing the episode dialogue for the reviews that I enjoy reading so much. Kris and Jim and all the other reviewers out there, hats off to you. As anyone who might be reading this must know, Paramount/Viacom owns everything Star Trek. I'm only borrowing their marvelous characters and backgrounds and not making any money from it. Please provide (constructive) feedback! A Few More Small Repairs Voyager, P/T, Episode Extension genre, first person (B'Elanna's) POV *** "Paris to Torres." "Torres here," I yawned. "Ready to make a few small repairs together this morning?" "Mmm, I can hardly control my enthusiasm," I replied, stretching. I was using the changing room near one of the ship's airlocks to don an environmental suit. I had the bottoms on and was sitting on the bench, preparing to worm my way into the top half. "Where are you?" "Mess hall. Eating breakfast. I've got you on a channel through my comm badge." "Ah, how nice that some of us don't have to don EVA suits and run through safety checklists before we go to work in the morning. Don't you look a little funny, sitting there talking to yourself?" "Nobody here to see me at this godawful hour. You know, Neelix's pleka rind omelet isn't half bad today." "Can we talk about something else?" I asked. "Pardon?" I wrestled the top half the rest of the way over my head so I could speak clearly. "I said, can we talk about something else." "Not feeling well? Are you sure you're up to this?" "Well, I don't see anyone else standing in line," I shot back. "My staff is already spread out between reconstructing an astrometrics lab, repairing two shuttlecraft, and the minor task of keeping every little junction and relay on this ship functioning. We don't exactly have spare personnel." "Can't it wait?" "It's a drain on the ship's energy reserves to leave a forcefield shielding a gaping hole in our hull. And it makes us vulnerable. Our shields in that area are-" "Thirty-six percent weaker than normal, I know, I know. I heard you yesterday afternoon." "Well, then I'm sure you didn't miss the death glare I got when I updated Captain Janeway on our progress, or lack thereof, as she seemed to consider it." "Yeah, she has been a little hard to please these last couple of days. I don't think she likes to leave diplomatic relationships on unfriendly terms. I think it's safe to say we can take the B'Omar off the list of possible allies in the Delta quadrant." "If we hadn't a had a Borg running off half-cocked and invading their space, that might not have happened." "Now that's not exactly fair. The negotiations were not progressing well." "Still," I insisted, struggling to get my feet into the boots and fasten the fittings, "I can't believe how little disciplinary action she gets. Look, I know why it happened, and I'm sympathetic, but she injured crewmembers, blasted through a shuttle bay door, was responsible for damaging two shuttlecraft, and nearly got us involved in a state of war with the B'Omar. And does she get even a slap on the wrist? No. Does she have to repair any of the damage? No! No, she gets engineering resources, *now*, to help reconstruct the damned astrometrics lab!" "Are you forgetting that we recently dumped the warp core, got it stolen by the Cataati, blew up the Cochrane, and got a day off for it?" "I can site her involvement in that little fiasco as well," I growled, flushing with embarrassment nonetheless. "And we got confined to quarters with orders to rest after suffering from oxygen deprivation. That doesn't count." I began rechecking seals. "I could sure use a day off now." "I can think of some fantastic things we could spend a day doing on the holodeck." "Oh, really?" The tone of his voice brought a smile to my face. I could picture the one on his. "Tell me." "Imagine this long, empty stretch of white, sandy beach. Clear blue water lapping at your feet as you drape over a reclining chair." "Blue as your eyes?" I asked. I could hear the smile in his voice. "Bluer. Hot, lazy afternoon sun. Your devoted companion bringing you a long, cold Tarkalian margarita." "Where does that come from on this empty beach?" "It's magic," Tom replied. I chuckled. "Your devoted companion has also brought along an ample supply of tanning oil in your favorite scent and his own two eager and talented hands." I leaned back against the wall. Mmm, I could almost feel the water and taste the margarita. "Does my devoted companion want to know what I'm wearing?" I could sense Tom's surprise. I don't usually get into this kind of thing. "Yes, he would very much like to know." "Well." I leaned forward, eyes closed. "It's black. And shiny. And in two pieces." I heard a catch. "And it is very small. Nothing but strings holding it together on top." A wistful sigh. "And the bottoms are cut all the way up to-" "Rowwl, are you two up for a threesome?" a sexy new voice growled from the other end of the comm link. It dissolved into helpless laughter. "TOM!" I exploded. "You said you were ALONE!" "I WAS! *Harry!*" he said in that 'I'm going to get beat up for this later, you twirp' tone. "Morning, B'Elanna. Or should I call you Venus?" Harry chuckled. I refused to gratify that with a reply. I slammed the link shut with a vicious jab at my comm switch, stuffed my helmet under my arm, and stormed down the hall, bowlegged from the damned suit. Teach *me* to engage in gratuitious comm channel use. Joe Carey was already in aft shuttle bay two when I arrived, still steaming. He looked as relaxed as if the EVA suit were a wetsuit and he was just going waterskiing on Lake Tahoe. "Morning, Chief. I already checked the seals on the internal door and verified that all the safety locks are functioning." He was tethering himself to one of the two magnetic chocks we had attached to the floor of the shuttle bay. It looked like a cone-shaped buoy, with lights to indicate that it was functioning. "Oh! Thanks, Carey." I tethered myself to the other chock, and then there was nothing to do but put the helmet on. I swallowed hard and lowered it over my head. The helmet is the worst part. I know that as soon as I put it on my nose will begin to itch unbearably. I hate the way your breath condenses on the glass and forms a mist inside the faceplate. I'm always forgetting it's on the inside and trying to wipe it off. I clicked the seal connecting my helmet to my suit shut and began itching as anticipated. I confirmed I had good air flow, gave Joe Carey a thumbs up, which he returned, and took a deep breath before speaking into the helmet comm link. "Torres to Paris." "Paris here," he replied hesitantly. "We're ready at our end," I said, all business. "Are you prepared to do some very smooth flying?" "Roger that, Torres. Did you guys double-check the seals on your helmets?" I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Father." Carey grinned at me, but we both double-checked the seals anyway. Again. "Captain, Torres here. We're ready to proceed with the repairs." "Acknowledged, Lieutenant," Captain Janeway replied, as if it was an effort to concentrate. "Proceed." "Aye, Captain. Okay. Helm, maintain open communications on this channel for the duration," I continued. "Here we go. Evacuating aft shuttle bay two." I touched a control panel on a wall. The air hissed out of the shuttle bay, leaving a vacuum matching outer space in its place. "Check anchors." I verified that the magnetic chock linking me to the floor was operating properly. One thing I'd learned from rock-climbing with Tom - above all else, the anchor must not fail. I watched Carey do the same. "Check tethers." We each examined the lines connecting us to the chocks and double-checked the locking carabiners that formed the point of attachment. Meticulous attention to detail is what keeps us from becoming flotsam in space. I gave Carey another thumbs up. He returned it and nodded. "Okay. Releasing emergency forcefield." I touched another control and watched the hazy film that covered the jagged hole in the shuttle bay door evaporate. We stood with our feet firmly planted on the deck, looking out into empty space receding behind Voyager at one-eighth impulse. "Paris," I said, trying to keep my voice from quivering, "I need *exactly* one-eighth impulse now. Are you ready?" I hoped I didn't sound like a hard butt, but I wasn't looking forward to this and I certainly didn't want to get jerked around while I was doing it. "Ready and steady, Lieutenant." I took a deep breath. "Roger. Releasing gravitational generators and inertial dampers for shuttle bay two." I took both systems off-line. My stomachs knew as soon as I did it. Carey and I pushed gently off the floor and aimed for the opening in the shuttle bay doors. We were now in free fall, while the ship moved around us at one-eighth impulse. We tilted, turned, drifted toward the shuttle bay door, or rather, the shuttle bay door drifted towards us. I resisted the urge to close my eyes as the mechanics of my middle ear tried unsuccessfully to compensate for the lack of up and down. "Pay the line out easy," Carey said over the comm link. "Watch that you don't get snagged on any of the edges." We maneuvered carefully past the jagged edges of metal that remained of the once-intact shuttle bay door Seven had flown through. In and out was the hard part. Jagged edges could rip into an environmental suit or sever a line. Movements had to be very *gentle*, or in trying to avoid one edge you could bounce yourself into another. Gentle isn't one of my strong points. We'd talked about this, but it was still the best method, still easier and less of a strain on the o-two supply than using one of the distant airlocks and having to climb the hull or walk across the ship using magnetized boots. I irrationally trusted lines and carabiners more than magnetic fields. I wished I'd been able to think of something other than that damned magnetic chock to use for an anchor inside. We slipped out of shuttle bay two. It was like hang-gliding over a bottomless cliff and then somehow remaining suspended weightlessly over it, like a character in these old 'cartoons' Tom sometimes subjects Harry and me to. I like to rock-climb. Even when the face goes past vertical or becomes an overhang, I'm clinging to it. It's right there beside me, solid, no matter how high up I go, and I know with Tom at the other end of that line I'm absolutely secure. I would not enjoy hang-gliding. "Ready for stage one," Carey said. I nodded and skipped the reply. This is easy for Carey. Some people have a natural physiological proclivity for functioning in zero-g. I'm not one of them, but Carey doesn't rub it in. Especially not after Tom and I came within a few minutes of suffocating in the environmental suits not too long ago. We used additional lines we'd clipped to our suits to attach ourselves to mooring rings molded into the ship's hull. "Check anchors and tethers," he continued. He watched me while I did. "Release internal lines." We nodded at each other and unlocked the carabiners tethering us to shuttle bay two. We tied the internal lines off to the rings so they wouldn't entangle us. I felt the slight tension in the line connecting me to Voyager's hull. Carey and I were now safely, well, pretty safely, surfing through space behind Voyager at one-eighth impulse. Carey clicked the switch on his helmet that temporarily disconnected Tom from the comm channel. "B'Elanna, take some deep breaths." Normally I would have argued. Normally I would have been irritated at having the fact that I was going to pass out shortly pointed out to me. At this point I just closed my eyes and reminded my body to do what it was supposed to do on its own. "Did you guys just cut me off?" Carey smiled, and I couldn't help but smile too. Tom had picked up on the dead air. Ooh. Maybe that wasn't such a good phrase. Then I heard some dead air myself and saw Carey nod across from me. "What the hell are you two yakking about?" I asked. "I will, Tom. Promise," Carey said over the open channel. "Ready for stage two." I investigated the damage done to the shuttle bay door. We'd scanned the external images, but it was easier to see details in real life. It was pretty much as we'd assumed. Shuttle bay doors are meant to separate at the centerline and retract. When a large object has crashed through them from within, enough mangling of metal happens that the doors cannot be forced open and repaired from within the comfy confines of the ship. "I think the original plan holds," I said. "We tether the doors, release the locking mechanisms, free them from the ship, and drag them inside with us for repair." "I agree," Carey replied. "Let's take your side first." He moved across the opening to join me. He touched the switch again. "Doing okay, Chief?" I remembered to touch my switch. "Yep. Let's just get it over with." "I wish you two would stop turning me off in here. I'm starting to wonder what you're doing out there all by yourselves," Tom said. "Yeah, I'm puckering up for a big faceplate smooch," I shot back. If I kept the conversation light, I could avoid thinking about what it was like to be only a faceplate away from him, when I would've given anything not to spend my last remaining moments separated from him by glass and space... "Well, as long as you're not initiating any first contacts out there," Tom quipped. Carey looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Inside joke," I said as I felt the color rising in my face. I found the latch I was looking for. "Releasing maintenance hatch. Clear." I activated the switch and let the ship pull away from me. The hatch swung open gently on soft seals made expressly for this purpose. A thing of beauty. "Attaching rigging," Carey said. He used smaller magnetic chocks to attach lines to the door at various points and connect it to another mooring ring. "Ready for release." "Releasing," I replied. "Clear." I triggered the mechanism that disconnected the door from its tracks and pulled myself *well* clear of the door as it swung free of its pocket. Carey eased the other end free of its mate. It followed Voyager like a misshapen sail. "One down, one to go." "Guys," Tom's voice said over the comm. "Harry's picking up some electromagnetic interference ahead. I can't change course to avoid it with you dangling out the back." "Electromagnetic?" I asked. Carey and I looked at eachother and the magnetic chocks anchoring the door. "I don't expect us to be passing through it for more than a few minutes, but we could lose ship-to-suit communications. Are you secure back there?" "We're secure, Paris," Carey responded. "Better ride this out before we do anything with the second door," I suggested. "Contact in twenty..." Tom said. "Contact in ten...5..." The channel dissolved in static. How long exactly was this going to last? I thought about the ion turbulence that had damaged our suits after Tom and I beamed out of the Cochrane. Watching Tom struggling to breathe, separated from me by a few inches and the vast empty vacuum of space. The pleasant computer voice announcing, "Warning. Oxygen pressure at one hundred four millibars and falling." The look in those stunning blue eyes when I said... There was a tap on my arm. Carey was tapping the side of his helmet with one hand and mouthing "Short range" at me. Jeez, oh yeah. I activated another switch in my suit and triggered the short-range, suit-to-suit communications. "B'Elanna, can you hear me?" "Loud and clear. Sorry. Forgot about that." "Take some deep breaths again. You're looking a little scary in there." "I'm fine." "Take it easy. This disturbance isn't affecting any of our suits' systems. We're just out of contact with the ship for the time being." "I know." This time we might be tethered to Voyager's hull, but without communications and without being able to reenter or reactivate a forcefield, we might just as well be lost in middle of nowhere. "Slow down. You're starting to hyperventilate." "I am *fine*." It's hard to speak through clenched teeth when hyperventilating. Gradually I got it under control. I didn't realize I'd closed my eyes until I opened them. Carey still had a hold of my arm. "How are you doing in there? Talk to me," he said. "This suit is starting to feel about as constricting as a tool box." "It's okay. This can happen to anybody. We'll be out of it soon. Just take it easy, B'Elanna." "I'm having a hard time not thinking about what it's like to puke in these things." "Try not to, Chief." "Carey- the door!" Carey turned. The door was continuing to fly along at one-eighth impulse. The magnetic chocks floated freely around it. In spite of the situation I was impressed. It isn't that many people who can pilot a million-cubit-meter displacement starship so finely that an object set free from it will continue to maintain relative position to it. I was going to have to remember to tell Tom about this. "Um, Carey. What about the magnetic chocks in the shuttle bay." He maneuvered away from me to look inside. "They're doing one-eighth impulse too," he said carefully. This is not serious, I told myself. This will not last much longer. All Tom has to do is keep flying this ship at a very constant velocity in a very straight line. When the disturbance has passed the laws of physics dictate that those chocks will attach themselves right back to the deck where they belong and we will be able to climb right back into that shuttle bay. If no forces I haven't accounted for cause them to shift orientation. If there are no stray gravitational effects to disrupt them. If- Those thoughts about upchucking were becoming impossible to keep a lid on. It was going to become impossible to keep a lid on other things as well if this situation didn't change. I could hear my own blood pounding in my ears. "Oh, shit," I said just as I heard a crackle of static. "Paris to Torres," Tom's voice said, the stirrings of panic not well concealed. "Please repeat. Are you okay?" I winced. Guess the bridge got that one. "Torres to Paris. We're fine. Great flying. Just keep it up." I began reattaching chocks to the door as rapidly as I could. Carey took another look inside the shuttle bay, reported that the chocks in there were back in place, and smiled broadly at me. I felt cold sweat sliding down my back. "I recommend wrapping this up," Carey said. "Let's get the door inside and get the forcefield back up. We can get the second door when we put this one back in place." I hesitated about a millisecond. "Concur. Ready stage three." We moved to the rings we had tethered onto. I forced myself to pay attention to the details. Like remembering to tether onto the inside line before unclipping the outside one. This time we pushed the lines through figure-eights and around our carabiners and drew ourselves in, almost like rapelling in reverse. This required a gentle touch and good aim. We withdrew the outside lines and gently maneuvered the door inside the shuttle bay, with Carey guiding it through and keeping tension on it and me reeling in the line. "Stage four," Carey said. He pulled himself to the control panel and reinitiated the emergency forcefield. "Reengaging artificial gravity and inertial dampers." I wasn't braced well enough and the grav generators knocked me on my rear. The door hit the deck with a *bang* that echoed in my helmet. "Repressurizing." Carey threw another switch and knelt down next to me. I realized he was making sure I didn't crack the seal before the pressure stabilized. I watched the light at the door separating the shuttle bay from the rest of the ship. Come on, come on, how long does it take to repressurize a damned shuttle bay? It went from red to green, Carey popped the seal on the helmet and had it off me faster than I could have, and Captain Janeway and Tom came barrelling in like the cavalry as I gulped in air and savored gravity. Carey stood up and somebody knelt down in front of me and took my gloved hands. I opened my eyes and looked into Tom Paris's warp-core blue ones. He just squeezed my hands tightly. "That was some impressive flying, Helmboy," I managed to get out. "Joe and I have got a story to tell you." "You can tell me later," he replied quietly, reaching a hand out to smooth the damp hair out of my face. That brief contact threatened to make me melt into the floor. "You really are the best damned pilot you could ever ask for." "Stop being so effusive. You're making me worry," he smiled, working my hands out of the gloves. He stood up and I let him take my hand and pull me to my feet. He didn't let go. The Captain turned from offering brief congratulations to Carey. Strain and discomfort showed in her expression. She looked at our clasped hands disapprovingly, and I pulled mine free of Tom's. "Good work, B'Elanna." They were her usual words, but delivered without the usual warmth. "Do you need to report to Sickbay?" "No, Captain." Yuck, not of my own free will. Normally Captain Janeway would be ordering me there. "Very well." She nodded. "Then I'll expect to see this door repaired and ready for reinstallation by tomorrow morning." It required an effort to keep my jaw from dropping. Even Carey looked shocked. "Is there a problem with that, Lieutenant?" The Captain's voice implied there better not be. "No, Captain!" "Very well. Mr. Paris, you're to report back to the bridge with me." She turned on her heel and stalked towards the door. "Dinner tonight?" Tom whispered. "My quarters?" I did some quick figuring in my head and nodded. He flashed me that golden smile and followed the Captain, but not before she turned impatiently and gave him one of the death glares we were coming to know so well. Carey and I were left standing amidst a tangle of lines and the mangled door. "Where did *that* come from?" Carey wondered. I just shook my head wearily. "I don't know, but let's get going." We were going to have to move fast if I thought I was going to squeeze in a dinner date this evening. I tapped my comm badge and ordered Ayala to transport the door to an empty cargo bay. No sense tempting fate where emergency forcefields are concerned. The next morning found me crawling through Jeffries tube 32B with hair that refused to cooperate and an attitude to match. I'd busted my butt the previous evening to get that door repaired on time, only to be called up by a sheepish Tom Paris as I was zipping my dress up the back and told that he had to pull another duty shift on the bridge. So I'd sulked and growled and found consolation in subjecting my quarters to a brutal reorganization. At least I'd been able to assign Vorick to be Carey's spacewalk partner this morning. I opened a hatchway and jumped about a meter when I saw Seven there, working on an open junction. She only gave me a glance over her shoulder and went back to what she was doing. "Sorry!" I said. "I didn't know you'd been assigned here." "I was not. This space was empty. I came here to work." "Doing what?" I prompted. I never could keep it straight exactly who she reported to. "I am reconfiguring the power couplings in this section." "*Why*?" "The astrometrics lab requires additional energy." I bit back a rising wave of irritation. "So, you're rerouting power from other locations, like engineering?" "They are minor adjustments. Primary systems will not be affected." "Unless, of course, someone is working on a warp core diagnostic, which my team has been trying to do all morning." Precious hours of time spent doing something that would have to be repeated. "We've lost hours of work because of this." Seven looked back at me again. "There is no need for anger. I had no intention of causing any difficulty." Tell that to the Captain in the briefing room. "What," I snapped, "'Sorry' isn't part of the Borg vocabulary?" I crawled up to her. We were almost nose to nose in the cramped compartment. "You need to check with me before you *touch* any of the power systems. Understood?" "Understood," she replied after a long pause. I glared at her and moved into the spot where she'd been working. Just what I needed to spend my time on - undoing somebody else's damage. "I am not used to working in a heirarchy. In the collective there was no need to ask permission." "If you're going to be a part of this crew, get used to it," I said. "Procedures exist for a reason. We have to work together, use the same set of rules-" I stopped in midsentence. Those words came back to me in someone else's voice. Someone who took a chance on making me Chief Engineer of Voyager. Someone who kept me there, even though I'd made mistakes. "Lieutenant?" When Captain Janeway met me, I was a Starfleet dropout, a Maquis with a chip the size of an iceberg on my shoulder. I sought to win her good favor by breaking the nose of the acting Starfleet chief engineer. If I got a chance, I guess Seven deserved one too. "I was given that lecture once, by Captain Janeway, when I first joined this crew," I replied. "If I could adjust to Starfleet life, so can you." "Of course," Seven answered. I always wondered what she meant by that expressionless reply. Did she get a word I just said? "I'm- sorry for the inconvenience", she added. She crawled past me, back the way I had come. Mark that one down in the record of memorable firsts. I had worked my way out of the Jeffries tube and was concentrating on a power grid below Deck 5 when I heard the whine of a transporter beam. My, we certainly were doling out ship's resources gratuitously. Above me, a disembodied arm appeared, holding a bouquet of very nice flowers, a multiplanetary assortment, to boot. "Are those supposed to make up for cancelling on me last night?" I asked. The flowers were followed down the ladder by a flushed and triumphant-looking Tom Paris. "I got caught pulling an extra duty shift on the bridge. What could I say? 'Sorry, Captain, but I've got a date with B'Elanna'?" His smile was brighter than dilithium. The flowers were intoxicatingly fragrant. "And now?" I asked. Breathing in and out seemed to take an unaccustomed amount of effort. "Aren't you supposed to be on duty in Sickbay?" Tom moved closer, his body sandwiching me against the wall. "The Doctor thinks I'm delivering a conn report." "Not bad," I had to admit. "But he'll be expecting you." "It can wait." His lips met mine, and I decided it could. The kiss went on, slow and deep, and then I felt someone's eyes watching us. I jerked away, but we were alone. "What is it?" Tom asked, following my gaze around the empty room. "I just had the feeling someone was watching us." I sighed. "I must be completely paranoid about getting caught in a compromising position." "Kind of exciting, isn't it?" he asked with a smile, and I had to agree that it was, although I never did shake the sensation of someone's eyes on us. We kissed again, and it was almost a phsical ache when he broke the embrace. "You're right, Doc is going to be expecting me," Tom said with a sigh. "How about we try that dinner again? I know I can't get off tonight, but how about tomorrow night, 19:00, my quarters?" I fought down the tremendous urge to heel-hook him and go for it right on the deck. "I'll be there. You better be there too, this time. Hey!" I called as he climbed the ladder back up to the deck. "What?" I handed the flowers up to him and gave him my sweetest smile. "Slip these in my quarters on your way?" I left the briefing the next morning fuming. I felt like smoke must be coming from my rear from the raking over the coals Tom and I had gotten from the Captain. Guess that little episode at the upper work station hadn't been such a good idea. It had *seemed* like just a harmless little break, something to tide us over until the next night, but then we'd gotten a little out of control, and Tuvok had walked in... My cheeks flamed at the memory. I'd felt like a guilty sixteen-year-old who got caught with her pants down in the back of a shuttlecraft. And that's exactly what I was acting like. "Adolescent behavior," the Captain had called it. She'd said it made her question her faith in both of us. And Tom and I had not exactly done a lot of things to inspire her faith in the first place. What the *hell* was I doing? I was a Starfleet Chief Engineer, for heaven's sake! I'd spent my entire life working at self-control! Why couldn't I seem to cool my jets where Tom Paris was concerned all of a sudden? I clenched my teeth and vowed this wouldn't happen again. No matter how demanding and unreasonable Captain Janeway had been for these past few days, no matter how badly I craved mental and physical release with Thomas Eugene Paris, no matter how many hours of work it took to get this ship up to the Captain's standards, I was *going* to get in control and stay there. The reports waiting for me in engineering weren't promising. Carey and Vorick had successfully gotten both shuttle bay doors repaired and in place, but for some reason they weren't operating. One of the shuttlecraft had sustained so much hull damage that we would have to wait to finish the repairs until we could buy, barter, or replicate more hull material. Now there was an appetizing thought. Eliminate the crew's replicator rations for a week. I'd be lucky if I didn't find myself punched out an airlock. This pleasant reverie was interrupted by a chirp from the comm system. "Doctor to Lieutenant Torres." "Torres here," I said in resignation, holding a hand up to silence Carey and Vorick. "Lieutenant, I need your assistance in the science laboratory, please. Right away." As if the day couldn't get any better. As if we needed any more projects. I'd be lucky if I got to have dinner with Tom in a week. I trudged to the science lab. There the Doctor told me about genetic mutations that had occurred in Chakotay and Neelix. If he couldn't identify the cause and find a way to stop them, Chakotay was going to reach the natural end of his life much more rapidly and Neelix was going to metamorphosize into some distant ancestor of his. Nothing like a crisis to get you thinking with your brain. Deadlines and equipment are two things I'm very well acquainted with. I fired up the electron resonance scanner and began calibrating it. "Paris to the Doctor." "Go ahead, Mr. Paris." "Doc, I'm getting more cases of genetic mutations. They're- they're all different. And they're becoming more severe. I'm treating them symptomatically." I seldom heard Tom apprehensive. I thought about him in Sickbay, trying to cope by himself. When I try to work too quickly, I get the jitters, as if I've just downed a couple of nice, strong raktajinos. I had to force myself to work smoothly, calmly. "That's all you can do, Mr. Paris. We're trying to get some answers. Doctor out. These genetic disorders seem to be spreading rapidly among the crew," he continued. "Does that mean we'll all be affected?" I asked. "Right now it only means we need to find some answers as quickly as possible." "All right," I said, stepping away from the console. "Give the scanner a try." The Doctor inserted a tissue sample from Chakotay. I attempted to enhance the image resolution and increased the magnification. The instrument had amazing capabilities. We were lucky we'd been outfitted with it. "That's odd. There seems to be some kind of contaminant on the base-pair sequence that didn't show up on the first scan. I need a closer look." I stretched the instrument to its maximum capabilities and hoped it was enough. The Doctor peered at the image, unable to identify what he was seeing. He let me have a look. On one of the base-pair sequences, I could see what looked almost like an equipment identification tag, covered with markings and characters. "I'm no microbiologist," I remarked, "but that doesn't look like it belongs there." "Believe me, it doesn't. I've never seen anything like it. This level of submolecular technology is well beyond anything Starfleet has developed." Translation: I'm not exactly sure how to deal with this. I started to get worried. As a rule I don't like doctors, and the Doctor and I have had a less than cordial relationship at times, but I'd never debate his knowledge or his skill. Things he's not sure how to deal with make me very uncomfortable. "What are those markings?" I wondered. "Some kind of alien writing?" "Perhaps. They might help us determine where the marker came from." I wondered how something like this got placed into a person's cells without their awareness. My mother used to work with wild animals on Kessik IV. She would tranquilize them or stun them and take tissue samples. And sometimes inject medications or small emitters into them. It required direct contact with the animal... "Let me try a compositional analysis," I suggested. As I ran an elemental scan, the Doctor examined a tissue sample from Neelix and reported that the same contaminant was present in his DNA. I know a good scientist isn't supposed to jump to conclusions, but it didn't take a brain surgeon to make a connection between base-pair contaminants and genetic mutations. "I'm having trouble getting a clear reading from this sample," I reported. "It's almost like the- whatever it is could be slightly out of phase." I made some adjustments to compensate for the variance. "You aren't going to believe this, Doctor, but I'm picking up an energy signature. It seems to be transmitting some kind of a signal." A weak one, not meant to travel very far. Like you'd use to tag an animal with so you could track it, monitor it... "Access the internal sensors and set them to a phase variance of point one-five." The Doctor hurried to another console. His image glitched. "Lieutenant!" I hurried over to check his mobile emitter. God, I really sympathized with Tom now, trying to juggle crisis after crisis. "Your program is being deleted." "How is that possible?" he demanded. That's what everyone always wants to know. Unfortunately even the Chief Engineer often doesn't have the answer. "I don't know." I started tapping on keys, unable to control the jitters at this point. "I'm transferring you back to Sickbay-" I gasped. It felt like the nightmare visions I'd had of evacuating a chamber and having the seal on my helmet fail. No air. Nothing but an instant vacuum. My vision greyed out and faded to black as I hit the floor. The beach was just like Tom had promised - an empty expanse of alabaster sand. No warp drives. No EVA suits. No broken equipment. No Seven-of-Nine. Nobody, for that matter, except Tom putting that Tarkalian margarita into my hand. Condensation clung to the icy glass. I sipped it, the sweet-salty taste and the alcohol going pleasantly to my head. The sun beamed down out of a cloudless sky. I trailed lazy feet in the bathwater sea and sighed. "Now isn't this a nice way to spend a day off." "Mmmmm," I replied. My devoted companion was clad in nothing but a dark blue competition suit that left little to the imagination. I smiled and took in the entire delicous expanse of fair skin, long legs, muscular arms and shoulders and gleaming red-gold hair as he turned to set my drink on a small table. He turned back to me, his blue eyes electric, and knelt in the inch-deep water beside me. "Do you like it?" I asked, indicating the black bikini I was wearing. Until I met Tom, I never, ever would have worn something like that. Never in my life did I feel sexy until Tom looked at me that way with those eyes. He gave me a smile that made it feel as if somebody had turned the sun's intensity up several notches. "You look stunning," he replied softly, reaching out to run his fingers along my throat. They caressed my face and my hair like he was memorizing me through his fingertips. I closed my eyes and felt him lean closer. "B'Elanna. I have to tell you something. I've wanted to tell you for a long time." I felt his breath stir my hair as he whispered into my ear, "I love you," and then his lips met mine. "Oh, Tom." I opened my eyes and smiled up into his. Except they looked surprised, and I noted with disappointment that he wasn't wearing the competition suit. And we were in Sickbay, not on the beach. There was a days' growth of stubble on his cheeks that I reached up and touched. "What happened?" I asked. The surprise disappeared from his eyes, to be replaced by relief. He caught my hand and pressed my fingers to his lips. "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty." He smiled and tenderly stroked my cheek. "How do you feel?" "Kind of weak. A little lightheaded." "Take some deep breaths." He kissed my hand again and reached for a tricorder. Seemed like people were telling me to do that a lot lately. My lungs felt like balloons that hadn't been inflated all the way. I was still having a little trouble distinguishing between the present, the past, and the dream. I wondered if the effects of oxygen deprivation could be cumulative. "I was working in the science lab with the Doctor. And then- it was like somebody vented the compartment." "The alveoli in your lungs stopped processing oxygen. Do you remember what you and the Doctor found?" "Something on the DNA. Markers." Tom nodded. I noticed the hand with the tricorder was just a little shaky. "There were aliens on board the ship, B'Elanna. All around us, but out of phase, invisible until we knew how to look for them. They put those tags there, causing genetic mutations, supposedly in the name of scientific progress. They caused the problem with your lungs and almost deleted the Doctor when the two of you came too close to discovering them." I vaguely remembered that feeling of somebody's eyes on us below Deck 5 while we were- "Oh, my God," I said as I remembered what we were doing. And the little wrestling match over the upper work station. And not being to keep our eyes off eachother in the morning briefing. And realized that we were probably being watched the entire time. And not just by Voyager's crew. I looked into Tom's eyes. "Were we- did we-" Tom just cleared his throat. I sat up, put my head in my hands, and groaned. "Don't feel too bad," he said in consolation. "The Captain was getting needles driven into her skull and her dopamine levels cranked up, and *she* flew the ship through the binary pulsar we were observing." "What!" "She subjected the hull to 45 teradynes of stress and 9000 degrees. We've got a few more small repairs to make. It was the only way we were able to get rid of the aliens." I grabbed my hair as if to pull it out of my head. "I take an extended nap and we take a trip through a binary pulsar. Can I go back to sleep? I liked the beach a lot better." "No!" I looked up at the sharpness in his voice, and he shook his head. "No more Sleeping Beauty acts." He took my hand again. "We had trouble getting you off respiratory support. You didn't want to wake up. But I guess a kiss from the right person did the trick," he smiled. "What did you mean about the beach? We haven't been there, we've only talked about it." "Nothing. I must have remembered the conversation." Right now I was remembering a certain phrase and struggling to recall whether it had belonged to reality or only to the dream. "Third time's the charm," Tom said. We were sitting on the couch in his quarters. Tom looked smashing in a rust-colored shirt and vest. It wasn't the color I would have picked first, but the contrast set off the blue of his eyes and the pale gold of his hair. I was finally getting to wear that little black dress. It had a high neckline, but bared my shoulders and a keyhole view of my back. Tom had certainly looked satisfied. Spread out in front of us were two delectable-looking salads and a carafe of red wine he'd been saving "for a special occasion". "It's nice you could get the night off," I commented. "'Nice' had nothing to do with it," Tom replied as he poured the wine. "I switched shifts with Ensign Wildman. Tomorrow I'll pull double duty shifts on the bridge *and* with the Doc." I smiled at him. My hero. "Well, I appreciate the sacrifice. Now tell me about the wine." "Ah. Ktarian Merlot, 2282. You might want to let it breathe for awhile." I inhaled the rich bouquet. I couldn't appreciate it like a connoisseur, but the finely-tuned Klingon olfactory system certainly added to the experience. I gazed at Tom over the rim of the glass. "We've got all night to let it breathe." The comm system chirped. "Engineering to Lieutenant Torres." Tom hung his head in defeat. "Torres here." "We've got a problem with the plasma manifold. I thought you'd want to take a look." "Well, I don't. Lock it down, I'll deal with it in the morning. Torres out." I smiled, deriving an evil satisfaction from the exchange. "Sometimes it's nice to be the *chief* engineer." Tom looked like a kid who'd just been told Christmas was coming two weeks early this year. "Try some of the salad, Chief." I watched Tom spread his napkin neatly over his lap and did the same. The salad was an enticing array of greens, pasta, fresh vegetables, succulent seafood, in a tangy vinaigrette. Simple, but superb. Like something that would come out of an extremely exclusive French restaurant. I remembered that this was a man from a completely different social background than me, who'd developed tastes and picked up social talents I was light-years behind on. And yet he never made me feel inferior. With anyone else I'd have been so intimidated I'd have completely shut down, but with Tom all these things were just new, enjoyable experiences to try. "This is really delicious," I said. "Thanks, I replicated it myself." "Mmm, you're too good for me." He smiled as if he liked that idea. We enjoyed a whole two bites before the door chimed. We exchanged a look. "Ignore it," I said. "Right." The door was not going to be ignored. Tom dropped his napkin and stood up purposefully. "I'll get rid of them." The doors opened to reveal Harry Kim. Dammit, I owed him one for listening in on our- conversation. Now I owed him double. I wondered if Seven was up for bribery... "Hi, uh, sorry to interrupt." Yeah, I'll bet. "Hi, B'Elanna." I smiled tightly at him. "Harry- I'm not home." "I just wanted to return this." He handed Tom a pad and sniffed at the aroma. "Thanks." "Mmm! Smells good." I had time to savor the expression on Harry's face as the door closed and locked on him. "That's it! No more interruptions." Tom pulled off his comm badge and tossed it aside. Duty can call whether you've got your comm badge on or not, but it was the thought that counted. I pulled mine off and clasped it in my hand. "You know," I remarked, "I've been thinking about what the Captain said." "Thinking- maybe she was right? Me too." "We have been- a little out of control lately." Understatement of the year, I thought. Tom's next remark surprised me. "Do you think we really were?" "What?" "Out of control. Those aliens could have been messing around with our hormones, just to see what would happen." His expression was completely serious. I personally was blaming our recent lack of self-control on them. For the first time it occurred to me that they could be responsible for more than that. "You're right, they could have. And we don't know how long they've been on board. They could have been tampering with us for months!" "Well, you did have a pretty abrupt change of heart a couple of weeks ago. What made you realize that you loved me all of a sudden?" How does anyone ever arrive at that realization? My mother was never able to give me a very good answer to that question. Among Klingons, there's a lot of 'just knowing' involved. "Just a feeling," I replied. "So our whole relationship might be based on some alien experiment." "You never know." "Well, I think that explains it." I tried to keep a straight face, but felt a smile break through. "I guess we should just call it off, then." Tom leaned closer. "I think so." "Thank God we found out in time." "Thank God," I answered as his lips closed over mine. "I don't know about you," he said, pausing to smile at me, "but I'm curious to see how this experiment turns out." "Tom." I broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, serious for real this time. "When I woke up in Sickbay- I thought I remembered-" Tom just looked into my eyes, silent. I hesitated and smiled. "Never mind." He kissed me, the kiss of a man with greater experience at speaking without words. I was fairly certain that he'd said those words as well, but a part of him wasn't ready to say them when I was listening. I couldn't help but be a little disappointed, but I was willing to wait. Tom was worth that. *** the end