Summary: “Things go from bad to worse for Tom. Will B’Elanna’s skills be enough to bring him back to her?” Rated PG.BY MALCOLM REEVE (e-mail: 106625.3210@compuserve.com)This is the second of a two part story set at some point in the middle of season four."INSTANT REPLAY" BY MALCOLM REEVEPART TWO: CONCLUSION"It's too fast!" the Doctor called out, "shut it down! Shut it down!"Torres hit the abort button with such ferocity that Janeway was convinced she must have broken it."What happened?" B'Elanna asked, breathing heavily. "The neural pathways were reforming too fast for his cerebral cortex to process the information," the Doctor rattled off, eyes fixed on his instruments. "We were overloading him.""Is he all right?" the concern in Torres' voice was mixed in equal part with frustration."Yes, I think so. But we're going to have to give this some more thought.""Perhaps if you got some rest?" Janeway suggested to B'Elanna. "Gathered your thoughts? It's late, and...."Torres was ignoring her. She had an idea, the Captain could practically see it forming in those dark, fiery eyes. "We need to upgrade him," her Chief Engineer said."What?""Upgrade his memory.""I'm a doctor, not a computer engineer," the Doctor snapped.Torres ignored him as she tapped her comm badge: "Torres to Seven-of-Nine." "This is Seven-of-Nine.""Come to sickbay immediately," and then, almost as an afterthought, "please.""I am on my way, Lieutenant Torres."Janeway raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Torres shook her head: "It's a long shot, but I've done crazier things."***The sound of the docking clamps engaging jolted Tom from his drowsy reverie. They'd arrived. Around him the other passengers were gathering their possessions, yawning, stretching their legs, pleased that the journey was over, eager to see loved ones. Tom felt nothing, but that was no surprise. He'd felt nothing for a long time now. How long had it been? Two months? Three? He'd lost track, but it didn't matter. Time had no meaning for a nobody. Over the comm system an automated information broadcast droned, explaining arrival procedures, security procedures... Tom tuned out. That oh-so-proper Starfleet voice irritated him, reminded him of things past, things lost forever. Hoisting his hold-all over one shoulder, he headed for the exit, joining the end of a long line of passengers waiting to leave the ship. "Not so fast Paris," a low, female voice called. Tom turned, a smile touching his lips."Kyel," he said smoothly, watching her slink through the milling crowd towards him. Her long legs, shock of red hair, and almost indecent attire attracted a number of stares. "Looking for a goodbye kiss?" he asked with a grin.Her delicate eyebrows arched over violet eyes: "A kiss?" she rolled the words over her tongue, deliberating. "Perhaps. After.""After what?" Tom asked his eyes drifting down from her eyes, lingering over her..."You owe me money, Paris," Kyel murmured, stepping closer. She was tall, as tall as Tom, and it unnerved him a little."Didn't I pay you?" he asked, his blue eyes full of innocence. "Must have forgotten.""Forgetting can be dangerous," she told him, her breath warm on his face as she stepped closer and pressed something cold and hard into his belly. A disrupter; illegal and very nasty. Tom smiled. "Good job you reminded me then," he replied easily, reaching slowly, carefully, into his pocket. "Two bars I believe...?"Kyel eyed the latinum in his hand, greed making her violet eyes smoulder a deep, dark blue. When she spoke, her rich voice was regretful: "Two bars."Swiftly, Tom reached an arm around her waist, and pulled her close. She tensed in his embrace, the disrupter jabbing hard into his ribs, but he ignored it. Leaning close, brushing her neck with his lips, he whispered: "I'll give you five for the weapon." "I could kill you right here and take your money," she purred, nuzzling closer. He didn't thing she meant it. "This close to Starfleet security?" he murmured. "I doubt it.""You'll never get it off the ship," she told him, her own lips doing interesting things to his left ear. "I'll take my chances.""Mmmmmmmm," she breathed, "why don't we discuss this in private?"He was tempted. Very tempted. But not stupid. "It's now or never," he told her pushing away slightly and favoring her with his most seductive smile; it never failed. Never. Desire flashed in her eyes; "No tricks," she promised him as her lips danced over his, and he almost believed her. Almost, but not quite."You want the latinum, we trade right here. Right now."Kyel glared, pouted, and then decided. "Show me the money," she demanded. Tom obliged, just as he reached down between them and lay hands on the disrupter. Their eyes locked as she reached for the latinum, and in a split second, the trade was made. Hurriedly, Tom slipped the weapon beneath his long coat, while Kyel counted her reward.She looked up at him, tossing her long red hair over one shoulder. "It's been nice doing business with you, Paris."He inclined his head. "Kyel - it's been nice doing...everything with you."She smiled then, a slow enticing smile that reminded him of long, hot nights. "I've had better," she told him, her violet eyes glowing, "but not many." And then she turned and left, her hair and hips swaying with each step. ***Janeway watched the doctor raise an eyebrow, and glance warily at B'Elanna. "How is he?" Torres asked impatiently."Urm, fine." The doctor said. "Actually, he seems to be quite enjoying himself."Torres scowled. "Well I'm glad someone is," she snapped. "Have you figured out how far forward we brought him?"The doctor returned his attention to the tricorder. "About three months," he said at last.B'Elanna sighed as the doors to sickbay slid open, and Seven-of-Nine stalked in."Lieutenant Torres. You asked me to come here.""Yes. I need..." B'Elanna was clearly struggling with the words. "I need your help."When she had finished explaining the problem, Seven stood in silence, staring down at Tom. After a moment she spoke. "His mind is too small."Janeway couldn't help smiling at her choice of words.Even B'Elanna raised an amused eyebrow; "That's one way of putting it," she admitted."We need to expand his capacity to process information. If he were part of the collective...""Well he's not," Torres interrupted, "But I think I have a way to expand his processing capacity. Tell me how you were linked to the Borg collective mind..."***The disrupter, wedged in the small of his back, seemed to burn against his skin as Tom sauntered past the station's security personnel. A group of drunk, and rather rowdy, Klingons were attracting a lot of attention ahead of him, and Tom was grateful that no one seemed to be paying him much attention. No one except one man. Or was he a man? A penetrating, relentless gaze peered out of a not-quite-human face; a half formed face. The man, or whatever he was, stood perfectly still, hands behind his back, watching Tom intently. Tom returned the stare, coming to a halt a few meters in front of the creature."Odo. Chief of Security," it said at last, in a short, clipped voice. "Welcome to Deep Space Nine, Mr Paris.""How nice. A personal welcoming committee. I'm touched," his voiced dripped contempt. "A present from my father?"Odo's eyes narrowed. "I don't know your father," he replied stepping closer. "But I know all about you. And I want to know why you're on my station."Tom shrugged: "I'm on vacation.""I can think of nicer destinations.""But this has the advantage of distance - I needed to get away from Earth for a while."Odo grunted. "Earth? I thought it was Caldik Prime you were running from?"Tom felt his whole body tense at those words, but he kept the smirk on his face nonetheless: "News travels fast.""This is a Starfleet operation. You won't be welcome here Paris.""That'll make a change."Odo stared at him, and to Tom it seemed as if those strange hollow eyes could read his very soul; could see the color of his heart. After a long moment, Odo flicked his head in a gesture of dismissal: "I've got my eye on you," he warned as Tom started walking. "Oh, and Mr Paris," his voice dropped as Tom moved past him, "cause any trouble on my station and I'll be mailing your molecules back to your father, whoever he is."Tom smiled despite himself, and moved on quickly. He had someplace to be, and little time to spare. Besides, with the station's Chief of Security on his tail, he didn't plan to be staying long.The bar was easy to find. Well, it WAS the only one on the station. Tom ordered a drink, waved away the Ferengi's offer of the holo-suites, found a dark corner, and sat down. Then he waited, and watched, and waited. He watched the patrons come and go, assessing them, trying to guess which one would be his contact. That Vulcan over there? The one with half an ear missing? Or that human woman, who swaggered with the gait of a warrior and drank like a parched Klingon? Perhaps the young human lad sitting on his own, tall and lanky, his face as serious as only the very young can be? Yeah, he's just the sort to risk his life for the romance of a cause, Tom thought, just the sort. A shadow fell across his table:"Need another drink?" the Ferengi asked him, tray in hand."No." "How about some conversation then?" He sat down. "Get out of here," Tom snapped. "I'm waiting for someone.""Oh?" a toothy smile broke his face, "Is she pretty?""I have no idea," Tom told him, "just leave me alone, will you?"The Ferengi sat up, affronted. "You really DO have an attitude problem, don't you?" he asked. "I can see why Starfleet threw you out."Tom scowled, rapidly loosing his temper. "What do you WANT, Ferengi?""Want? Me? Why nothing, I'm just here to provide a service."Tom glared at him for a moment, and then realisation dawned: "YOU'RE my contact?""Let's just say I'm a messenger," he replied. "They'll be in room 8794 in the habitat ring, for the next, oh, fifteen minutes." He grinned. "You'd better run."Tom stood slowly, towering over the little Ferengi. "Thanks for your help," he said as coldly as he could manage, "I'll be sure to remember it." He got a brief flash of satisfaction from seeing the bar-keeper swallow nervously, before he turned and sauntered from the bar. It wasn't until he was well out of sight that he started to sprint.The room was at the far side of the habitat ring, a quiet and virtually deserted section, and by the time Tom reached it he was breathing hard. Leaning over, hands on knees, he struggled to gather his composure and catch his breath. But he stopped breathing altogether when he felt the cold metal of a phaser against his neck. "Disarm him," a voice said from behind, and Tom felt someone pull the disrupter from beneath his coat."That's a nasty weapon," the voice said again."I'm a nasty person," Tom replied."So I've heard. Stand up and put your hands where I can see them."Tom did as he was told."Darian, tell the others he's here," the voice said. A slim young man, practically a boy, Tom realised, stepped out from behind him, dressed in the dull, inconspicuous clothing of those who want to be forgotten. He cast a quick look at Tom as he passed, a look of contempt mixed with curiosity; a look Tom had come to recognise. He returned the stare with one of his own; hard and bleak. The boy looked away and Tom smiled to himself. Green, the boy was as green as grass. As green as the atmosphere on Caldik Prime. His smile faded.Darian slipped into a room to Tom's left - not the room the Ferengi had told him, of course - and after a few moments he poked his head out again."The commander says bring him in," he chirped in a voice that betrayed his age. Just a child. A firm hand grasped Tom's shoulder, and the phaser pressed against the back of his neck: "All right Paris, move it."He was ushered into a dark room full of whispers. There were people in the darkness, behind him and to his side, but he could only see one man. One man who stood leaning against an internal doorway, a dim light illuminating a square face that would have been blank but for the tattoo that decorated it."My name is Chakotay," the man said in a slow, quiet voice. "I hear you wanted to talk to me?"Tom inclined his head. "I'm here to offer my services to the Maquis," he replied smoothly. "And why would you want to do a thing like that?""For the money," Tom lied.Chakotay's face darkened. "Money?""The Maquis need pilot's. I'm a pilot," he forced a grin. "I'm the best pilot you'll ever get - and I don't work for free.""We don't hire mercenaries," Chakotay snapped, but there was something bordering on doubt in his voice. Tom took a gamble, rolling the dice in his head: "That's not what I've heard." Chakotay glared at him, but didn't answer. Instead he said, "Why should I trust you? You could be a Starfleet plant.""I could be," Tom admitted, "if you think Starfleet would kill three of its officers just to give me a good cover story.""Faked.""No," Tom shook his head, unexpected emotions surging. "Not faked. I went to their funerals, I ...." He clamped his jaw shut, furious at himself for revealing so much."You killed them," Chakotay finished his sentence, skewering him with serious, dark eyes.Tom held his silence for a moment, marshalling control. "Yes I did," he replied eventually. "It was an accident.""Starfleet don't usually throw you out for having an accident," Chakotay observed. Tom felt the muscles in his neck tense. He was being tested. Chakotay knew what had happened, Tom was sure of it. They all knew. This was some stupid test of his honor: the man was more Starfleet Commander than Maquis rebel. He could imagine him in command red. Tom smiled, but kept the smile internal; he decided to play the game."They threw me out because I lied about what happened," he replied, lacing his voice with the appropriate level of contrition."Why would I want to recruit a liar?" Chakotay asked."How many lies did you tell before you left Starfleet?" Tom shot back. "Did you lie to your Captain, to your crew...?"The Maquis leader stopped him with a sharp gesture of his hand. "I'm not here to answer your questions, Paris," he snapped. "I made my decisions and I'm living with them."Tom smiled. "Then we're in the same situation. We understand each other."Chakotay shook his head, his eyes dark and unfathomable. "I don't think you and I will ever do that Paris," he said slowly. Tom shrugged. He had to agree; this Maquis leader was not what he had expected. He was no reckless maverick, but neither was he a misty-eyed idealist; he was as straight and solid as any Starfleet officer, and more so than most. Deep down, Tom felt a grudging respect for the man, a respect that irritated like a bee sting; it only pointed up his own inadequacies. Arrogant, foolish, cowardly, dishonest...."If you want to join us, you leave with us now," Chakotay told him, interrupting his gloomy thoughts."I'm all yours," Tom replied, masking his feelings with the flippant manner he knew irritated all those stiff Starfleet types. He was pleased to see that it worked just as well on Chakotay.The Maquis leader glared at him, before speaking; "Go with Darian. He'll take you to his cell. You will follow his orders until you arrive there. If not, he's ordered to kill you. Do you understand?" Tom glanced over at the boy, who was watching him with a kind of terrified fascination. "I understand.""Good," the commander turned away, toward the dark room behind him. But at the last moment he paused and looked back at Tom: "Oh, and Paris," he added, "If you betray us, I'll kill you."Tom opened his mouth, a witty comment on his lips, but Chakotay's attention was already caught by someone in the room beyond. Tom saw the glint of a Bajoran earring and heard a husky female voice; "Torres just reported in," it said, "and she's brought someone with her; a Vulcan.""A Vulcan...?" The rest of Chakotay's words were lost, as he disappeared into the darkness."Let's go," a high-pitched voice piped at Tom's elbow. Looking down he saw Darian watching him warily, his hand hovering close to his hip, presumably where his phaser was hidden."Lead the way, boss," Tom replied, giving Darian what he hoped was a friendly smile. The boy turned without a word, and led him out of the darkness and into the future, whatever it might be.***"Let me get this straight," the Doctor said. "You want me to remove a Borg implant from Seven's cerebellum and implant it in Lieutenant Paris' head?""It's only temporary," B'Elanna explained, trying to remain calm; time was running out! "We'll use the Borg implant as an interface between Tom's mind and a section of your holo-matrix. We can accelerate the memory feed and use the processing power of the ship's computer to enable Tom to assimilate the information faster.""You mean, he'll be inside my head? Able to access my most private thoughts? I don't know if I like that idea.""If it makes you feel any better, you'll be inside his head too.""Unsurprisingly, that does NOT make me feel better.""Look Doctor, this is our best chance to get him back...""Aren't you forgetting one other thing?""What?""Seven. I can't predict how removing the Borg implant from her cerebral cortex will effect her. It could be dangerous."Torres bit her lip, swallowing frustration. They were so close! She turned to Seven. "Well?" she asked. Hearing the sharpness in her voice, she tried to soften it. "Will you do it?""Damaging one individual to repair the non-essential systems of another is not efficient."Torres felt her anger rising, and noticed the Captain preparing to step between her and Seven."But Lieutenant Paris was kind to me once," Seven continued. "And that was not essential or efficient. I will help him."It took a moment for B'Elanna to swallow the emotions that churned inside; anger and relief, tinged with grinding anxiety. "Thank you," she managed at last. "Doctor?""Very well," he replied. "Come this way Seven - it won't hurt a bit."***"So, where are we going?" Tom asked, as the little ship headed out from DS9."You'll see when we get there," Darian replied."Okay."Tom watched the kid flying the ship. He was how old? Sixteen maybe? He wondered what his story was, what had brought him to the far ends of the galaxy at such a young age."How long 'till we get there?" Tom asked him."Couple of minutes to the Badlands. Then...as long as it takes.""The Badlands? Sounds like fun.""You're not frightened are you?" Tom wasn't, but he could sense the fear beneath the boy's bravado. "I'm sure you can handle it.""Of course I can," Darian snapped. "I've done it a million times.""Right."Silence descended. Tom gazed out of the window, watching the familiar blur of warped space. It felt good to be back out in it, and soon he would be flying again. He could hardly wait. That was the real reason he was here. Not the money. That had been a lie. Another lie. But it didn't matter. All he really wanted to do was fly. It was all he'd ever wanted to do, and they'd taken it away from him. Outside Starfleet, what chance did he have? A freighter pilot? Even they wanted to see a licence. And the thought of being grounded for the rest of his life - it was unimaginable. So, after drifting for a couple of months, he'd remembered the story Mitch had told him the day of the accident; the story of a Starfleet Commander who'd defected to the Maquis. And the idea had been born. If he couldn't fly with Starfleet, he'd fly against them. So long as he was flying, he didn't care who it was for. Besides, the Maquis had a good cause. Life, liberty...that kind of thing. And if they killed a few Cardassians, who cared? They were only Cardassians. They probably deserved it.And so here he was, as far away from Starfleet Command as he would ever get, sitting in a ship that had definitely seen better days, watching a child fly him to his new home. A year ago, hell, six months ago, no - THREE months ago - he would have laughed out loud if someone had suggested that his future would lie here. Yet here he was. "The commander said you were a good pilot." Darian's words startled him. "Did he?""He said you're one of the best, but you've got an attitude problem."Tom smiled. "My reputation precedes me then. I've never met Chakotay before.""He's the best.""Why's that?""He just is." Tom recognised hero-worship when he saw it. "Do you know why he left Starfleet?""Because they sold us out, that's why.""I see.""So, why are you here?""Like I told your Commander - for the money."Darian glanced at him, his young face suddenly shrewd. "What do you need money for?""Why do you care?"The boy shrugged. "I don't."Tom considered for a moment. "So, why are YOU here?""To win.""You think you have a chance - against the Federation and the Cardassians?""Why else would we be fighting?" The reasoning of a child. Tom suddenly felt very old - had he ever seen the world that clearly? Had he ever had that much faith in anything? Even in himself?"How old are you?" he asked suddenly."Younger than you," Darian replied, an impish grin brightening his eyes."You look about twelve," Tom told him. It got the desired response."I'm seventeen!""Ah. So why aren't you in school or something?"The smile faded. "Because it's not there anymore. The Cardassians destroyed it, and most of the colony.""I'm sorry.""Yeah, everyone is. They don't do anything about it though."A soft bleep alerted Darian to the controls. He made a few adjustments and they dropped out of warp with a force that almost flung Tom from his seat. Darian shot him a sideways grin."Oops. Should've warned you about that I guess.""Problem with the inertial dampers?""They don't like slowing down." "No kidding.""Okay. This is where things start getting a little crazy."The Badlands. An apt name, Tom mused as he watched the swirling mess on the view screen. He glanced over at Darian; the boy was studying the controls intently, chewing nervously on his lower lip. It didn't bode well for a safe passage."Need a hand?" Tom offered, knowing it was a mistake the instant the words left his lips."No. I'm fine. I told you.""Okay." Tom let it drop, but manoeuvred himself into a position where he could see the controls for himself. The kid was plotting an intricate course, avoiding the bulk of the plasma storms, heading for a small planetoid at the heart of the territory. So far so good."So is it true?" Darian asked, his eyes never leaving the controls. "What they said about you?""I don't know," Tom told him. "What did they say?""That you murdered three people because they were getting promoted and you weren't."Tom couldn't repress a bleak laugh. "Who told you that?""I just heard it. Is it true?""No.""But you did murder three people?""No. It was a...WATCH OUT!" The little ship passed dangerously close to a plasma flare, its concussion wave knocking her off course - and into the path of another flare. "Starboard, Starboard!" Tom yelled."I'm trying," Darian yelped. "It's not responding.""You have to compensate - reverse the port thrusters.""What?""The port thrusters!"Darian was in a panic now, his fingers flying, making more mistakes. The ship was listing badly to port, drifting closer to the center of the storm. A warning light started flashing on the console; shields were failing."The damn ship's barely spaceworthy!" Tom muttered. In another few minutes they'd be caught in the middle of the storm and without the shields, he knew they wouldn't last long. So Tom made a decision: "Give me the controls.""No - I can do it.""Darian," for a moment he was an officer again, "that's an order."It worked. The boy relinquished the controls, and with a few deft touches, Tom had them back on a level heading. He took a deep breath: "That was tricky," he lied.But the kid saw right through him. "Not for you.""Maybe not," Tom smiled. "But I've got a few years on you. It's just experience.""I panicked," Darian told him, glumly-honest. "I could've got us killed.""Well, you didn't. You knew when you were out of your depth - that's important.""Is it?""Trust me on that one," Tom told him. "I know all about it."***"So, we're ready to try?" B'Elanna persisted."Yes, yes all right," the Doctor snapped, still fussing over Seven. She lay on a nearby bio-bed, recovering from the procedure to remove the Borg implant from her brain. To Torres' impatient eyes, the Doctor seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time with her. At last he looked up, folded away his tricorder, and left her bedside."I want to take it slow to start with," he warned her. "We'll just try a moderate increase in the data flow. After last time, I don't want to take any chances.""Whatever you say," B'Elanna agreed. "Let's just get started!""Very well," he moved to the device that surrounded Tom's head, and B'Elanna turned to the nearby computer console."Let's start with a point-five percent increase," the Doctor said. "Point-five," B'Elanna echoed, adjusting the controls. The Doctor was right, she knew. Take it slow, assess the results. But she was so impatient - she wanted it to work NOW. She wanted him back so badly, that she could hardly wait. It had to work. It absolutely had to. They were almost out of time, and if this failed she knew that the doctor would have no choice but to wake him up - and he would be lost to her. This was his last chance; their last chance. She held her breath and waited as the Doctor silently monitored the results.***Tom had gained a shadow. It had started the moment he'd arrived in this desolate place that, he guessed, he had to call home. The shadow was a little shorter than him, with dark hair, dark eyes and a serious face, and it had a name: Darian. After the incident in the plasma storm, Darian had forgotten all the stories of murder and mayhem that surrounded Tom, and proudly boasted of him as a friend and comrade. Tom didn't really mind; he needed all the friends he could get. But sometimes he just wanted to be left alone. And this was one of those times. So, he'd lost his shadow in the camp, and hiked a short way up one of the hills that surrounded them. He had a good view over the ragged settlement, he could see the tattered array of ships the Maquis wryly called their 'fleet' - they had a sense of humour, at least - and he watched the plasma scarred sky glowing a dull red in the painfully thin atmosphere. It was what passed for a sunset in this God-forsaken place.He shouldn't have come so far on his own. It was against camp policy - not something that bothered him - but it was also stupid. The air was thin, almost too thin to breath; hypoxia was an ever present danger, and if he passed out up here he'd be brain damaged for life before anyone came looking. He'd brought some air with him, of course, so he figured it was worth the risk. Worth the risk to lose his shadow for a while, to escape the whispers that followed him around the camp. To be wonderfully, mercifully alone. Especially today.Today was his birthday. Traditionally the day for some of the wildest, most outrageous parties Starfleet had seen. He smiled at the memory; boy, had he got himself into trouble at the Academy! But back then he'd had reason to celebrate; another year older, another year closer to graduating, another rung on the ladder. But this year was different. What was there to celebrate? Stranded in the middle of - well - nowhere, literally. On a rock that tried to pass itself off as a planet, flying ships that would have been antiquated when his father was a boy. No cause for a party. Not that anyone here would want to celebrate with him anyway. Darian was the only one who considered him a friend. The others just watched, and whispered. They didn't trust him, and he couldn't really blame them. He wondered how many birthdays he'd spend among these people; all of them perhaps, or none. Maybe he'd get lucky; go out in a blaze of glory before he had to endure another one this lonely, another one this far from home.Resting his chin on his hands, he glared moodily at the ramshackle Maquis settlement below. And as he did so a lone figure emerged from one of the prefab shelters, scanned the horizon, and set out purposefully towards Tom. He didn't need to look any closer to know who it was; his shadow had found him. Probably a good job - his thoughts were definitely drifting toward the morbid.Standing up, Tom took a couple of breaths of the air he carried, and started down towards Darian. The kid seemed in a hurry, so Tom guessed he'd been sent to fetch him. He hoped it meant some action at last. He'd been here two weeks already, but the cell leader, Anya, didn't seem to trust him enough to let him fly. Not yet. "Paris," Darian called. "Come on!" Although he'd only walked a short distance, the boy was already breathless."You should've brought some air," Tom told him as he drew near."I'm okay," he replied, grinning. "Chakotay just contacted Anya - we've got a target."Tom smiled. At last! "What kind?""Don't know - Anya's going to brief us, and she told me to go get you," he gasped for a breath, but waved away Tom's offer of air. "Hurry!"Darian led him to the prefab shelter that served as both mess hall and general meeting room. As the door hissed shut behind him, Tom sucked in a couple of deep breaths; the air was stale and recycled, but it felt rich and strong compared with the thin atmosphere outside. He felt quite light headed for a moment.When he looked around, he saw that the room was full, and that all eyes were on him. Silent, dark, suspicious eyes. He smiled at them, "Good evening.""Paris," Anya's voice was as short and hard as the woman who owned it. Tom turned towards her, his smile freezing on her cold grey eyes, their color matching the short hair that framed her thin features. He didn't like her; she was the sort of woman over whom his smiles held no power. It made him feel unusually vulnerable, and that wasn't a feeling he enjoyed. "You shouldn't leave the camp on your own," she told him."I'm very sorry," Tom replied, not meaning it and not caring that it showed. "So, what's up?"Anya's eyes narrowed. "We have new orders. Sit down, I'm about to start the briefing."Tom slouched into a seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Darian perched nearby, eyes bright with anticipation."Chakotay has learned that a Cardassian convoy is heading into the demilitarised zone. Ostensibly, it's carrying medical supplies and food for the Cardassian colonists..."This was met with bitter laughter. Anya held up a thin hand, demanding silence."Of course, we know better. We believe that the convoy contains vital components for nucleogenic weapons."Tom, along with the rest of the room, sucked in a deep breath. Nucleogenic weapons? Surely Starfleet wouldn't allow it?"The convoy has to be stopped, and we're going to hit it with everything we've got. We've managed to obtain a copy of its flight plan, and we know it's going to come close to the edge of the Badlands." A smile as thin as the rest of her touched Anya's lips. "And that's where we're going to take them out.""How big's the convoy?" asked a tall man, sitting to Tom's right."Pretty big, but our orders are to deal with the escort, not the convoy itself. Others will take them on, once we've neutralised the out-riders. I want Gamma and Delta crews to provide heavy covering fire while we use the HKs to take out the escort; Turner and Wells, Rapkin and West will take two HKs, and I want a volunteer to fly with Paris in the third."The silence was absolute. Tom glanced to left and right; no one spoke, no one looked at him. Inside his heart a small voice cried out in dismay, but he ruthlessly shut the door on its distress, and allowed bitterness to take away that particular pain. "I can fly alone," he told Anya, his voice loud in the silence."No." It was Darian. "I'll fly with him."Tom shook his head, smiling slightly. He could guess exactly what Anya's response to THAT suggestion would be."Very well," she said. "If you're sure."Tom's jaw dropped. "But.." he exclaimed, shooting to his feet. "He's too...""Too young?" Anya finished. "Yes. He is. But kids grow up quickly out here, Paris. He's too young to have had his parents murdered too, isn't he? But they were, and Darian has a right to exact some justice for that, don't you think?""What justice is there in getting himself killed?""It's his choice, Paris, not yours. You're here on our terms. You have no choice in this."Tom could feel the tension in the room, the angry stares and mutterings. He knew that further argument was useless, and reluctantly sat down. "Your target co-ordinates will be transmitted by Chakotay once you're clear of the planet," Anya continued. "Let the heavy fighters go first, and wait for his mark before engaging the escort." She swept the room with a determined stare. "Any questions?"There were none. "Very well. Then let's go!"The Maquis spilled from the shelter, excited yells penetrating the thin walls of the hut. But before Tom could leave, Anya called his name. He turned to face her, the shelter emptying around him. Anya walked over to where he stood, looking up at him as the room fell into empty silence. "I'm taking a risk on you," she said. "I could've sent Eddings in the HK.""I'm a better pilot," Tom told her. "What's the risk?"Her eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you, Starfleet. That's the risk. But I figure I have to test you some time, and this will be as good a test as any."Tom shrugged and turned away. "So test me. I'm not going anywhere. Like it or not, I'm here to stay." Tom wasn't sure if he was directing those words at Anya or himself; both, he decided."We'll see," was her only reply. And there was a cold laughter in her voice that made Tom shiver.***Darian was waiting for him outside. "What did she want?" he asked as they made their way towards the scrambling ships. "To wish me luck." Darian glanced at him, not sure whether to believe him or not."So, which is ours?" Tom asked, changing the subject. Darian grinned and pointed. "That one!" Tom's heart sank so far he could feel it oozing out the toes of his boots. Their ship was a little two-person fighter of very dubious origin; dented, battle scarred and OLD. Under any other circumstances Tom would have refused to fly it. But this was a Maquis outfit and he knew they couldn't afford to be fussy. Darian had assured him that there was some hot-shot engineer in Chakotay's cell who ensured that all the ships were spaceworthy, but looking at this, he had his doubts about her competence. As they approached, he ran his eyes over the hull, looking for any obvious failures. It appeared more or less okay, for what that was worth."Come on!" Darian urged, climbing inside.I must be mad. The thought circled around his head as he looked at the decrepit ship; it span in his mind until the moment he touched her. The hull was cool under his hand as he pulled himself into the ship and slid easily into the pilot's seat. The pilot's seat. And then he began to smile. This was what it was all about. He glanced over the controls, saw the pre-flight sequence lights blinking at him, and took a deep breath. It even smelled right; that combination of static and recycled air that always reminded him of flying."What's she called?" he asked."Who?""The ship. What's her name?""Oh. I don't think she has one.""She has to have a name.""How about - Victory?"Tom shook his head. "Deliverance."Darian shrugged. "Whatever."It was a good name. It certainly felt like his deliverance; to be sitting at last where he belonged. To be getting off that wretched rock."Okay," he hit the comm panel. "This is Paris to control. Are we cleared to go?""You're cleared Paris," it was Anya's voice. "Set course five point nine mark six.""Copy five point nine mark six," Tom replied. "See you out there.""Copy that. And Paris - I'll be watching you.""I'm touched," he told her, and terminated the comm line. Turning to Darian, his smile widened into a grin. "Ready?"Darian grinned back. "Ready."Tom gunned the engines, feeling them respond with the usual throbbing resonance. It would be loud on the ground, but he didn't care. With a skill he knew would impress even Anya, he lifted the ship slightly from the ground, spun her on her axis and opened up the engines. The little rock disappeared beneath them in the blink of an eye, and Tom whooped with pure exhilaration."I bet that shook'em up!" Darian laughed."Anya's going kill me when we get back, isn't she?""Yeah."Tom shrugged. "You know what? I don't care."They were leaving the atmosphere now, and dull red was suddenly replaced by the swirling mass of the Badlands. Tom's sensors came alive as he joined the other Maquis ships, weaving their way through the plasma storms."So, what's the plan?" Tom asked. "I assume there is one?""Of course there is. We have to wait for the Commander to tell us, remember?""Chakotay?""Who else?"As if responding to a cue, the comm crackled into life. "Chakotay to Paris. Respond please.""Paris here. Go ahead Chakotay.""I'm down-loading your target data and your mission objective. Go in, do it, and get out. Understand?""Aye Sir," Tom replied. And then bit his tongue. That was a Starfleet response; he could imagine the smile on Chakotay's face."Proceed, Mr Paris." If he was smiling, there was no evidence of it in his voice. "And good luck. Chakotay out."Darian called up the information excitedly. "Wow," he breathed."Wow? Wow what?""The convoy has a HUGE escort: we have to take out THREE outriders!""Three? Are they kidding?""We can do it.""Sure. If we had a Starship! But in this rust bucket...?""What are you afraid of?"Tom gave him a hard look. "Dying. What are you afraid of?""Failing." Darian's eyes were at least as hard as Tom's. "Give me the co-ordinates," Tom said, looking away.Darian obliged, and Tom plotted the course. The convoy would arrive in a matter of minutes; the Maquis would strike like lightening, and disappear just as fast into the anonymity of the Badlands. That was the theory. Reality, Tom suspected, might not be so smooth.When they reached the ambush point he dropped the engines, damped the power signature, and waited. Darian sat in silence by his side, his young eyes eager with anticipation. Tom looked away, suddenly unenthusiastic for the fight. What am I doing this for? It wasn't the first time he'd asked himself that question since joining the Maquis. The only problem was, try as he might, he could think of no alternative. And so he waited.***"It's working."The doctor's words were like cool rain in the desert. Joy reached up and swelled her heart so that she felt like she would have to scream or let it burst. But B'Elanna kept her elation in check, as she did with all her emotions. In public at least. A smile, that was all, touched her lips. "Shall we increase the speed of the data-flow?""Yes. In a moment. How is my holo-matrix coping with the input?"Torres glanced at the controls in front of her. "It's holding up well. Are you aware of the process?"The doctor considered for a moment. "Yes," he said at last. And raised an eyebrow.Curiosity suddenly set her on fire! She knew she shouldn't ask. It was private. It would be a terrible intrusion...but she just couldn't resist. "So, what's he doing?"The doctor gave her a sideways glance. "He's flying a ship. A Maquis ship. And thinking about...a woman..."B'Elanna's eyes narrowed."...Anya. Her name is Anya.""Anya?!" Torres almost laughed. "Doctor," the Captain interrupted. "I think it would be better if you kept Mr Paris's thoughts to yourself.""Ah. Yes, sorry Captain. It's just - it's almost like they're my memories too. It's hard to differentiate them - it's very real.""I'll try isolating that section of your holo-matrix - make the memories less intrusive.""Very well," the Doctor agreed. "Although, it's really quite enlightening. I would never have guessed that so much actually went on inside Lieutenant Paris's head.""Doctor." B'Elanna could hear the note of warning in the Captain's voice. The Doctor gave Janeway a quick smile, and returned his attention to Tom. B'Elanna shook her head. Being jealous of a hologram was an unusual situation to be in, but at that moment she was. She wished she could plug herself into Tom's thoughts, to see, just for a moment, the world through his eyes. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. No. Best not to go there. Definitely not.*** The sensors lit up: "Here they come," Darian breathed."Lock on phasers," Tom told him. "I want this to be nice and clean - no hanging around out there.""There's too much interference to get a lock.""Okay - then we'll wait. Can you ID the targets yet?""No. I've got a location fix but I can't get an ID...hang on."Tom could see nothing beyond the plasma field, but he was almost sure he could hear the thrum of the engines as the convoy lumbered past. It was impossible of course - just his imagination playing games. But for some reason he felt unaccountably nervous. It wasn't as if this was his first combat situation; he'd been in countless simulations, and not a few real battles. But this was different. This time he didn't have the weight of Starfleet behind him. This was his first act as a...what? Freedom fighter? Hardly that. How about as a mercenary then? Maybe. Or perhaps criminal was more appropriate? His first intentionally criminal act; it was enough to make anyone nervous."The IDs are coming through...." Darian frowned. "They're not Cardassian.""What do you mean? It's a Cardassian convoy isn't it?""Yes. I mean, IT is. The convoy is, but it's got an escort," Darian glanced up at Tom. "A Starfleet escort."Shit! Tom felt his heart thudding hard and painful in his chest. This was bad. Really bad. The shock must have shown on his face, because Darian started to chew anxiously at his lower lip. "Who are they?" Tom managed after a long, silent, moment.Darian was confused. "I don't know...""Let me see," Tom leaned over and scanned the readings. A couple of runabouts from DS9 by the look of it. No one he would know, probably, but still - Starfleet! Could he really fire on Starfleet ships?The comm crackled into life: "Chakotay to Paris. You're not in position. What's the problem?""No problem, Commander," Darian answered for him. "We're on our way." The expression on his face asked the question: Aren't we?"Then move it," Chakotay snapped, his voice distant behind the plasma induced static. "We need you. Now.""Yes Sir."Tom's heart was racing. How did he keep getting himself into these situations? It was wrong, but there was no way out. If he backed down now, he knew what the Maquis would do to him; IF YOU BETRAY US, I'LL KILL YOU. He remembered Chakotay's words and he didn't doubt them for a moment."All right, let's do it," he said, letting out a slow breath, trying to control the sick feeling that clawed at his belly. Nudging the engines into motion, Tom started maneuvring the ship into position, ready to pounce. "I want you to target their shields and weapons; disable them - that's all.""Disable? But we....""That's an order.""You're not in Starfleet anymore," Darian retorted, "You can't give me orders."Anger - at himself, at the situation, and at the kid - bubbled to the surface; he didn't have time to argue. "Listen," he grabbed the front of Darian's tunic, yanking him close. "This is NOT a game. We could die out here. You do what I say, or you do nothing? Understand?""Yes." Darian was a sullen child, and Tom felt a momentary pang of guilt at his harshness. But it was for the boy's own good; the kid had no discipline, no patience.... A faint smile touched his lips - where had he heard that before? He shook his head."Get ready," his voice reminded him of his father. "I need to be able to rely on you; no mistakes. Got it?""Yes sir.""Chakotay to all ships: on my mark...MARK!"This was it. The ship sprung to life under his hands, and Tom had enough time for a brief, grudging, thank-you to the anonymous engineer who maintained it. The ship looked rough, put it ran as smooth as silk.As the Maquis fleet spat out of the Badlands, Tom could almost see the runabouts go to red alert. He knew, without a doubt, that their shields were raised, their weapons locked-on, and that help was probably already on its way from DS9. The Cardassian convoy they protected was huge and ugly - Cardassian's never built anything for its aesthetic value, and their ships were no exception. Big, grey, ugly and well armed. But they were Chakotay's business; he had to deal with the runabouts. No coincidence there; this was another test. He remembered the cold laughter in Anya's voice, and understood the joke. Only he wasn't laughing.A streak of phaser fire scorched past them, clipping the shields. "Report!" Tom snapped."Holding. No damage.""Which one's ours?" Tom asked, as they swarmed into the convoy's space, phaser fire from the runabouts' crackling against their shields. "That one. Two-nine-mark-eight-seven.""I see him. Lock on phasers.""Phasers locked."Tom had to swallow hard before he gave the next command: "Fire.""Firing all weapons."The runabout shuddered under the impact of their phasers, and Tom twisted their little fighter away before the runabout's weapons could lock-on. He sent her into a dive, dropping beneath the Starfleet ship, and then spun her one-hundred and eighty degrees, coming up under the runabout's belly. "Fire", he ordered again, hating himself even as the words left his lips.Darian obeyed. "Their shields are failing!" "Target their weapons."A small explosion breached the runabout's hull and Darian whooped for joy. Tom just felt sick. His hands were shaking on the controls, and a cold sweat trickled down his back. How had he ever fallen this low? In his mind he was inside the runabout - he'd flown a thousand of them, every detail was as clear as day. What would happen when the weapons array blew? He knew. He knew exactly. Someone would be standing at tactical. An Ensign probably. And then the console would explode - if they had a medic on board, the officer might survive. Maybe. A year ago, that could have been him. Or Mitch. Or Castile, or any of a hundred people he knew. Perhaps it was. That thought turned him so cold he thought his blood would freeze in his veins."Paris. Paris! Hey - what's up?""Nothing..." Tom shook himself. It was done. He had other responsibilities now; he had to get Darian back in one piece. "Where's the next target?""Four-zero-mark-two-ten.""Setting course. Get ready with phasers..."Slipping around the disabled runabout, Tom ducked the ship beneath the huge Cardassian freighter, hugging her hull close to avoid any danger from her ugly looking weapons array. The next target was below him, and he knew he was already registering on their sensors. But he also knew Starfleet tactical protocols; he was too close to the Cardassian freighter. They wouldn't risk a friendly fire incident - especially not with the Cardassians. So long as he kept close to the massive freighter, he was safe. But the runabout wasn't. His stomach nearly crawled into his throat when he spoke:"Fire." Tom's order was bleak, but Darian didn't seem to notice.Their phaser fire washed off the runabout; the Starfleet crew knew he was there and had adapted their shields to compensate. Tom smiled with an unexpected sense of relief; they were good, of course. An alarm suddenly started bleeping: "What's that?""Photon torpedoes!""Where?""There's a Cardassian fighter! One-eight-mark-three-zero.""I see it. Damn it!"Tom tried to twist out of the way, but he was stuck; too close to the freighter and too close to the runabout beneath. The meat in the sandwich. Two direct hits; Tom thought the reverberations would rattle the teeth from his skull."Shields?" he yelled through the turmoil."Forty-five percent - falling. We're losing power..."Beneath him, Tom saw the runabout start listing. One of the torpedoes had hit her too; the Cardassian weren't too fastidious about friendly fire it seemed. But they WERE stupid. "The runabout's engines are off line." Tom didn't need Darian to tell him that. He knew what a ship adrift looked like; "She's still armed. Target her..."Their ship shuddered."What was that?""No!" Tom hissed, flinging the engines into full reverse."What is it?" Darian asked. "Why are we heading for the Cardasian ship?""They've got us in a tractor beam - target it.""I can't get a lock. They're doing something to their shields.""What?""I don't know. It's like they're slippery or something - I can't get a fix.""Shit!" The engines were beginning to protest as they fought against the relentless force pulling them in. "Just fire anywhere!" Tom was desperate now; he was NOT going to become a Cardassian prisoner. He'd rather die."Firing."Another jolt, and the tractor beam loosened its hold. Almost, but not enough. Then Tom had an idea; "All power to the forward shields, and hold on," he yelled, thrusting the engines forward, and driving their ship hard and fast, on a direct collision course with the Cardasian ship. He heard Darian scream, just as the tractor beam disengaged; with a violent tug, he wrenched the ship from its suicidal path, just in time. Despite himself, despite what he was doing, Tom found himself grinning. "They blinked first," he said, breathless with adrenaline.Darian just stared at him, his eyes wide and terrified.The torpedo alarm sounded again, and Tom stood the ship on end, cutting around in a tight circle beneath the enemy vessel. The photon torpedoes hissed past, impacting harmlessly against the shields of the huge freighter. Chakotay's never going to get near that thing, Tom realised. The whole mission was impossible."We're being hailed," Darian told him, his voice shaking."By who?""One of the Starfleet ships.""Ignore it. Target the third runabout...""I can't see it. No, wait. It's on the other side of the freighter...one-two-mark-seven-zero.""I'm on it. How are the shields?""Forty percent - still falling. There's a power drain somewhere.""See if you can locate it," Tom told him, concentrating on dodging the deadly phaser blasts from the Cardassian fighter that was in pursuit.Ducking their little fighter under the freighter again, Tom passed the disabled runabout. He gunned the engines, trying to outmanoeuvre the lumbering Cardassion fighter. But there was no response."I'm losing power to the engines!" Panic fired his blood, but his training kept all trace of it from his voice. Darian was less disciplined."I know," he snapped. "I'm trying to lock it down... Give me five minutes."Tom almost laughed. Five minutes! The Cardassians were practically on top of them. The comm crackled into life: "Maquis ship. This is the USS Endurance. You have a power leak in your aft plasma relay. You'll lose all power to your engines in three minutes. Drop your shields and prepare to be boarded.""Darian?""They're right - the plasma conduit in the power relay's totally fried," he looked up with serious dark eyes. "But three minutes is long enough.""Long enough for what?" "To get back to the Badlands."Tom only considered for a moment. "We'll never make it past the Cardassians," he decided, turning the ship around, dropping closer to the disabled runabut. "It's worth a try!""Really?" Tom asked. "You want to be a Cardassian prisoner?"The boy paled. "No. I'll never be that. But it's better to go out fighting."Tom shook his head. If it was just him, perhaps it would be worth the risk. But Darian was just a kid. What did he really know about fighting or dying? Or living. He cut the engines. "No. It's better to live.""What're you doing?" Darian yelled, frantically trying to re-engage the engines. "Turn us around - get us out of here!""We don't stand a chance," Tom snapped, pushing him away. "Coward!" the boy cried, tears in his eyes. "Traitor!"Tom ignored him and hit the communicator panel. "USS Endurance. This is the Maquis ship - Deliverance." His lips twisted in a bitter smile. "We surrender to the Federation. Repeat: we surrender to the Federation.""This is Endurance. We accept your surrender, Maquis. Stand by to be boarded.""No," Darian's voice was a disbelieving whisper. "What have you done?""Saved your life," Tom told him. "Believe me, this is going to be a lot worse for me than it is for you."Darian stood up, his face streaked with tears and betrayal. "They were right about you. You're a coward, and a loser. I should never have trusted you."Tom returned his gaze in silence for a moment. Then he too stood up, turning to face the spot where he knew the Starfleet team would beam in. "Don't let them see you crying," he said in a soft voice. His own tears of shame were locked so deep inside he doubted they would ever fall.Now he could only wish for one thing; that no one he knew would be involved in this mess. But the moment the transporter shimmered into solidity, Tom knew that the gods had abandoned him completely."Paris?" the young ensign gaped, phaser drawn, his face a picture of astonishment."Mitch." Shame washed through him in a wave that was almost overwhelming. But he refused to succumb to it. Instead he twisted his lips into a smirk, and hoped it didn't look too sickly. "I guess you'd better arrest me then."***The Doctor sat down heavily, his head in his hands. "What is it?" Janeway asked, dashing to his side."It's...""Is there something wrong with the program?" B'Elanna asked, scanning the readings before her. They all looked fine."No. It's just...awful.""What is?" The Captain spoke softly, concerned."I feel - HE feels - so, so terrible. Worthless. It's indescribable. I never realised...." His head sank into his hands again.Janeway looked up. "Can you isolate the Doctor's program further?""I'm trying," Torres replied, her mind and fingers whirring. "How's that?"The Doctor raised his head, some of the pain easing from his face. "Better," he told her. "Thank you.""This must be difficult for you," the Captain said gently. "Is there anything I can do?""No. Thank you Captain. It's just that I'm not used to the," he paused, considering, "to the intensity of the emotions Mr Paris is experiencing. It's really quite powerful."As the Doctor spoke, Torres glanced at Tom. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought he looked paler than usual, his lips thin and colorless. She didn't doubt the doctor's words; she knew how powerful his feelings could be. In that respect, he wasn't so different from herself. They were both capable of powerful emotions, and both afraid of expressing them to anyone. To anyone but each other."Are you ready to continue?" the Captain asked."Yes," the Doctor sighed. "Let's get this over with - I just hope Lieutenant Paris has some fun soon!"B'Elanna allowed a small smile to touch her lips. "He will," she said quietly. Once she entered his life, the Doctor would notice... Her face suddenly flushed scarlet, and she sucked in a shocked breath. The Doctor understood immediately, a smug smile creeping across his face:"Needless to say, everything I witness - if that's the right word - will be subject to the strictest patient-doctor confidentiality."B'Elanna's eyes narrowed, just as the Captain's widened in understanding. If Tom's life hadn't been at stake, she would probably have ripped the Doctor's stupid holo-emitor from his stupid holographic arm and stamped on it. Instead she made do with a stare that would have sent any of her engineers running for cover. The Doctor merely raised an eyebrow."Shall we proceed? This should prove highly - enlightening. From a strictly medical point of view, of course."***Tom lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. It was grey. They always seemed to be grey. Well, always was probably an exaggeration. His experience of prison cells was, admittedly, rather narrow. In total, three. There'd been the one on DS9, dark, and distinctly Cardassian despite the Starfleet uniform standing in the corner. Then the cramped brig aboard the USS Williamsburg, and finally the holding cell in which he now lay, awaiting the sentencing hearing that would condemn him to some other cold, grey cell. He smiled. It was astounding how calmly he could contemplate that now; prison - Tom Paris the convict. But it hadn't always been so easy. Oh no. That first day, in that first prison, on that dank, dark space station, had been very different. Very different indeed.Manhandled from the runabout by two security officers, with Mitch marching ahead, refusing to even look at him, Tom had been given over to Chief of Security Odo. The Changeling had spared him one quick, disappointed, glance and then sent him to the cells. Up until then, Tom had been in control; he'd met the contemptuous mutterings of the Starfleet crew with scorn of his own, he'd returned their curses with insolent smiles. He was Tom Paris after all; he had a reputation to maintain. But when they had left him alone in that cold, dark cell, when the security field had shimmered across the door, then reality had hit with a vengeance. Blind, unreasoning panic, fuelled by bitter anger, had overpowered his reason. There was no way out; he was trapped. He'd shouted, yelled for attention, demanded to be released, demanded to talk to his father, to the Commander of the station, screamed curses at anyone who had tried to reason with him, even thrown himself against the security field until the pain and anger had driven him to his knees in exhaustion. And then he'd cried. Cried like a child; months of tears that had gone unshed - guilt, fear, loss, shame, betrayal and anger. Bitter, bitter anger.Why had they driven him to this? Why had they all abandoned him - his friends, his father, his colleagues - washed their hands of him and condemned him to this hell of his own creation? Why didn't they help him? He had cursed them then, loudly and bitterly. Every single one of them. Cursed them for making him who he was, cursed them for abandoning him to his fate, and cursed them because he was alone. So utterly alone.And he had known, as he sat shivering on the cold floor of that bleak Cardassian cell, that this was the end. His life was over. And in a single moment of terrifying clarity, Tom had understood that he would be better off dead. He had lost everything; his career, his family, his friends, and now his freedom. But worst of all, he had lost himself, his purpose and his reason.Looking back, as he lay staring up at the ceiling, Tom knew without a doubt that, had he possessed the means, he would have ended it there. The panic would have driven him into the pitiless chasm that had yawned beneath him, and he would have welcomed its embrace with relief. But he'd lacked the means, or perhaps the courage, and another blackness had overtaken him. Sleep, heavy and dreamless, had stolen away his exhausted mind, and when he awoke the panic had subsided. In its place sat a curiously cold detachment, a detachment that had remained with him ever since. It allowed him to function, dimmed the pain and the fear, put him back in control. But it didn't stop the anger. No, that was still there, no longer wild and uncontrolled, but focused, precise and clinical; cold slivers of hatred directed at those who had reduced him to this state. Mitch, for suggesting the stupid stunt. Dail, for boring him into recklessness. But most of all his father; it was HIS cold disapproval, his eyes, hard as winter ice, that had started the lie. And for that, Tom would never forgive him. Never.Yes, that first day had been the hardest. But he had survived. Just as he had survived the long, tedious voyage back to Earth, learning the whole while to harden his heart against the contempt of his one-time colleagues. And he would survive the future, the countless other grey days spent in other grey cells, much like the one in which he now lay.He'd been here a week, going through the formalities of the trial, cutting a deal with the authorities. He had no compunctions about trading his limited knowledge of the Maquis - specifically about how Starfleet could lay their hands on Chakotay - for a commuted sentence. Why not? What did he owe the Maquis? If they hadn't sent him out in a barely spaceworthy ship, with a kid as a co-pilot, he might not be lying here now, staring at that dull grey ceiling.The memories of the Maquis reminded him of Darian. He'd lost sight of the kid as soon as they'd reached DS9; Tom had no idea where he was. Not that it mattered. The boy had just stared at him in silent contempt during the whole trip back to DS9. Much like Mitch had. Well, he didn't care anymore. They could think what they liked about him; he was closed to them, their disapproval no longer hurt.A noise returned him to the present, as the security field guarding his cell crackled and dropped. Tom turned his head, not bothering to stand."On your feet Paris. Time to go.""So soon? But I'm having such fun.""Just move it. The court's waiting."Tom pushed himself upright with a sigh, "Guess they can't start without the guest of honor." Getting to his feet he yawned, stretched, and straightened the ugly grey prison uniform he wore. "Lead the way."As he entered the court, Tom's advocate, Jonus Taylor, half rose to greet him. He was a small, nervous looking man, with a nose that twitched like a mouse, and little dark eyes that blinked too often. Tom hated him, which was no reflection on the man; he hated everyone and everything right now. As he was escorted into the dock, Tom just nodded towards his advocate. There was nothing to say to him, the deal had already been struck. He would have no surprises today.Or so he thought.From the vantage point of the dock, Tom had a good view of the courtroom. It was small and warmly intimate in a Federation kind of a way. Everything was quiet and orderly, seamlessly efficient and dressed with a smile. And at this moment, Tom hated it. The cosiness made him want to scream.Casting his eyes about the room, Tom's gaze rested on the judge. She was young and serious looking, with a long elegant face marred only by a frown of concentration. She noticed his gaze and looked up, nodded once in his direction, and returned her attention to the Padd she was studying. Tom looked away, his eyes wondering the room until they were arrested by something shockingly familiar. Another pair of eyes, as blue as his own, were staring back at him. Tom had thought he was prepared for anything, that nothing could disturb him now. But he was wrong. The one thing he had never expected, had never even thought of, was that his father would turn up to witness this final humiliation.Tom gripped the steel railing in front of him, his face flushing an angry red as he met his father's unreadable gaze. Now he saw him there, Tom understood the horrible inevitability of it. He had to come, he realised sourly, he just had to rub my nose in it.A movement caught Tom's attention as the Clerk of the Court came to stand before him: "Please state your name for the record.""Thomas Eugene Paris." He spoke quietly, struggling to control the bitter anger that raged against his father; why can't he just stay out of my life?"Thomas Eugene Paris," the judge's voice was soft, reasonable. "The Clerk will read out each of the charges that have been brought against you. At the end of each charge you will enter a plea of guilty or not guilty. Do you understand?""Yes Ma'am.""Very well," she nodded to the Clerk, "Proceed.""Thomas Eugene Paris," the clerk began, "you are accused by the United Federation of Planets of the following crimes: one, that you were a member of a militant organisation known as the Maquis with the stated objective of undermining a legal treaty negotiated between the Federation and the Cardassian Empire. How do you plead?""Guilty." He could feel his father's stare, feel the disapproval in it, the anger. "Two, that as a member of the Maquis you did knowingly fire upon a registered vessel of the United Federation of Planets, the USS Endurance. How do you plead?"Tom paused, glancing at his father; this time he met his eyes. They were sad. Sad and angry. "Guilty," Tom said, his voice loud and sour with anger of his own. His father just closed his eyes and looked away."Three, that during this assault you committed actual bodily harm to one Ensign Ulanov, a crew member of the aforementioned ship. How do you plead?""Guilty." Tom remembered his father's words; "no one joined Starfleet without knowing the risks, son. Space is a dangerous place". Ensign Ulanov had been unlucky. That was all. It was a war and people got hurt. That was life. That was a Starfleet life.Tom's advocate approached the bench, murmured a few words to the judge, and returned to his seat."Thomas Paris," she began in her soft voice, "you have entered a plea of guilty against all charges. I am advised by Mr Taylor that you have provided assistance to Starfleet regarding the location of certain Maquis cells, and I have taken this into account in determining your sentence." She paused, turning to look at him; he found her intense gaze disturbing, but refused to drop his eyes."Nevertheless, your crimes are serious," she continued, "especially in light of your previous career as a Starfleet Officer. The use of terror as a political tool will always be looked upon with disgust by those peoples who consider themselves civilised. That you have committed these acts of violence against your own people, your former colleagues and comrades in arms, only makes your crimes more despicable."Tom smiled, pleased to see the Judge's eyes narrow in anger. What did she know about it? Comrades in arms? They'd been only too happy to wash their hands of him, why should he owe Starfleet any more than he owed the Maquis? If there was one thing he had learned in all this, it was that only one person would look after Tom Paris. And that person was Tom Paris. Not learning that lesson sooner was his biggest regret; had he known it on Caldik Prime he would never have made that stupid confession. That was his one, big mistake. But it was one he'd never repeat. Never."You clearly show no remorse for your acts," the Judge said, the softness gone out of her voice, "and I see no option but to award you a custodial sentence. You will be taken from this court to a place of detention where you will be held for a period of three years, with parole not eligible before the end of the first year. Do you understand this sentence?""Yes, I understand."The deal had already been explained to him, it wasn't a surprise, but there was an icy finality to the words when they were spoken by the judge; it made him shiver. It was real, he was going to prison, and a sudden, cold, fear turned his blood to ice-water. Instinctively he looked to his father then, but got no comfort there; the Admiral sat with his head in his hands, his face hidden. ***Sometime later, Tom sat in his cell, numbly staring through the security field at the Security Officer beyond. It was over. It was real. He was going to prison. In a few hours he would be sent there by secure transport: the New Zealand Penal Settlement. He was a convicted criminal. Him, Tom Paris, the golden boy, the Admiral's son, the best pilot in Starfleet. "Paris." The Security Officer's voice startled him. "You have a visitor."The door hissed open to admit his father. This time Tom wasn't surprised. He'd known he would come, to have his say, to absolve himself of the responsibility. Tom smiled. He didn't plan to let him off easily this time.The Admiral stood before the cell, hands behind his back. Tom remained seated, watching him, matching his silence."Why Tom?" his father said at last, more in sadness than in anger."I don't know." That was the truth, at least. But his father's brows shot together in a sudden frown: "That's not good enough.""No. I don't suppose it is," Tom replied, feeling the anger building. "But then again, nothing ever is, is it?""What are you talking about?""You know exactly what I'm talking about. Nothing I've ever done has ever been good enough, has it?" "Good enough?" his father spat the words. "How dare you speak to me like that, after what you've done?! Do you have any idea how this will effect your family? Have you ever thought about that? Eh? Even once in your selfish little life?"Tom shot to his feet. "Selfish? Oh that's rich coming from you! A man too busy to raise his own son, too busy to realise that his wife's....""Leave your mother out of it," the Admiral warned darkly. "She used to say you were married to Starfleet, not...""I said leave her out of it!" he snapped. "I'm not the one who's kept her up crying all night for the last three months!"Tom was silenced for a moment, genuine regret piercing his anger. His father stepped closer, lowering his voice. "We just what to know what went wrong.""What went wrong?" Tom shook his head. "I don't know. I can't tell you.""But you had everything. We GAVE you everything, didn't we? Everything that you needed.""Ha!" Tom almost laughed. "Everything? All you ever gave me was what you wanted me to have. You never even asked what I wanted, did you?""I don't understand what....""No. And that's just the point, isn't it? You don't understand. You never have."His father's eyes narrowed. "Then why don't you explain it to me?""Now?" Tom shook his head, retreating from his father's suggestion. "It's a bit late, don't you think?""Just tell me what it is you wanted. What it is I didn't give you."Tom clamped his lips shut, unwilling to go where his father was leading. It hurt too much, it had gone too long unsaid. But this might be his last chance, he knew, to say the things he had wanted to say for so many years. And so, with a courage he had begun to doubt that he possessed, he began to talk."You gave me everything except one thing: myself. I could be what I wanted, as long as it was what you wanted. I could do what I wanted, as long as you approved. I could live my life as I wanted, as long as it was how you lived your life. Don't you understand? I want to be myself. To live my own life, my way, to be ME, not you.""I see," his father replied. "Well, now you have what you want; you're living life YOUR way. And look what a mess you've made of it so far."Tom opened his mouth to reply, but realised he had nothing to say. His father fixed him with eyes grown cold and hard. "You will always be my son, Thomas, although I can't say that's something that gives me any pride," he shook his head, not dropping his gaze. "I will always love you as a son, but I doubt that I will ever respect you as a man."And with that he turned on his heel and left the room. Tom watched him go in a kind of numb daze. The pain was so sharp, so deadly, that he was afraid it would destroy him, and so he buried it deep, piled anger and hatred upon it, and did his best to forget those cruel words. After a few moments he sat down, and stretched out, returning to his contemplation of the grey ceiling. ***An urgent bleeping startled B'Elanna Torres."What's that?"The Doctor frowned. "His higher brain functions are beginning to deteriorate. We don't have long.""Can we increase the data-flow?""He's stable at the moment. I think we can risk it.""Good. Increasing to forty percent.""Forty percent."B'Elanna watched as the data streamed through her fingers - Tom's life digitised, reduced to its essentials. The data flow was mesmerising to her tired eyes. How long had she stood there, watching over his memories? Hours, days? The Captain had come and gone, and come again. Other friends had drifted in and out, some concerned for her, others for Tom. But she had remained, the guardian of Tom's life. Why? Because somewhere in that electronic stream, she knew she existed. And those memories were, to her, the most precious. It was selfish, she knew, but it couldn't be helped."Increase to fifty percent," the Doctor ordered, eyes fixed on his tricorder."How far have we brought him?" "Almost a year.""How's he holding up?""Actually, very well," the doctor told her."Shall I increase the flow to sixty percent?""Not yet," he looked up "I want to pause here to assess. If everything checks out, then I think we can finish the job tonight."B'Elanna didn't risk a smile. It might be premature. She just nodded in acknowledgement, and tried not to think about Tom opening his blue eyes and smiling at her. No. Don't go there. Think about the job. That's all. Just think about the job...***Just think about the job, Tom told himself. Focus on the now, don't think about the past, don't think about the future.A few sparks crackled near his fingers as he worked, and the spring sun shone warm on his back. Life wasn't so bad; as long as he focused on the job, and didn't think too much about anything. Of course, that wasn't easy in this place. Thinking was something they positively encouraged here. Councillors came two a penny, popping out from behind trees when you least expected them, probing, constantly wanting to talk about the past, wanting to explore the future. The talking was the worst thing, really. That and the ankle tag. He hated the damn thing, flashing at him, reminding him of what he was; prisoner, it flashed, cast-out, unclean.He shook his head. There he went, thinking again. It didn't do him any good. None at all. He concentrated harder on the job at hand. It wasn't difficult. Just some simple engineering. A child could have done it. But it kept the thoughts away. He concentrated on the sparks, the play of the tiny laser. So hard was he concentrating, that he was startled when he heard someone speak his name."Tom Paris?"It was a woman's voice, one he didn't recognise. Tom looked up. He saw Starfleet boots, and a uniform in command red, with a Captain's pips on the collar. The woman watched him closely, measuring him, a smile playing near her lips....***"Sixty percent," B'Elanna reported, eyes fixed on the medical console."Vital signs stable.""Increasing to sixty five percent," her fingers made the small adjustment."Holding.""Seventy percent." It was working! She felt her heart start to beat faster, her stomach squirming with nervous tension. She was beginning to dare to hope."We've brought him forward another eighteen months." The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I believe that life is starting to improve for Lieutenant Paris.... Increase to eighty percent.""Eighty percent.""Three years."The doors to sickbay hissed open and the Captain entered, closely followed by her First Officer. "How's he doing?" Janeway asked as she approached the bio-bed."Very well," the Doctor told her. With a half glance at B'Elanna, he dropped his voice. "I hate to admit it, but Lieutenant Torres' solution appears to be working quite well."The Captain smiled. "I'm glad. When will you be able to wake him?"The Doctor glanced at his tricorder. "At this rate - another few minutes should do it."Janeway and Chakotay exchanged a brief glance. "We'll stay," the Captain said.B'Elanna couldn't help frowning. The Doctor, the Captain and Chakotay? The whole ship would be turning up to watch. But the gripe was a selfish one. Tom was their friend too, they had a right. And she'd have her time alone with him. That thought brought a smile; oh yes, she'd make sure she had plenty of time! He owed her now. Big time. She hadn't forgotten how he'd gotten into this mess - volunteering for that stupid mission into the nebula. Her smile broadened. She'd make him pay all right!"Four point five years," the Doctor reported, casting a suddenly amused glance at B'Elanna. She tried to ignore it, but felt her cheeks flush nonetheless. "Begin slowing the data flow," the Doctor told her, still smiling. "We're almost at the present.""Decreasing data flow to ten percent.""Neural pathways are almost fully reconnected. Lieutenant, terminate the data link.""Terminating link...now." Torres looked up. "How do you feel?"The Doctor cocked his head, considering. "I'm still aware of Lieutenant Paris's mind.""That's because the Borg implant is still in place," B'Elanna told him, leaving her station and moving to the bio-bed. The Captain and Chakotay stepped aside to let her get close. "Can you wake him up now?" she asked, hoping her voice sounded less desperate than she felt."We'll see." B'Elanna held her breath while the Doctor considered the results of his tricorder scan. "His neural pathways appear to have fully reconnected.""Then he'll have all his memories back?" Chakotay asked quietly, from where he stood behind B'Elanna."I can't say for sure," the Doctor replied, his words turning B'Elanna suddenly cold. "But there's only one way to find out." Without further warning, he held a hypospray against Tom's neck and pressed.The small hiss sounded loud in the suddenly quiet room. Everyone held their breath for what seemed like an eternity. Torres' fingers crept down and entangled themselves with Tom's, giving them a reassuring squeeze. But her eyes remained fixed on his pale face, willing his eyes to open.Nothing.She squeezed his fingers tighter, her whole body rigid with tension. She heard the Captain shift uncomfortably behind her, and was dimly aware of Chakotay placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Nothing. ***The images rushed past too fast to see, yet somehow he could understand them. People he knew; people he loved, and people he hated. Moments of despair and moments of pure joy. Each one flashed past in an instant that lasted forever, but passed so fast that he could barely see it. And above the images, he heard voices, indistinct, garbled words, fractured sentences. "...data flow to ten percent...""...neural pathways...Lieutenant..."They were familiar, somehow, those voices. They matched the images that flashed in his mind; a face, a smile, a laugh, a touch. "...memories back...?"Yes. Memories. That's what they were. The voices were memories. Just like the images. Or were they? Something else intruded into the darkness. A new sensation. It was cold. It touched his neck, and drove back the darkness. And then something warm touched his hand, squeezed his fingers as the images trailed slowly to an end. And then there was nothing. It was over. And his mind was left frighteningly empty, barren of the images that had bombarded it for...how long? Forever perhaps.But in that aching emptiness, a new awareness dawned; new, or long forgotten? He suddenly became aware of his own breathing, in and out, slow and steady. And then he remembered his legs. He could feel them, draped in something cool and soft. And there was a smell. It was familiar, it reminded him of somewhere...sickbay.He opened his eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness. Everything looked white, which was curious; he was expecting grey.He opened his mouth. "What...?" he croaked feebly, trying to order his scattered thoughts. Where was he? Caldik Prime? No. Prison? No. Somewhere else...A man was watching him. He looked familiar, but Tom couldn't place him. He looked like a doctor, but...And then he saw HER. Her face chimed a joyous chorus in his heart, and he knew that, where ever he was, he was home. Her name was on his lips before his fog-bound mind struggled to understand it's meaning; "B'Elanna!"And when he said her name she smiled, and it was like sunshine; "Welcome back Tom.""Where've I been?" he asked, not taking his eyes from her face."A long way," she told him, leaning close, brushing his lips with her own. "But we brought you home."***The noise in the mess hall bubbled pleasantly around him, as Tom cradled a drink in his hand and gazed out at the stars. It had been three days since the Doctor had released him from sickbay, and his mind was still a little fuddled. His memories were all jumbled, events from yesterday and events from six years past collided in confusion; it was hard to sort them out, to put things in the right order. He glanced down at his uniform; today was the first day he'd been able to wear it, so fresh was the memory of his disgrace. He'd felt like a fraud each time he'd picked it up.The last few days had not been easy, but at least they'd given him the chance to think, to approach a new understanding of himself and his life. Revisiting those years had allowed him to place them in a new perspective. He had regrets, of course, bitter regrets, and a new sense of shame for some of the things he'd done, and for the man he'd once been. But he was starting to accept those feelings now, to accept that they were part of him."Penny for them," B'Elanna offered, smiling as she slid into a seat opposite him. She's so beautiful, he thought, her smile igniting a warmth in her dark eyes that set his pulse racing."I was thinking about you," he told her."Good answer," she approved. "But I don't believe you."His eyes widened in wounded innocence: "I'm hurt.""You're brooding," she accused, sipping at her drink."Just thinking." He paused, watching her watch him. "Do you ever wonder how your life would've turned out if things had been different? If you'd made different choices?"She shrugged. "Sometimes. But there's not much point, is there? I can't change anything.""I know, but I can't help wondering. If I hadn't..." he stopped, surprised at how difficult it still was to talk about. Even now. Even to B'Elanna, the one person in his life that he truly trusted. He took a steadying breath. "If I hadn't pulled that stupid stunt at Caldik Prime...if I hadn't lied about it...everything would be different."B'Elanna nodded in silence, giving him space to talk."And if I'd never joined the Maquis, never fired on those Starfleet ships...""You wouldn't be here," she finished for him, and there was an emotion in her voice that caught his attention. She smiled when he looked at her then, an unspoken question in his eyes. "I'm a pretty selfish person," she explained. "I can't help it, but I'm glad you did what you did. I can't imagine being stranded out here without you."He reached across the table and took her hand; it felt warm and delicate in his fingers. "There are a lot of things I regret," he told her, "but being here isn't one of them. It's just HOW I got here that I regret. I messed up a lot of lives on the way."She squeezed his hand. "And you've saved a lot too - remember that.""But I still wish..." Clara Borella's face danced before his eyes again. "I wish the accident had never happened.""I know. But you can't change that. It's part of you now, it's part of what you are," she paused and leaned back in her chair, watching him speculatively. "What sort of person do you think you'd be if it hadn't happened?"Tom thought back, remembering the Tom Paris of all those years ago; only interested in fast ships and promotion, Mitch had said. He shook his head. "I guess I'd be a lot like my father," he admitted, and then smiled. "But at least I'd have gotten promoted by now!"B'Elanna raised an eyebrow, catching his changing mood. "You'd probably be a Captain at least.""At least.""With your own ship?""Of course.""Probably spending your time ferrying squabbling diplomats around Federation space. Boldly going where everyone's been before.""Undoubtedly."She shrugged. "Sounds kind of dull.""Very," he agreed."So...?""So, you're right," he admitted. "Life is strange and unpredictable; just when I thought it was dragging me down to the very bottom, it was actually leading me up here - to the top." He shook his head, marvelling at the revelation. "I once told my father that all I wanted to so was be myself, to live my own life," he smiled as he understood a new truth, "but I'd never have been able to do that in the Alpha Quadrant. It's only here that I've ever really been myself. I guess I'm luckier that I realised.""Chakotay would call it fate."Tom smiled. "Written in the stars?""Maybe." She grinned, leaning over the table and kissing him lightly on the lips. "It sounds nice.""You're not getting all romantic on me are you?"She raised an eyebrow. "It's not unheard of.""Well, if the stars brought ME here," he said, reaching out to touch her face, "do you think they had a hand in your fate?"B'Elanna smiled slowly, and took another sip of her drink. "Ah, well," she replied, "that's another story altogether, isn't it?"THE END***Loved it or hated it? Either way, let me know! Email me at 106625.3210@compuserve.comAnd if you liked it, and haven’t already read it, check out “Double Dealing” also on the PT Collective Archive!Thanks for reading!