Part Two -----  Trials Four: Shadow's Trials: Case Closed
TerriTrek@aol.com
See Part 0ne for Disclaimers, Warnings, etc.
***********************

Tom Paris was seated at a messhall table alone when Harry Kim arrived for dinner. It was 
the first time in days that the foursome were going to risk Neelix's cooking for the evening 
meal. It was Tom's idea. He thought Malista needed to get out more socially instead of 
retreating to her cabin or Harry's. 
The ensign frowned slightly as he approached. "Where are Malista and B'Elanna?" He was 
a few minutes late himself. He'd expected all three of his friends to be waiting for him.
Paris grinned and shrugged carelessly as he set aside the data padd he'd been reading while 
he waited. "I don't know. I guess they're both late."
Kim's frown deepened as he seated himself. "Strange. Malista is always on time. Wait a 
minute!" he exclaimed. "Wasn't today the day they were going to try out one of Natwick's 
battle simulations?"
 When the Engineering staff had completed the last of the replacements of a multitude of 
power couplings, Captain Janeway had authorized extra hours off duty as a reward for all 
their hard work. B'Elanna Torres and Malista Shadow had decided to use some of their 
time off to work out together on the holodeck in a combat training exercise.
"Yeah, so? You think they forgot the time?" the lieutenant asked. He'd expected no less. 
B'Elanna tended to lose track of everything when her interest was engaged---at work or at 
play.
Harry looked worried. His brow furrowed as he glanced at his chronometer. "That could 
be it, I guess." He didn't sound very convinced.
"Harry, what's wrong? Surely, you don't think---" 
Before Paris could finish the thought, Kim slapped his commbadge. "Computer, location 
of Crewman Shadow?"
"Crewman Shadow is in Sickbay," came the bland reply.
Kim bolted from his seat and was out the door before Tom could get to his feet.  "Harry!" 
He sank back into his chair, his unruffled demeanor belying a sudden twinge of concern. 
"B'Elanna would *not* hurt Malista," he muttered under his breath.  But it wouldn't hurt 
to make sure. He slapped his own commbadge. "Computer, location of Lieutenant 
Torres?"
"Lieutenant Torres is in Engineering."
Now Paris was frowning. Why had she gone back to work after her time off? He hadn't 
heard of any crisis in her department. She tended to try to bury herself in work when she 
was upset. Maybe Harry was right. There might be a reason to check up on the two 
women. He got to his feet and strolled toward the exit.
************
Ignoring the startled glances of his crewmates, Harry Kim was all but running by the time 
he reached Sickbay and burst through the doorway. He skidded to a halt in a manner more 
commensurate with Tom Paris' famous last minute entrances than his own more proper 
Starfleet behavior. His eyes darted quickly around the room, checking each biobed for 
occupancy.
"Can I help you, Ensign?" the Emergency Medical Hologram inquired sarcastically as he 
stepped out of his office. "Or did you just stop by to catch your breath before the next leg 
in the race in which you're obviously participating?"
"Where's Malista? Crewman Shadow?" Kim panted, slightly out of breath.
"Harry?" Malista popped up from behind a console in the surgical bay. "Is something 
wrong?" She looked perfectly fine, though puzzled by his urgency. 
He sighed with relief. "No. It's just the computer said---you were in Sickbay."
"And here she is. What a remarkable coincidence!" the doctor exclaimed. "Now that we've 
established that we're all here, would we all like to get back to work?"
Kim shot him an impatient glance. "I thought she was hurt. She was working out with 
Lieutenant Torres today."
The doctor nodded understandingly. "I can see why you might be concerned. However, I 
am an excellent physician and I believe I can say with some assurance that if Malista had 
been injured I would have repaired the damage by now. She has been in Sickbay for the 
last two hours."
Harry's surprised brown eyes flashed back to the young woman. "That was a short 
workout." It wasn't quite a question.
She didn't meet his eyes, but returned to working on the panel before her. "Yes. We didn't 
spend a lot of time in the holodeck."
Kim drew nearer, until he faced her from the other side of the console. "What happened?"
She shrugged and recalibrated the spanner she held with great attention to detail before 
returning it to her kit. 
Now he knew something was wrong. He'd had a bad feeling about the whole idea the 
moment that Torres had mentioned her plan to join Shadow in the training simulation. 
While Malista and B'Elanna might be friends off duty, their temperaments were very 
different---almost polar extremes. He had suspected that might cause some problems when 
Torres had offered to tutor Malista in self-defense, but hadn't been able to talk B'Elanna 
out of the idea. 
When upset, Malista tended to withdraw and become quieter. When B'Elanna was upset, 
she tended to get aggressive and loud. It was not an ideal teaching situation. Especially not 
when Torres was Shadow's immediate superior in the chain of command. 
"Malista?" Harry said coaxingly, quietly. "What happened?"
"Nothing." She reached down to pick up her tool box and set it atop the console. "I've 
finished, Doc. That should take care of the glitches in the surgical field projector. I just ran 
a final diagnostic of the system."
Kim came around to stand beside her and took the heavy case from her hand.  
"Harry," she protested, "I can carry it."
"You can," he agreed amiably, but determined to have his way. "But you won't. Not when 
I'm here to carry it for you." He knew very well that she lugged her heavy toolbox all over 
the ship during the course of her shift, but his good manners were too ingrained to let her 
do it in his presence when his hands were empty.
She beamed a smile at him as if he'd just handed her a bouquet of flowers. "Thank you." 
He'd noticed it before. The smallest courtesy from him pleased her out of all proportion to 
the deed. For some reason, that worried him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the doctor was making a face. And some people 
thought he wasn't real?  He became more human every moment of his existence in 
Malista's opinion. "Good night, Doctor. Let me know if you need anything else repaired. 
And as for my lessons, I've almost finished studying human anatomy and I've been 
working on learning the emergency procedures. I'll find some time to practice them, I 
promise."
The doctor smiled at her, pleased with regaining her attention. He was more pleased and 
pleasantly surprised when she kissed his cheek affectionately as she passed him. That was 
the second time she had done that. His hand went to his cheek wonderingly as the couple 
exited. He enjoyed having her as a student. She had the proper respect for his abilities. She 
was quickly becoming his favorite crewmember----next to Kes, of course. Which reminded 
him that he wanted to talk to Kes about spending less time in airponics and more time in 
Sickbay. She was neglecting him---her duties.
Harry was determined to find out what had happened between Malista and B'Elanna. He 
wasn't going to let a simple misunderstanding get totally out of hand---not this time. Never 
again.
********************
Paris was approaching Engineering when Torres barreled out of the doorway at full speed--
-almost ramming speed, but he sidestepped quickly and prevented a collision. "Whoa!" He 
held up a hand, waving it lazily in her line of sight. 
She stopped dead in her tracks and glared at him. "What?!" Her chest was heaving, her 
breathing labored as if she'd been exerting herself physically. 
He raised his eyebrows. "You're late for dinner," he said mildly, trying a polite, friendly 
smile. Torres automatically labeled it Smile Number Four on the Torres Scale of Paris' 
Expressions ---polite, friendly, slightly concerned---it reached his eyes, but didn't convey 
his feelings.
"Don't *start* with me, Paris!" She stormed away, leaving a wake of tension behind her 
that he could follow like a path back into the Engineering Department. Several faces were 
staring out at him. Most noticeably Joe Carey, who jerked his head at Paris as if telling him 
to follow Torres then rolled his eyes heavenward as if making a plea to an unseen deity.
Tom followed, but at a slower pace. His longer legs made it easy for him to trail just 
behind her, though she was moving more quickly.
They rode the same turbolift to deck six. Still without speaking, she charged off to 
Holodeck One, where the Sandrine's program was running. He hesitated in the corridor, 
trying to decide if now was the best time to talk to her, or if she preferred to be left alone.
His decision was made for him when she stuck her head out into the corridor and snapped, 
"Well? Are you coming or not?" Without waiting for an answer, she ducked back inside 
and went to find a drink and a table---in that order.
"Thank you for that gracious invitation, Ms. Torres," Paris murmured coolly. Lazily lifting 
one eyebrow, he ambled toward the entrance. He took it as a good sign that she actually 
*wanted* to talk to him. Though he'd begun to open up to her more often, it was still a rare 
occurrence for her to let her guard down with him.
By the time he joined her at 'their' table, she already had their favorite drinks waiting and 
was drumming her fingers impatiently on the table. Fortunately, except for the ever present 
holocharacters, the two of them had Sandrine's all to themselves.
He spun the chair around and eased down onto it with his customary grace, resting his 
folded arms along the top of its back. He put his chin on his forearms and just regarded the 
chief engineer objectively as he waited for her to speak---or explode. She was seething. He 
wouldn't have been terribly surprised to hear molten lava was bubbling through her veins. 
He was amazed there was no steam escaping from her ears.
"What happened?" he asked calmly. 
"Harry was right. It was a mistake to try to work out with Malista!" she snapped. "I should 
have known she'd be hopeless!"
"What happened?" he repeated in the same unruffled tone.
"She wouldn't *fight*!" Torres was outraged. Her tone invited him to enter into her 
feelings.
Paris frowned. "I thought it was a self-defense program. Isn't fighting the whole purpose 
of the exercise?"
"Exactly." B'Elanna nodded decisively. "But she wouldn't. She wouldn't attack. All her 
moves were purely defensive! She kept backing away!"
"I assume you pointed this out to her?" he asked mildly. 
B'Elanna got louder. "Yes!  She quit! She left the holodeck!! She wouldn't fight back!!!" 
She waited for his response, eyes narrowed as she tried to read his thoughts.
"Just walked out?" Tom raised an eyebrow. His voice was getting quieter with each 
rejoinder. 
"Yes!" Torres replied indignantly. She found herself lowering the volume of her own voice 
to match his.
"Didn't argue with you?" Tom's voice was soothing. She didn't remember noticing before 
how soothing his pleasant tenor was. 
"Exactly." Torres' voice had returned to its normal tones. 
"Hmmm."
"What's that supposed to mean, Paris?" She sounded accusatory. "Are you taking *her* 
side?"
Tom batted his blue eyes at her with exaggerated innocence. "Me? Would I do that?" he 
asked softly.
Torres growled under her breath. "Yes. You would! But you shouldn't! You should have 
seen her---she wouldn't even fight back at all until she was cornered!"
"Disgraceful," he said, curling his upper lip in scorn. His voice was almost a whisper. A 
contemptuous whisper. 
"Well, it is!"  She was gratified that he was finally agreeing with her, but not entirely 
convinced of his sincerity. She took a long cold drink of her synthale. "What kind of 
fighter is she? I'd hate to be on an away mission with her. If fighting was called for, she'd 
go hide behind a tree or something and wait for someone else to do her fighting!" 
She knew she was exaggerating wildly as she spoke and waited for Paris to contradict her 
so she could argue him to a standstill.
"You think she's a coward?" he asked impassively. He seemed genuinely curious to hear 
her opinion. He wasn't reacting the way she'd expected. It was throwing her off.
"I didn't say that." B'Elanna's temper had cooled to the point that she was aware she was 
being unfair. "When she fought, she fought well. She just waited too long to start. I'm 
sure if the danger was a real one, she wouldn't be so hesitant," she temporized. 
"I don't understand her! What's the matter with her? After what happened to her on Huldon 
III, I'd think she'd be full of rage! She should be able to use it! Tap into it to give her 
strength!"
"Maybe she used up all her rage---when she killed the Cardassians who raped her," Tom 
ventured cautiously.
B'Elanna shrugged. "She did say she was afraid to fight. Afraid to lose her temper. But 
when her own life is in danger? That's totally unreasonable! It's irrational!!"
"On the holodeck, she knows in the back of her mind that she's not really in danger. If the 
safeties are on. She didn't fight back---at all?" Tom inquired, seeking clarification.
"Well," Torres hesitated. "She did help me when I was outnumbered---but if I hadn't been 
so distracted by her failure to act, I wouldn't have needed her help," she added defensively.
"So she fought for you, but not herself," Paris clarified, looking thoughtful. His left hand 
went up to tug at his earlobe.
She nodded, not sure what he was getting at. She was surprised to feel relatively serene. 
Usually when she really lost her temper as she had this time, it would take hours---
sometimes days---for her to regain her emotional balance. She stared at Tom as she became 
aware of the role he'd played. "You sneaky----"
"What did *I* do?" He was all hurt innocence now. His lower lip almost, but not quite, 
coming forward in a pout.
"I don't know, but when I figure it out I'm going to---"
"B'Elanna, what are you talking about?" Paris straightened, instantly alert. If she was 
going to take another swing at him, he wanted to be ready to duck. Or grab her. Or 
something.
She paused for a moment to assess her own condition. "I've calmed down."
"I noticed," he replied. His eyes were solemn, but a hint of a smile teased at the corners of 
his lips.
"How did you *do* that?" she demanded.
"How did I do what?" he asked. His smile widened.
"Calm me down?!" She sounded outraged.
"I didn't calm you down. You calmed yourself down. You just needed to vent a little. You 
aren't particularly angry at Malista. You're mostly frustrated because things didn't work 
out the way you planned and you're not sure why. All I did was listen." 
There was something good to be said for being in a relationship with someone less volatile 
than herself. Now that she thought about it, he really *hadn't* done or said anything 
manipulative. 
"Maybe I'm getting better at controlling my temper?" she speculated, looking to him for 
confirmation. 
"Maybe," he said thoughtfully. "Of course, I didn't actually go into Engineering and 
conduct a body count---"
She sent him a sour look. "I yelled---but I didn't hit anyone---or anything. This time."
"Very good. Keep it up and I'll nominate you for the Poldax Peace Prize next year," he 
teased.
"Don't you *dare* make me laugh," she warned. "I'm still furious." She wasn't. It was 
getting harder every moment to hold onto her irritation.
"*Make* you laugh? Make *you* laugh?" He sounded incredulous. His right hand flew up 
to cover his heart. "B'Elanna Torres, I am shocked and appalled that you would so misread 
my character. I would *never* try to 'make you' do anything you didn't want to do! That 
would violate the very nature of our relationship."
"Shocked?" she repeated skeptically.
"And appalled," he added virtuously, pursing his mouth into a prim look that was totally 
out of character for the roguish pilot.
Her smile was fighting to get free. "Right."
"So what are you going to do about it?" he inquired after a moment.
"Do about what?" She took another sip of her drink. This time she enjoyed the taste.
"What are you going to do about Malista? Are you two still on speaking terms?"  He sighed 
sorrowfully. "I was just getting used to the four of us being friends again."
"Don't be an idiot! Of course, we're still friends." Pause. "I hope."
"How bad did it get?" he asked with a slight wince.
"She was distracted. She wasn't paying attention. She got killed twice---and it was her 
fault I was almost killed once! And the sim only ran for thirty minutes." Torres' reply was 
muffled by the cup in front of her lips. She was disgusted by the defensive whine she 
could hear creeping into her words. She was gazing at her cup rather than at Tom.
"Oh," he drawled. 
That was all he said, but she could tell he was disappointed in her. Of course, if he'd 
*said* any such thing, she could have argued with him. She decided it was unfair of him 
not to give her the opportunity to do so. But she magnanimously determined to forgive him 
anyway. 
Blissfully unaware of his good fortune, Paris continued to regard her with raised 
eyebrows.
"I told her she was acting like a scared teeka cat. And she accused me of being *hostile*!" 
Torres was incensed as she recalled that moment. In a way, she'd been pleased that Malista 
had enough intestinal fortitude to lash out at her at all---though she hadn't done it until she 
was on her way out of the holodeck and had yelled it from a safe distance. 
Tom's jaw dropped melodramatically. "You're joking! How could she *say* such a 
thing!"  
Her eyes narrowed and her chin came up. "I am not *hostile*!" she seethed in an extremely 
hostile manner. It was the same response he'd received from her when he'd dared to accuse 
her of exactly the same thing on another occasion.
"Of course not!" Tom replied, stretching out his hand to pat her arm. "The entire crew 
knows that you are the sweetest, most even-tempered, amiable, reasonable----"
She snatched her arm away. "Paris---" she admonished. Her hands clenched.
"Yes, my beloved B'Ella?" He batted his sandy blond eyelashes at her.
"You're laying it on with a cargo loader!" He was so outrageous. He could defuse her 
anger with a blink of those blue eyes and a flash of those white teeth. Most of the time.
With a scapegrace grin, he said, "I know. Is it working?"
She finally let her own beautiful smile escape. He was absolutely audacious, not even 
pretending to be ashamed at being caught in the act. "Yes. Keep it up. I need you to flatter 
me and build up my ego until I can face apologizing to Malista for losing my temper."
"That's my beautiful B'Ella," Tom cooed fawningly. "Did you know that in a poll taken 
among the ship's crew you were voted Maquis Most Likely To---"
He was interrupted as Harry and Malista walked into Sandrine's. Harry was in the lead, 
holding Malista's hand and towing her along behind him. She seemed reluctant and her 
body language screamed that she was trying to minimize herself. 
Harry, on the other hand, seemed larger and more determined. His jaw was jutting out. 
Rather militantly, he approached the table, seated Malista, and pulled out a chair for himself 
before speaking. "No one is leaving this room until this thing is settled," he declared, 
tossing a mutinous scowl at B'Elanna as if he expected opposition or resistance from her.  
Torres couldn't help but be impressed with his bravery. Malista had been good for Harry 
Kim. A few months ago, Harry would never have been so confrontational with the half 
Klingon.
"What thing?" Tom asked, blandly feigning ignorance.
"This thing between Malista and B'Elanna," Harry clarified. "Last time the arguments got 
way out of hand and we all stopped communicating. This time we're going to talk this out 
before it becomes a major problem."
"Is that the way you feel, Sis?" Tom asked. He couldn't help thinking of his conversation 
with the EMH. He wondered if something wasn't simmering just below the surface of 
Malista's usual icy cool exterior. Something that was bound to blow---sooner or later. He 
just hoped that when it did, he'd be there to help her. To help Harry pick up the pieces.
She looked up, her green eyes almost pleading. "I'm sorry, B'Elanna," she blurted. "I 
know I was---"
"*You're* sorry?" Harry yelped indignantly. "She yelled at you!"
"I deserved it," Shadow replied in a shaky voice, trying to mollify him without upsetting 
Tom or B'Elanna. A problematic task in the best of circumstances and totally impossible at 
this point in time. 
"No, you didn't," Torres said, jumping in just before Harry could say the exact same 
words. "I'm sorry, Malista. I shouldn't have gotten---" She clenched her teeth and shot a 
defiant glance at Tom, then at Harry---"hostile."	 
Tom made a visible effort. He clenched his teeth to refrain from commenting and 
maintained a straight face. 
Harry started to speak, but was stopped by a sudden sharp pain in his shin. Tom had 
kicked him! His eyes flew toward his friend. Tom extinguished his protest with the ice in 
his blue eyes and a finger placed vertically on his lips. Harry got the message. 
Shut up. Now. This is their problem. Let them handle it.
"I understand. You were frustrated because I'm so inept," Malista replied.  She looked 
miserable---and somehow smaller than usual as if she were drawing herself in---to reduce 
the size of the target she made as she sat there?
That impression made Torres extremely uncomfortable. She felt like a bully. She didn't like 
the feeling. "You're not inept," B'Elanna replied, her manner softening. She hadn't 
thought the younger woman would take the incident so much to heart. B'Elanna wouldn't 
have. "You weren't fighting back. You don't seem to have any fighting spirit. Didn't you 
ever get into fights as a kid?"
"No, never," Malista replied, startled at the very idea.
"Never?" Now it was B'Elanna's turn to be astonished. "Why not?"
"Why would I?" It was as if the two women were speaking different languages. 
B'Elanna frowned and looked to Tom for help in making her point. He shrugged and 
remained silent, tossing the hoverball back into her court. 
She looked back toward Malista. "Didn't any of the other kids ever call you names? Make 
fun of you?"
"Yes, but I never got into any fights. My brothers did though. They took care of me---
watched out for me," Malista smiled for a moment. The smile faded as she remembered the 
loss of her older brothers. 
"You *never* had to fight for yourself?" Torres said once more. "I was an only child. I 
was fighting other kids by the time I was five." Tom slipped his arm around her shoulders, 
lending silent support. She leaned into his touch, unconsciously nestling comfortably 
against his side.
Malista looked horrified at the thought. "If I'd ever gotten in a fight, my father would have-
--I would have been in big trouble. I was my father's little princess. Girls were *not* 
supposed to fight---or do a lot of other things. He had very old fashioned ideas. I never 
went anywhere without at least two of my brothers escorting me." Harry scooted his chair 
closer to hers and took her hand in his, stroking her palm.
"At least you had a father around to care," Torres retorted. "Mine left when I was five. 
That's one reason I got into fights. That---and this." She rubbed her ridged forehead. Tom 
squeezed her shoulder. She looked up at him smiling weakly. 
"I don't know," Shadow said sadly. "It depends on if you think it's worse to have known 
your father's love for sixteen years---and then have it ripped away from you. When I 
joined the Maquis, he told me I was a fool. That it wasn't our fight. The Cardassians 
weren't bothering our colony. I told him I was going anyway to keep the Cardies away 
from my home. He told me---that as far as he was concerned, he no longer had a 
daughter."
Torres felt a shock of pity for the other woman. At least she had grown up not expecting 
anything from her own father. To have it all, and to lose it---that might indeed be more 
devastating. B'Elanna could only vaguely miss the things she'd never had and wonder 
what might have been. Malista, on the other hand, knew exactly what she'd lost. "If we get 
home, maybe he'll have changed his mind---he must have missed you---" B'Elanna offered 
the only comforting thought she could think of. Tom knew what was coming and braced 
himself to hear it again.
Malista shook her head. "No. He never changes his mind once it's made up. After---after 
Huldon III, I called him. I told him what had---what they'd done to me. I begged him to let 
me come home." Her voice broke. Harry turned her toward him and let her hide her tearful 
face on his shoulder. She was trembling with the effort to control herself. She hated losing 
control in front of other people, even her closest friends. This failure to control her 
emotions was just another failure to add to the long list of her failures she carried in her 
mind.
Kim finished the story for her. "Her father told her she didn't have a home there any more. 
That she had chosen the Maquis over her own family so she could stay with them. But like 
Tom told you, Malista, the Voyager crew is your family now. You belong here. With us. 
You always will." He stroked and patted her back, holding her tightly until he felt the 
tension in her body ease. 
Torres had to swallow hard to clear the lump from her throat. She'd had no idea. It was no 
wonder that at one time Shadow had considered suicide to be easier than living in exile. 
She gulped again. 'Klingons don't cry,' she told herself. 'At least not in front of anyone 
else.' She gazed up at Tom, communicating with him wordlessly. She didn't know what to 
say. How to make them all feel better and get them back on solid ground emotionally. That 
was more in his line of expertise. Her brown eyes sent him a plea for help that he couldn't 
and wouldn't ignore.
His own azure eyes were suspiciously bright, but his voice was light and smooth as he 
said, "So you were your father's little princess, as long as you did exactly what he said, 
right, Sis? Sounds familiar. I, myself, was the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of the 
Paris Clan. And I said 'Crown Prince', not 'Clown Prince', Torres," he added quickly as 
if anticipating a smart remark.
Shadow made an effort to pull herself together and sent a sympathetic smile in Tom's 
direction. For once, Torres was happy to have Paris inject a lighter note. So was Kim.
 "The Crown Prince?" queried Harry, obligingly feeding Tom a line to hang his tale on.
"Of course. I haven't told you the Legend of the Paris Patriarch?" He barely waited for 
Harry's negative answer before beginning to weave his spell, drawing them all in with his 
body language and the melodic flow of his voice. "Once upon a time, in a quadrant far, far 
away, there was born the founding father of the Paris family dynasty named Eugene Owen 
Paris the First. My great-great--I forget how many greats---Grandfather who decreed that 
every male child of the Paris Dynasty would bear the name Eugene. Unfortunately, for 
those of us who have to bear it," he muttered discontentedly in a quick aside. 
"Having no head for business and no skills whatsoever, Eugene the First made his fortune 
by letting himself be shot into space as a so-called pilot in experimental ships that were 
basically computer-controlled. Since he wasn't *entirely* stupid, he made sure he held 
important patents for certain applications stemming from the test flights he made. Having 
accumulated vast wealth and power, Eugene, that wise old patriarch, decided that the only 
possible career path his descendants should be allowed to follow would be one that led 
them into space exploration." 
Paris waggled his eyebrows significantly. "*Deep space* exploration, if at all possible. 
This allowed him to be a great social benefactor by helping to reduce the surplus population 
in the Terran System, and had the added benefit of keeping his beloved family members 
thousands of light-years away from himself and, of course, his fortune as well..."
Malista was caught up in his outrageous story, listening with fascination, a smile teasing at 
her lips and lighting her emerald eyes. Sometimes she envied Tom his ability to charm and 
entertain.
"How many generations is this story going to cover before we get to your role?" Kim 
asked quizzically, pretending to look at his chronometer.
"Harry, Harry, Harry! You interrupted the flow!" Paris rebuked. "This recitation is like an 
epic poem. It can't be stopped and started. Now I have to begin again from the beginning." 
He made it sound like a chore, but one which he would welcome as his duty to his family 
honor.
"No, thank you," Torres said firmly. She placed the fingers of one hand over his lips for 
emphasis.
The Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of the Paris Dynasty endeavored to look aggrieved. 
"I'd like to hear it, Tom," Malista said kindly, patting his hand.
"No, she wouldn't," Harry contradicted. "She's just being polite." 
Malista frowned reproachfully at Kim. He grinned at her and reclaimed her hand, tugging it 
away from Tom's and kissing it before clasping it between his own palms.
His purpose accomplished, Paris was content to let the matter drop. For the most part.  He 
kissed Torres' hand as he captured it in his own. "Maybe we should form our own club?"
"What kind of club?" Harry asked.
"A club for people with lousy fathers. Harry, we don't want you to feel excluded so  we'll 
make you an honorary member. You can be our token person with a *normal* childhood." 
He ignored Harry's snicker. "Now for a name," Tom rubbed his chin as he contemplated 
his choices. "How about the Sorry Sires Society?"
Malista tried not to wince.
"The Fraternity of Foul Fathers? Or should it be Federation---Naw, that sounds way too 
official."
Torres shut her eyes, sighed, and shook her head.
"Despicable Dads Dynasty?"
Harry grabbed his throat and pretended to choke.
"Pathetic Papas Party!"
The trio groaned in unison. "You're getting worse," B'Elanna moaned. "Isn't there any 
way to get you to give up on this?"
"One way," Paris replied, leering at her cheerfully.
"Later, Helmboy! If I'm not mistaken, and I never am, the four of us should be at the 
circus practicing right now." Torres stood and pulled him up. "Let's go get changed. We'll 
meet you in---oh, about fifteen minutes."  She started pulling Tom toward the door.
"Fifteen minutes?" Harry called. "You two getting slower in your old age?" Malista simply 
smiled.
Torres and Paris each smirked as they left Sandrine's. In fact, it was more than thirty 
minutes before they joined the other couple---and they seemed inordinately smug and self-
satisfied when they did so.
************************
Harry looked up from the padd in his hand to give his eyes a rest. So he rested them on 
Malista, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, her back angled into the corner of 
the couch as she concentrated fiercely on the padd in her own hand. He could tell she was 
concentrating because the pink tip of her tongue had made its appearance in the left corner 
of her mouth. He must have made some sound of amusement because she looked up.  
"What?"
He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out sideways.
She tossed a pillow at him. "You! Don't make fun of me. The doctor is already threatening 
to do some kind of case study. He calls it aberrant behavior."
"Aberrant? If he wants to study aberrant behavior, he should talk to Chell. Or Ensign 
Golwat," Kim scoffed.
She grinned. "I don't think their behavior is clinically defined as aberrant for Bolians. Just 
for humans."
"Better he than me," the ensign replied, thinking of a particular bit of scandal concerning 
Chell and his love life with Golwat that was making the rounds of the ship. "What are you 
reading?"
"First aid procedures for humans. It's hard going from a two-dimensional drawing to a 
three-dimensional model. I'm having a hard time visualizing what the instructions mean. 
Maybe I should go to the holodeck and create a holocharacter to practice on?" she asked 
doubtfully. 
"You don't have to do that. Use me."
"What?" She stared at him blankly.
He set his padd down on the end table and stretched out on the couch. "Use me. I volunteer 
to be your practice partner. I'm tired of reading anyway."
"Harry, do you know what you're letting yourself in for?" she asked timidly.
"No. What?" He didn't seem deterred by her question.
"You get to be a body."
"Well, that works out. I've got a body," he replied genially.
Shaking her head, she came to kneel on the floor next to him. "I mean a dead one---or 
almost dead. I'm trying to learn to do cardiopulmonary resuscitation manually."
"Manually? Why? Why not just use a cardiostimulator?" 
"Harry," she said with exaggerated patience, doing an admirable impression of the 
Holographic Doctor, "there might not be a cardiostimulator available. What if we were 
stranded somewhere without access to a medkit or sickbay? The doctor says a good field 
medic should not be dependent on technology, but be prepared to treat patients in any 
situation, no matter how primitive."
He made a face, looking properly abashed by the reprimand.
She giggled and stroked his cheek affectionately. "I asked exactly the same thing." 
He shook his fist at her.  
She kissed it. 
His eyes lit. He reached out to pull her closer. 
She pushed him flat on the couch again. "Stay still."  She consulted the padd, reading 
intently. "Now, pretend you're unconscious."
He obediently closed his eyes and began to snore---loudly.
She thumped his arm lightly. "I said unconscious---not sleeping."
"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry, and he stifled a smile, but he did stop snoring.
She put the padd down and placed her right hand on his chest. She began feeling around 
his rib cage. When she strayed too far down his side, he started to laugh. "You're 
tickling."
"Harry!"
"Okay, okay. What are you looking for?" 
"I'm supposed to find the tip of the xiphoid."
Kim opened one brown eye and peered up at her. "The what?" 
She gingerly poked his sternum. "I think that's it. It would be easier to tell if you weren't 
wearing this lumpy shirt." Her fingers traced the raised pattern of the material. 
"It's not a *lumpy shirt*," he protested indignantly. "It's a genuine embossed Tarkalian 
tunic!"
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Trust me, Harry, it's lumpy. And to tell the truth---" she 
paused, considering her words.
"What?" The glint of humor in his dark eyes encouraged her to go on. 
"It's ugly," she replied rapidly, carefully watching for his response to her daring.
"It's what?!" His eyebrows flew up exaggeratedly. He couldn't believe she'd said that. It 
was one of his favorite shirts. It was comfortable. It was---unique.
"It's ugly," she repeated flatly. "That color's not good on you. It makes you look---
sallow."
Harry gazed down at the brownish yellow-green material. "It does? I didn't know that. 
Tom gave it to me, you know."
She sighed. "No wonder. It would look even worse on him. Forget the shirt. I shouldn't 
have mentioned it. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
Harry's feelings weren't hurt. In fact, he was pleased she felt comfortable enough to tell 
him the truth. For a change, she wasn't telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. 
They were making progress. Maybe it was time to step up their level of physical intimacy. 
Just a small step? Tom had advised him to push---just a little.
"Well, if the shirt is in the way---" He sat up and pulled it off over his head then tossed it 
onto the back of the couch. He stretched out again, carefully not noticing Malista's wide-
eyed stare. "Okay, Malista---find the---whatever you were looking for. The 'lumpy shirt' is 
out of the way." He closed his eyes and waited.
She gulped. She'd never seen Harry half-naked before. In all their physical encounters, all 
their clothing had stayed in place---more or less. And the lights were on full illumination! 
She hesitated. But then curiosity and longing blended together and gave her the courage to 
experiment. 
She placed her fingers gingerly on his collarbone and trailed them down over his smooth, 
muscular chest, stopping for a moment to explore the shape of his well-defined pectoral 
muscles. She was fascinated by his warmth. The warmth emanating from his skin seemed 
to send a wave of heat through every pore of her own body. Harry was striving to keep his 
breathing regular and even.  
Her palms fluttered lightly over his ribs and skimmed back up to his sternum enjoying the 
tactile pleasure of smooth golden brown skin over hard muscle. One hand lightly circled his 
left nipple which stiffened responsively. Harry bit back a moan as her other hand found his 
belly button and a fingertip caressed the rim before dipping inside. "You have an innie," 
she whispered. 
"Mm-hmmm," was as coherent a reply as he could manage.  He was fighting the urge to---
he was fighting all kinds of urges! This was the first step to intimacy. Letting her explore, 
to get comfortable with his body.  He didn't think Malista was ready for anything more---
not now. 
But gods, this was killing him. He hadn't thought lying still could be such an effort. He 
couldn't restrain a low moan as her hand lightly traced a pattern of sensation down the 
center of his chest. It almost seemed to burn everywhere she touched---and some places 
she didn't.
His moan startled Malista and she jumped back to reality. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation. 
Right.   
"Sorry, Harry. I took a little detour." Her voice sounded strange in her own ears.
"I don't mind," he said, sounding slightly choked. "You have wonderful hands."
She pulled her wonderful hands away from their fond exploration of his body and forced 
her mind back to her purpose. She located the xiphoid easily now and measured the two 
finger widths to find the correct location for the heart massage. Getting off the floor, she 
knelt next to him on the couch and put her hands and arms in the proper position. She 
pushed gently on his chest. "Five compressions to each lung inflation," she said under her 
breath. 
"Lung inflation?" Harry queried, opening his eyes to watch her. She looked so studious as 
she concentrated. He wanted to kiss the little frown between her eyebrows until it 
disappeared, then work his way down... 
"Mouth to mouth resuscitation," she said. She pushed down four more times. "Close your 
eyes. You're not supposed to be conscious---or even breathing, for that matter."
"Yes, ma'am." He shut his eyes and forced his muscles to loosen.
She placed her hand under the nape of his neck and tilted his head back, muttering the 
instructions to herself as she did so. "Airway opened." She pinched his nose with her 
fingers and placed her lips over his. She pretended to blow. After a few more rehearsals, 
she was sure she had the process memorized correctly. She was about to tell Harry so, 
when his arm snaked around her and he pulled her down atop him. Caught off balance, she 
sprawled across his body and wound up nose to nose with him.
"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.
"You just saved my life," he said, smiling up at her tenderly. "I have to find some way to 
thank you."
She wriggled, trying to get enough purchase to sit up away from him. It didn't work. It 
had a different effect altogether. On both of them.
Unaware of making a conscious decision, his arms tightened around her. She stopped 
moving. Beneath her, she could feel every heated, hard---and hardening---muscular inch of 
his body pressed firmly along the length of hers. Her breath caught as she fell into the dark 
eyes that mesmerized her so easily. 
She wasn't sure where this was leading, but she trusted him. She slowly settled into his 
hold, allowing him to mold her against him as if she were made of molten wax. 
He tugged on the nape of her neck and brought her lips down closer to his. "Turnabout is 
fair play. Let me give *you* some mouth to mouth, Malista. " 
When he finally released her lips to nibble at her neck and jaw, she whispered, "Harry, I 
don't think that kind of mouth to mouth is what the doctor had in mind. But I like it." Her 
giggle caught on a gasp as his hands cupped her behind and pulled her more tightly against 
him. She blushed and dropped her face into the curve of his neck, torn between excitement 
and shy misgiving.
"Um-hmm," he murmured, finding her earlobe and worrying it gently with his teeth. She 
moaned as she felt his warm breath tickle her ear. It was an effort to remember to breathe 
herself as she felt that warmth course throughout her body. Her blood felt superheated as a 
blush seemed to sweep her from head to toe.
One hand stroked up her back, finding its way beneath the hem of her shirt, tugging it 
upward till it caught under her arms. That strong, silken touch caressed the smooth satiny 
skin on her back as her bare stomach rested against his. Her hands were kneading and 
stroking his shoulders and neck as she gave herself over to the purely physical pleasure of 
skin against skin, rubbing her cheek against his upper body, feeling his hands exploring 
the curves and contours of her body.
He kissed her again. She felt lightheaded. His fingers slid under the waistband of her 
shorts....
And she stiffened in alarm, her breath catching in her throat. 
He stopped his movements, leaving his hands in place as she lifted her head to face him. 
"Harry." She made a visible effort to relax, but he could still see the remnants of panic and 
resistance in her green eyes. She dipped her head down and tried to kiss him again.  
He evaded her lips and shook his head. Withdrawing his hands from her body, he quickly 
straightened her clothing and gently rolled her off of him and onto the couch beside him. 
He tucked her into his side and embraced her, holding her still when she tried to move 
away, flushing with embarrassment and shame. 
"Malista, don't move. Let me get my breath." His voice sounded strained.
She stilled obediently. "Harry, I'm so sorry," she moaned. "I don't mean to be a tease or 
to---"
"I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She hugged him more tightly, almost 
desperately. 
After a few minutes, Harry's breath---among other things---was more or less under 
control. "Malista, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rush---"
"You aren't. It's my fault. I don't know why---I just can't---It's like a warning klaxon 
goes off in my head---"
Harry chuckled. She raised her head to stare at him. "An intruder alert?" he asked, brown 
eyes sparkling with humor.
Her mouth fell open in astonishment. "You're *joking* about it?"
"Malista, if I don't laugh, I may very well cry," he said playfully. "It's okay," he added as 
he read the dismay in her eyes. She wasn't ready to find anything amusing in this situation. 
"I promise you, frustration is not fatal. We'll live. We just won't enjoy it for a few 
minutes."
She dropped her head back onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." He sounded almost stern. "I was the one who started it. If I have to 
live with being frustrated, it's my own fault."
"But it's not fair! To you," she said. "You shouldn't have to---"
"Shh." He stroked her hair and soothed her with his own calm acceptance. "Calm down. 
Being with you, touching you---it's enough. For now. There's no rush. I meant what I 
said. I'll wait. For you, I'll wait as long as it takes. The best things in life are the ones 
worth waiting for. There's an old Italian saying, 'He who can wait, obtains what he 
wishes.' My mother told me that one when I was waiting to get my first assignment after 
graduating from the Academy. She was right, too."
She sighed and nestled against him. Her hand rubbed his bare chest rhythmically. The 
warmth and closeness was almost hypnotic. Being with Harry, listening to him breathe, 
feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. He wanted her. More than that---he cared for her. It 
was so reassuring to know that. It was so peaceful. Her eyes were half closed, she was 
floating between waking and sleeping. 
"Slut!"  
She heard the word so clearly, she was sure it had been spoken---but it wasn't Harry's 
voice. And it wasn't hers. It was her father's. It was her father's voice that she heard. 
She jerked out of Harry's arms, sitting upright so abruptly she fell off the couch onto the 
floor. Startled, he jumped up as well.
She scrambled to her feet. 
"Malista, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I have to go." She was frantically gathering up the padd and the other 
belongings she'd brought with her to his quarters this evening. 
"Malista, it's not nothing. What is it?" He caught her arm as she headed for the door. "Talk 
to me! I want to help!"
She twisted out of his grasp. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but attempted a smile. It was a 
grotesque imitation of the doctor's efforts and totally unconvincing. "I said it's nothing. I'll 
see you tomorrow, Harry." She darted away before he could formulate another sentence.
Harry frowned at the closed door. "What the hell---?"  He kicked the couch viciously. 
Hurting his foot, he collapsed on the floor and stared at the door once more. He didn't 
think going after her would be helpful at all. At least not now. Harry shook his head in 
confusion and despair and flopped onto his back to stare disconsolately at the ceiling.
 
************************
Malista was waiting for Chakotay in his office. She'd sent a message to the terminal in his 
quarters asking him to meet her there after he'd had breakfast. She leapt to her feet as he 
entered and stood there silently. She was trembling and she was chewing her lower lip, 
ignoring the fact that it was already torn and bleeding.
"I'm off duty today," she explained as she plopped down in the armchair. 
That explained why she was out of uniform. She was wearing the baggy green jumpsuit 
she'd worn on the Maquis ship. That she hadn't worn since she'd begun seeing Harry 
Kim. It was wrinkled and at least a size too large, but still didn't conceal that she had lost 
some weight. Her shoulder-length hair was brushed forward, almost concealing her face. 
Which seemed to be the point. Her eyes were reddened, from lack of sleep or from crying 
or both.	
Chakotay wondered if she understood herself that she was hiding again. Hiding her figure, 
hiding her face, hiding her attractiveness. And what else? Chakotay took a deep breath. He 
could sense this wasn't going to be easy---for either of them.
"I hope you don't mind, Commander---"
"Not at all. You said you were going to be on time this week, Malista. By my reckoning, 
you're two days and seven hours early," he said lightly. "What's the problem?"
She was bouncing her foot up and down, as if she was too nervous to sit still. She clasped 
her hands in front of her, wringing them. "I haven't been sleeping too well."
"Is this something new?"
She hesitated. She flung her hands out and grasped the arms of the chair, squeezing tightly. 
"Not exactly. But the dreams are. New, I mean. Before---I just couldn't sleep. Now---last 
night, I heard a voice. But I was awake. When I heard the voice, I mean. 
I was awake. And then I had this dream."
"What did the voice say?"
"Just one word." She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see his reaction. "Slut."
"Did you recognize the voice?" 
She hesitated before answering. "It was my father's voice."
Chakotay didn't speak. He couldn't think of anything to say.
"Then I had this dream," she repeated.
"A nightmare?" he asked gently.
Her breathing was audible and ragged. "Not exactly. It was more like a---I don't know. 
Maybe it was a memory."
"Do you remember the dream?"
"Yes." Her voice was shaky. Her eyes met his, then darted away and back again. She 
couldn't maintain eye contact. One hand tugged restlessly at her collar. The other clutched 
the chair arm as if it were a lifeline keeping her in touch with solid reality.
"Do you want to talk about the dream?" he asked. No answer. A pause. "How did it make 
you feel?"  
She didn't answer. She was biting her lip again. She stopped when she tasted the metallic 
flavor of fresh blood on her tongue as a cut reopened. Her index finger flew up to her 
mouth to check the damage. Harry didn't like it when she---
"Malista?" He reclaimed her attention. His brown eyes were warm with compassion. "How 
did the dream make you feel?"
"Terrible. Hopeless." Her voice broke. The tears were not far from the surface, but she 
seemed to be fighting them off. "Dirty."
Chakotay pushed a box of tissues across the desk to sit within easy reach of her hand. 
"You want to tell me about it?"
"No. Not really. But I'm afraid---" She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to squeeze 
the tears away. Trying to pretend they didn't exist. If she didn't acknowledge them, then 
they might go away. A shaky sigh escaped her. "I'm afraid you'll think I'm crazy. I'm 
even more afraid that if I don't tell someone about it, I'll have the same dream again. Or 
something worse."
"Sometimes it helps to talk about it. Maybe I can help you put it in perspective."
"Do you believe dreams have meaning, Commander?" Her voice was filled with dread or 
hope. He couldn't tell which.
"Some of my people believe in vision quests, which are similar to dreams. These vision 
quests provide information and guidance for making choices about the direction your life 
should take. Is that the kind of dream you had?" 
She was shaking her head before he finished. "No. I dreamed about my father. About 
when I contacted him---after---" She bit her lip again, flinched at the sharp pain, and 
covered her damaged mouth with the tips of the fingers of her right hand. She blotted the 
blood away with a tissue.
"After Huldon III?" Chakotay supplied. 
She nodded vigorously, relieved she didn't have to say it aloud again.
"Is there any reason that you can think of that may have caused you to dream---"
"We were talking about it yesterday." The words burst out. 
"We?"
"I was telling B'Elanna about it. About what he said when I called him. When I told him. 
Did I ever tell you?" 
Chakotay shook his head. He'd never asked. He knew that it was at that time she had 
stopped using her family name of Petrides and adopted her Maquis code name of Shadow 
as her surname. He hadn't felt a need to know the specifics, and she hadn't volunteered the 
information so he hadn't asked. 
"I told Harry. And Tom. At different times. And yesterday I told B'Elanna." She twined 
her fingers in a tress of her ebony hair and began to twine it around her hand, pulling at it, 
but ignoring the pain she caused herself. It seemed to help her focus and continue so 
Chakotay noted it, but didn't mention it.
"Would you like to tell me?" he offered.
She nodded. "I didn't tell them everything he said," she confessed. She looked at him and 
paused as if waiting for his reaction to that revelation. Would he be mad at her sin of 
omission? She knew from their days in the Maquis that Chakotay had a strict code of 
honor, one that didn't include lying to his friends. His warm eyes and impassive 
expression comforted her somehow. 
"You can tell me what you want to, Malista. This is all confidential. You know that. I 
won't share anything you tell me with anyone. Not without first getting permission from 
you." He felt she needed that reassurance so he gave it freely. Not for the first time.
"I told him---my father---that I'd been captured by the Cardassians. That I'd been their 
prisoner. Before I could even think of---how to tell him the rest---he asked me." In her 
distress, she couldn't sit still. She was fidgeting, her hands moving restlessly, fiddling 
with her hair, grasping at the chair, at her own arms. "He asked me straight out, 'Did they 
rape you?' What was I supposed to say, Chakotay? I couldn't deny it. Was I supposed to 
lie to my father?" She didn't wait for his response. She rushed on.
"I couldn't lie to my own father. He would have known I was lying anyway. So I said yes. 
They did. And he looked at me for a second---I swear, it was no more than *one split 
second*---and he said 'I have no daughter.' I tried to argue with him. I begged him. I told 
him I was sorry. I told him I wanted to come home. That he was right. I never should have 
left home. I never should have joined the Maquis." Her tears were blinding her. She 
scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands and wiped her hands on the legs of her 
jumpsuit. Chakotay came around the desk to stand next to her chair. He put a hand on her 
shoulder, hoping to give her some solace.
"Then he said 'You have no home here. You've lost your chastity. You're *damaged 
goods*! No respectable man will marry you.' He called me---a slut. He said I had chosen 
to leave my family and join the *Maquis scum*. He said I'd made my bed so now I could 
lie in it with the other---sluts---who ran with the Maquis. He wouldn't even let me talk to 
my brothers. But they probably wouldn't have wanted to---" She buried her face in her 
hands and wept. It was a helpless, hopeless release of grief and despair and loss. 
'Maybe the first she'd ever allowed herself,' the first officer thought. She'd been carrying 
this burden alone. For years.
After a few minutes, when the sobs began to subside, Chakotay knelt next to her and put 
his arms around her, giving her ample opportunity to resist or move away if she recoiled 
from being touched. He didn't know what else to do. His action seemed to be appropriate. 
She leaned against him as if drawing on his strength. 
She finally raised her head. He put several tissues in her hand, tactfully moving back to his 
chair, not looking at her as she mopped her face and blew her nose. 
He waited. 
He waited, his eyes on his desk, until her breathing slowed and became more regular and 
she'd regained her composure. He looked up and his eyes caught and held hers with the 
force of the conviction she could read there. "Malista, your father was wrong. I wish I 
could do something to totally remove the memory of his words from your mind. I can tell 
those words hurt you terribly. They are continuing to hurt you, because you allow it. Your 
father was wrong. You cannot continue to allow his words to control your life and your 
feelings."
"But Chakotay, my whole life---until I was sixteen, my father loved me. I threw it all 
away. The Cardassians took my whole life away when they---"
Chakotay wasn't prepared to give in on this point. He knew counselors were supposed to 
be objective. Perhaps he wasn't as objective as he should be to deal with her, with this 
situation, but he knew beyond any doubt that this was a crucial cusp in Malista's life and he 
prayed the Spirits would give him wisdom and the right words to say.
"What happened on Huldon III was NOT your fault. You joined the Maquis because you 
believed that it was the right thing to do. When you were hurt, when you needed him most, 
your father let you down. He pushed you away because you didn't meet his standards for 
the perfect daughter. That was his choice, not yours. His mistake. You were a victim of the 
Cardassians. You didn't choose to be raped."
"But Chakotay, didn't I tell you---I *volunteered* to go with the Cardies---"
"Trying to save your friends. You thought you could keep the Cardassians busy until the 
Maquis rescued you." 
"I was so dumb!" she cried. "So stupid! I didn't even have much of an idea of what to 
expect. What they would do. I was just scared stupid! But it will never happen again. I will 
*never* let anyone do that to me again!"  The glittering fury sparking in her green eyes 
disturbed him. He wasn't sure what it meant or at whom it was directed. It made him 
uneasy.
"Malista, you didn't choose what happened to you. The blame for what happened belongs 
to those who did it. You were an innocent victim. If your father was too blind or prejudiced 
to see that---" He couldn't think of the words to convince her. 
"But he was right about one thing," she said bitterly. "I am damaged goods. Everyone 
knows it too."
Chakotay sighed. Here it came. The culture clash. He'd known it was going to come up. 
He found it ironic that he would be the one to advise someone on such a subject. He hadn't 
had much luck resolving the clash between himself and his own father with regard to the 
same type of cultural differences. "Malista, I know that in the culture of your homeworld, 
chastity is very important---"
"It's not important. It's crucial. There is no marriage for a woman who is not a virgin," she 
explained. "No honorable man would *marry* such a woman."
"That may be true on your homeworld, but it isn't true in every culture."
"Chakotay, I'm may be stupid, but I'm not *that* stupid! I know that," she snarled. "I 
know it in my head. But that's not me! I'm not---marriage material. Not any more."
"So what are you going to do about Harry Kim?" Chakotay asked, watching her carefully 
and noting how she cringed at the mention of the young man's name.
Her lips trembled as she attempted a smile. "I'm going to enjoy our relationship as long as 
it lasts. And if we ever manage to make love, I'm going to do my best to enjoy it and give 
him pleasure. I'm going to make him happy for as long as I can.  And when he leaves 
me..." Her voice cracked. "When he leaves me, I'll try to learn to---no, I *will* learn to 
live without him---somehow."
"What makes you think he'll leave you?" Chakotay had to ask. She made it sound like a fait 
accompli. As if there were no other *possible* outcome.
She almost managed a laugh, but it was more of a sob. "Because men like Harry Kim---
don't have to settle for--- He's an honorable man. He's also young. He may want to 
experiment sexually with a woman like me, but eventually, when he's older and he's ready 
to start a family, he will want to marry---and it won't be me. He'll find someone else---
someone more---more worthy---"
"Malista---"
She shook her head obstinately. "Chakotay, I'm a realist. Or I'm trying to be one. I don't 
*deserve* someone like Harry. For some reason, right now, he's attracted to me. He likes 
me---he's fond of me and wants to spend time with me. I'm happy with that. I'll *be* 
happy with that---as long as it lasts."
"Did you ever think that this might be the reason you have a block about making love with 
Harry?" 
"What?" she asked breathlessly, frowning her confusion.
"Maybe you're not comfortable with sexual intimacy, because you feel you should be 
married before you take that step," the first officer suggested.
She grimaced. "Chakotay, you weren't listening. He knows what happened. I've been 
honest with him. He knows I'm not a virgin. Harry doesn't *want* to marry me."
"Are you so sure?" Chakotay couldn't believe she was so damned stubborn under that quiet 
exterior. "It may not be an issue with him. That may be why he's never brought up the 
subject. You know that he's not a virgin himself."
"Men never are," she said cynically. "Isn't it odd how that double standard has survived 
for centuries? Especially in backward colonies like Helios. Do you think it's because my 
people are Greek? Or because they're farmers? Tradition bound. Oh, it doesn't matter why. 
It's still true." She looked exhausted. She rubbed her forehead as if her head ached. "Can I 
go now?"
Chakotay frowned at her. He was depressingly aware that nothing he had said seemed to 
have helped her at all. Nothing he'd said had made a dent in her low self-esteem. He gave it 
one more try. "Malista, Harry is showing every symptom of being a man who is in love 
with you."
"He's never said so. Harry is a very kind person. He wouldn't want to lead me on." There 
was a hint of bitterness in her tone. "It's not his fault. I don't expect him to want more than 
I'm willing to give. For Harry, there is *nothing* that I'm not willing to give to him, but 
I'm not sure he understands that. And I won't push *him* for more than he is willing to 
give me. I want his happiness. The cost to me---doesn't matter." She seemed to be sincere. 
 
Chakotay didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't one hundred percent sure he was 
reading Harry Kim correctly. Harry was a relatively young man, inexperienced in many 
aspects of life and sometimes difficult to analyze. It was possible the ensign *wasn't* 
deeply involved on an emotional level. Stymied, the first officer tried to think of something 
else to persuade her to change her view of herself and her situation. If she wouldn't listen 
to him....
"Malista, have you talked to Tom about this? Any of it?"	
She looked puzzled. "No, not really. Why?"
"You should. I've heard his relationship with his father---wasn't the best. Something else 
you two have in common. You might learn something from him. He might have some 
advice to offer. And no one knows Harry as well as Tom. Think about it. All right?"
"All right. I have some time off this morning. I think I'll go back to my quarters and try to 
get some sleep. I think now I'm worn out enough that I won't even dream." Her mouth 
twisted in an ironic smile. She took a moment to compose herself. She walked out into the 
corridor and the door slid closed.
 Chakotay felt saddened by the practiced ease with which she'd assumed her mask of cool 
control. The first officer had a definite feeling there was a lot more she wasn't telling him. 
It was like working in the dark wearing a blindfold and earplugs. He could tell she'd 
agreed just to placate him. She had no intention of confiding further in Tom Paris or 
anyone else. She'd slammed the walls around herself firmly into place and was denying 
everyone entry.
Chakotay slumped in his chair. He was worn out emotionally himself. He began to go over 
his options. He needed to enlist some help. He was grateful that the doctor had already 
scheduled a conference to discuss Malista Shadow and her treatment. With him. And with 
Tom Paris. In two hours. They were to have met three days ago, but other problems and 
scheduling conflicts had forced a cancellation of the original appointment. The first officer 
hoped the delay hadn't allowed a bad situation to worsen beyond all hope of a remedy.
Chakotay wondered how much he *could* help Malista Shadow. Without violating 
confidentiality, how much could he tell anyone? She wouldn't confide even in him 
completely. The doctor had some pieces of the puzzle, he had others, and Tom---who 
knew how much he knew? Who ever knew what was going on behind that smart ass 
facade? Certainly not Chakotay. Paris still seemed to raise his shields the moment Chakotay 
opened his mouth. And sometimes when he didn't. Sometimes all it took was a look from 
the first officer to provoke that reaction. 
This was going to take some finesse. And involving Paris---if Malista was emotionally 
volatile, then Paris was the wild card in the game. Or was that Harry Kim's role? Spirits, 
he wished they had a trained counselor on board! 
*************************************	
"You're stalling," B'Elanna Torres accused.
Tom Paris jerked guiltily as he toyed with the food on his plate. "Yeah," he admitted 
reluctantly. "I must look pretty rough around the edges if Neelix is trying to force feed me 
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again. I should never have told him about comfort 
foods."
The chief engineer lips upturned into a fond smile. "Yes. You do look pretty rough. Are 
you all right?"
Tom eyed her trying to judge how hard a time she was going to give him. "I just don't 
want to go to this meeting. That's all."
"Why?" She cupped her chin in her palms, resting her elbows on the table as she studied 
his solemn expression.
"Why what?"
"Don't answer a question with a question," she growled, echoing one of his favorite 
complaints about Malista's style of conversation. "You know what I mean. You told Harry 
you were going to talk with the Doc and Chakotay about the next step in counseling 
Malista. So?"
"So what?" He quickly snapped his arms down to cover his ribs as she feinted a punch 
toward them. "Sorry." He picked up half his sandwich and took a small bite. 'Stalling for 
time again, Tom?' he asked himself. 'Yeah,' he answered himself. He chewed slowly. 
Very slowly. 
B'Elanna waited, showing no signs of impatience except for the slight crease of a 
beginning frown between her brows. She reminded him of a hunting cat, waiting for its 
prey to make a move. Silently. 
Staring. 
Silently.
'Oh, that's not fair!' Tom thought. 'I can stand anything---but silence.' He smiled feebly in 
Torres' direction and reached for his cup. She smacked the back of his hand. 
"Ouch!"
"Stop stalling. Talk to me." She sighed. Loudly. "Tom, why don't you want to go to the 
meeting? You've been telling me for days---weeks---how worried you are about Malista! 
Isn't this your best chance to do something about it?"
"B'Ella, I just---"His words died as he took in the compassion in her beautiful brown eyes. 
He couldn't lie or make up a story. Not with those eyes looking at him with that 
expression. He reached for her hand and clasped it between his, finding comfort in the 
thrill of warmth that spread through him every time he touched her. He found himself 
marveling again at the miracle that had led to the two of them finding each other. In the 
Delta Quadrant of all places. Who would have ever thought....
"Talk to me, Tom," she urged him earnestly. "I'm listening." As he hesitated, she
made an educated guess. "You're worried about dealing with Chakotay?"
He exhaled noisily, relieved that he didn't have to find the words that would express his 
thoughts without offending her. "Yeah."
"And you're afraid you won't know what to do to help Malista? You're afraid you'll screw 
it up?"
"Yeah." The word came out more easily this time. His eyes widened at her perception.
"I've got news for you, Hotshot. You don't know everything. And no one---except you-
expects you to always have the answers and solve all the problems you know about." 
A hint of a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Here I thought I had you fooled.  How long 
have you known I'm not omnipotent?"
Torres sighed again, this time with a hint of exasperation at his attempt at humor. "And 
you're afraid Malista or Harry or both will get hurt? And blame you?"
"Sort of. Hey, you're getting good at this stuff," Tom said with a relieved grin. To him, it 
felt as if she had removed a mantle of solid deuterium off his shoulders. He wasn't in this 
alone. This was something that had always been missing from his life. A willing partner to 
help bear his burdens. Whether he wanted her to, or not. Okay, so there was a down side 
as well. 
Torres grinned wryly, bringing her free hand up and placing it atop their clasped hands. 
"I'm learning. And I'm not good at 'this stuff'. I'm just getting better at reading you." She 
raised her eyebrows. "Of course, reading you is light reading. Sort of like reading a 
holocomic."
"Hey!" he protested automatically, knowing very well she was joking. 
"Tom," she said gently. She waited for him to get serious and leaned forward to ensure she 
had his complete attention. "Malista's problems are *not* your fault. Chakotay and you 
and the doctor are all working toward the same goal. Teamwork. Don't take on blame and 
responsibility that aren't yours."
"Now why does that sound familiar?" Tom mused aloud, his brow crinkling.
"Because you said it to Malista. And to me. And probably to Harry at some time or 
another."
"Oh! I knew I'd heard it somewhere." His smile came more naturally, more easily.
"And as for Chakotay? Remember to *listen* to what Chakotay says---not to what you 
*think* he's going to say. Don't read between the lines or overanalyze." Torres knew that 
Chakotay and Paris had found some mutual respect for each other in the last few months, 
but their relationship was still somewhat uncomfortable. For both of them. Especially when 
dealing each other outside the well-defined parameters of their assigned duties.
She was confident that they could work out their differences, though she wasn't optimistic 
enough to believe they would ever be the best of friends. She was hoping for a simple 
friendship, hopefully with a degree of affection or fondness, but she knew it would take 
time. 
The two men were just too different in attitude and experience to find common ground 
easily. She was hoping to be that common ground. Or perhaps Malista could create one. 
She didn't really understand why Tom was so worried about the younger woman. She 
hadn't attempted suicide again. It didn't seem likely that she would. Maybe they were 
blowing the whole problem out of proportion? 
Paris checked his chronometer. "Got to go, B'Ella." He got to his feet, his expression as 
composed as always, but she could see beyond his mask now. He was still nervous and ill 
at ease though he covered it well. Most people would have been totally fooled.
A few months ago, she would have been one of them.
"Not without a goodbye kiss," she commanded. She still wasn't terribly comfortable with 
public displays of affection and felt no need for them to provide her with a sense of 
security. But she was aware that Tom seemed to need that kind of reassurance. And if he 
needed a demonstration of the seriousness of her feelings for him, then she would provide 
it---and anyone who objected could go tickle a targ! 
"Right here in the messhall in front of the whole crew?" Tom tried to sound horrified, 
though he couldn't contain the delighted grin that lit his azure eyes. B'Elanna was a private 
person. He knew that she was doing this for him. It made him feel truly connected to her. 
And it let him know that she wasn't ashamed of him or their relationship, a bit of comfort 
that he appreciated right now.
She narrowed her eyes at him demandingly. "Right here. Right now. One kiss, 
Lt. Paris. That is an order." She stood next to him, not quite leaning against him. 
"But I outrank you," he purred in her ear, then leaned back to study her reaction to his 
show of resistance. 
"Oh." B'Elanna had been waiting for an opportunity to try a human feminine tactic she'd 
observed, but never employed before. She'd always thought it was silly. The time seemed 
right. Her moistened lower lip came out just slightly and she looked up at him, widening 
her brown eyes. To her pleased surprise, it worked. The last iota of icy coolness in the blue 
eyes melted away.
Tom couldn't believe it. His eyes lit with joy. She was flirting with him! Pouting? Risking 
looking silly? In public? 
Well, sort of. There were only a handful of crew members present and they were trying 
desperately to find their lunch edible so they weren't paying much attention. The pilot's 
relationship with the chief engineer was old news by now.  
The alarm on his chronometer signaled, demanding his attention again. "B'Ella, we're 
going to finish this later," he whispered. He bent and captured her mouth for a quick but 
thorough kiss.  
"Promises, promises!" she grumbled as he exited the messhall almost at a dead run, unable 
to wipe the smile from his face. She resumed her seat and made a face at the contents of her 
tray.
************************************
The doctor had made use of his holoemitter to attend the meeting in Commander 
Chakotay's office which afforded more privacy than Sickbay could offer. He was seated 
next to the first officer when Tom Paris strode into the room, with a bright smile that was 
just beginning to fade. It faded more and more quickly as he neared the table, giving way to 
a polite, controlled curve of the lips. 
Chakotay indicated the vacant chair across from himself. Paris sank into it without 
speaking. The three of them studied each other for a moment, each one wondering which 
of the others would begin.  
Predictably, it was the Emergency Medical Holograph.  "Shall I begin?" Without waiting 
for a response, he went on. "Our primary goal is to develop a plan of action that will enable 
us to facilitate Malista's integration into the gestalt of---"
"What?" Tom asked. "Doc, do you think we can skip the lecture? We all know what the 
problem is." He kept his eyes focused on the EMH.  
"I think Paris---Tom---is right, Doctor. Let's just get right to the point," Chakotay said.  
His eyes were also fixed on the holodoctor. "What do we need to do to help Malista? Have 
you defined the problem and come up with a course of treatment?"
The doctor frowned. This was not going as he'd planned. He'd made copious notes to 
prepare for this conference and these two had already derailed his presentation. "The 
problem should be defined---"
Tom cleared his throat. "We already know the problem. Malista was raped by the 
Cardassians five years ago and abandoned by her family as a result. Now she's stuck in the 
Delta Quadrant. Doesn't that sum it up pretty well?"
"That is an oversimplification," the doctor protested.
"I'd like to keep it as simple as possible, Doctor," Chakotay suggested firmly. "Neither 
Tom nor I are professional counselors or psychologists. We'd like to hear your 
recommendations in layman's terms. If you can handle that?"
The doctor was miffed. "Of course I can handle that," he sniffed. He fiddled with his padd, 
trying to condense a meticulously prepared four hour lecture into succinct layman's terms 
that would be comprehensible to these---amateurs.
For the first time since Paris had entered, the lieutenant and the commander looked directly 
at each other. The blue eyes glinted with a hint of unholy glee at the first officer's 
cooperation in flustering the EMH---something Tom alone had not been able to do with any 
great success in three years. The brown eyes met his with a deadpan expression that gave 
nothing away, but Paris somehow knew nevertheless that Chakotay shared his amusement. 
Just for that moment, it put the two of them on the same side. 
Paris felt the tautness at the base of his skull ease somewhat. Maybe this wouldn't be so 
bad after all? He snapped back to attention as the doctor finally began to speak once more.
"In my opinion, the physical and psychological effects of the initial trauma have been dealt 
with," the doctor announced. "Malista has moved past the fear of intimacy on a physical 
level---at least with certain individuals."
"Can you give us an example, Doctor?" the first officer inquired ingratiatingly. "We don't 
have your expertise and training."
Paris almost choked on a laugh at the smooth line of snake oil the commander was laying 
on to soothe the EMH's hurt feelings.  It seemed that Tom was not the only officer to have 
an occasional memory lapse concerning the true nature of the doctor. If he was only a 
computer program, then there were no feelings involved. If he was more than a program, 
and Tom was beginning to agree with Malista's theory that he was, then the balm Chakotay 
was expending would improve the medico's morale and ensure his cooperation. 
The first officer shot a quelling, but not hostile, glance at the pilot. Tom subsided and went 
into listening mode, his arms folded loosely across his chest as he lounged back in his 
chair.
The doctor's eyes lifted from his datapadd. "She has evidenced---" He seemed to make a 
further effort and slipped into more informal language. "She no longer has a general fear of 
being touched. I have made a point of observing her interactions with other crewmembers, 
particularly Mr. Paris and Mr. Kim. And in addition to allowing them to touch her and 
occasionally initiating physical contact with them, she kissed me," he added.
"She kissed you?" Chakotay seemed mildly surprised, eyebrows rising.
"On the cheek," the EMH clarified and hastened to add, "There was nothing improper---"
"Of course not, Doctor," Tom interrupted hastily, doing his best to suppress a snort of 
laughter. "That would be unethical between a doctor and patient."
The doctor flung a poisonous look at the pilot and returned to the topic of conversation. 
"Malista's problem is no longer physical. It is social and emotional. Her background and 
life experiences have not prepared her for life in a closed society such as we have 
developed here on Voyager. As a coping mechanism, she has compartmentalized her life to 
a certain degree and functions very well within the parameters of her duty assignments. It is 
when she is outside the chain of command that she fails to understand her role."
"I've noticed that," Chakotay commented. "When we discovered she was working double 
shifts, the captain and I ordered her to socialize more with the crew. We thought that would 
help her feel that she fit in here. Unfortunately---"
"She didn't know how," Tom finished.  "I don't understand how she got to this point, 
Doc. I mean she's twenty-four years old. How can she not know the simplest things about 
how to get along with other people?"
The doctor was pleased the two men were ready to listen to him and it showed in his smug 
expression. "Malista was the only daughter of a large family. She had five brothers and 
evidently her father was a very authoritarian, controlling person. Malista never attended 
public schools. She and her brothers were home schooled on the family farm by 
correspondence course which also accounts for a lack of social development. From what 
she told me in the interviews I conducted with her after her suicide attempt, she was never 
allowed to make an important decision for herself. They were all made for her. Any attempt 
to make her own decisions was dismissed and her opinions belittled. The outcome was that 
she learned to rely on others for guidance and fails to trust her own judgment. Her family 
seems to have smothered every attempt at achieving independence under the guise of 
keeping her safe from harm. I suspect there was another trauma that occurred in her 
childhood that might account for the zealous over-protectiveness she ascribed to her family, 
but she has been unwilling to discuss her background any further."
"So you're saying her family controlled her until she joined the Maquis? And then her 
friends and the leadership in the Maquis controlled her?" Chakotay summarized. "And after 
she was raped and her family made it clear she couldn't come home, Niko Dishon took 
over---until he was killed. And now she has no one in control? And she doesn't know how 
to deal with the unaccustomed freedom?"
The doctor nodded. "Basically, everyone Malista has ever been close to has either been a 
Protector or a User---her terms, not mine. The Protector tells her what to do and nurtures 
her, setting limits on her behavior that make her feel secure and protecting her from others 
outside the relationship. The User makes demands on her to fulfill a certain role, which is 
also another way of setting limits, but gives her value. She is needed and valued for what 
she can do well. Mr. Dishon acted as a facilitator for the chain of command on Voyager and 
evidently combined the two roles. She knows how to deal only with those roles on an 
interpersonal level. There has never been any middle ground. Malista refuses to interact 
with anyone who doesn't fit those roles. She withdraws or tries to ignore their existence."
"Whoa, Doc!" Paris growled. "Are you saying she's never had friends? Never had anyone 
who *didn't* tell her what to do? I'm sorry, but I don't think so. She's not---"
"Mr. Paris,"  the EMH interjected, "you didn't let me finish. As I said, Malista has 
compartmentalized her life in an effort to allow herself to feel in control. This pattern was 
established long ago. All her life, her role in her environment has been defined by her 
usefulness. She *expects* to be used and manipulated---for her own good. In return, she 
hopes to be protected. To achieve this, she tries her best to ingratiate herself with her 
protector or protectors. You may have noticed that she is compulsively conscientious in her 
work. The fact that she was working double shifts and overtime is perfectly consistent with 
her mind set and her deep seated need to be needed. If you don't need her, in her thinking, 
then she becomes expendable. Or disposable."
Confident that both men were giving him their full attention now, the doctor continued, "To 
please others, she tries to win favor by using her domestic skills such as crocheting and 
cooking, or in performing as she did in the family circus. But there are evidently limits to 
what she will do. Her willingness to please her protectors does not extend to the exchange 
of sexual favors. This may stem from a fear of intimacy, or it may be because she was well 
indoctrinated in cultural mores which do not allow for premarital sex. It could be a 
combination of these factors. She did tell me that at one point, Niko Dishon sought a 
relationship of an intimate nature, but she refused. She says she liked him, but didn't find 
him attractive in that sense.  Mr. Dishon evidently accepted her rejection of his advances, 
but it may have been a contributing factor in his allowing her to isolate herself in her 
quarters on Voyager when she was not on duty." 
Paris' words held a bitter edge as he asked, "So where do I fit into this equation, Doc? 
Does she see me as a User----or a Protector? Or both?"  
Chakotay noted the subtle body language clues that told him that the pilot had braced 
himself as if for a blow. His eyes darted from the young man to the EMH. He wanted an 
answer to that question himself. Tom Paris had been the one person on Voyager to reach 
out to Malista Shadow, something that the first officer was grateful for---even as he 
despised himself for not being there for her as well.
The doctor shook his head. "No, Mr. Paris. Tom. I'm not making myself clear. *You* are 
the exception that provides us with an opportunity to reach Malista and help her. 
I asked her about your relationship with her and she has talked about you quite often when 
she has spent time in Sickbay. You are the first person in her life to ever simply be her 
friend. The fact that you wanted nothing from her, surprised and delighted her." 
The EMH practiced his 'sympathetic smile' once more. It was improving with practice. "In 
addition, you have many interests in common, such as music and literature and you 
encourage her to indulge herself and to talk about her hobbies. It seems her family did not 
share her interests and demeaned their importance. Her natural inquisitiveness and desire to 
learn was ridiculed. They made her feel as if she were strange or unnatural for not being 
more like them. She has told me that you have always treated her with respect, as an equal. 
You discussed matters with her but let her make her own decisions, and supported her 
without trying to impose your will on her. You make suggestions rather than giving orders. 
She trusts you. You opened a door in the walls that she had constructed around herself as a 
defense. "
The pilot appeared to be having trouble taking in what was being said. The doctor noted 
clinically the young man's heart rate was up, as was his temperature. His face was 
distinctly flushed and his eyes were also showing signs of the presence of unusual levels of 
moisture. 
Paris dropped his eyes to study his hands as he cleared his throat. He sniffed and tried to 
pretend Chakotay wasn't present. "So, Doc, what about Harry?" He was proud of himself. 
His voice didn't quaver or break.
"Mr. Kim also represents a disruption in the pattern, in a most positive way. To speak 
metaphorically, you opened the door in the walls of her defense mechanisms. He has 
invited her to come outside the walls and join him. Currently, I would say she is hovering 
in the doorway, in a manner of speaking. Of course, your relationship with Mr. Kim has 
smoothed his path considerably. Malista trusts you, so by extension, she was prepared to 
trust him. It is unfortunate that their relationship suffered a setback. Malista's improvement 
was also hindered."
"Yeah," Tom sighed tiredly. "I told him that." 
Chakotay sat forward and regained the EMH's attention. "So what do you recommend, 
Doctor?"
"As I mentioned previously, Malista has two major difficulties---social and emotional. Mr. 
Paris and Mr. Kim have been instrumental in assisting her in dealing with her socialization 
and have done an admirable job of it. Emotionally, however..." the doctor's voice trailed 
off as he studied the datapadd he held once more. "Whether Malista is dealing with her 
emotions in a healthy manner is something I've been unable to ascertain. I have tried to 
question her about the source of her stressed behavior but she has not been forthcoming."
"I thought you said she'd overcome her fear," Tom protested.
The doctor threw an exasperated glance at the pilot. "Fear of any kind is not overcome in 
one step. It is a process. In addition, fear of intimacy is not the only emotion she is dealing 
with. She has a great deal of repressed rage as well."
Tom eyed him dubiously. "She doesn't seem all that angry to me. I thought her main 
problems were being frightened of people and afraid of abandonment."
The first officer was impressed, not for the first time, with the lieutenant's insightful 
understanding and compassion for Malista Shadow. "Just because she doesn't show the 
rage, doesn't mean it doesn't exist." 
The doctor nodded. "Yes. Exactly. She is in denial. She doesn't wish to deal with her 
feelings so she has repressed them. Tried to pretend they don't exist. And blamed herself 
for the reactions of others. By taking on their guilt, she can maintain the fiction that *they* 
have done nothing wrong. Unconsciously, she sees herself as the guilty party and seeks to 
punish herself. Many trauma victims tend to withdraw from those around them---and then 
feel abandoned because they have isolated themselves. Unless she can recognize her anger, 
direct it properly, and let it go, she cannot heal herself emotionally. By hanging onto the 
hurt and anger, she has, so to speak, allowed a festering wound to go unhealed."
 "She seemed to be doing all right for awhile," Paris commented. "Something happened 
after she and Harry made up and it has nothing to do with Harry as far as I can tell. Some 
other factor has come into play. Do you have any idea what or who set her off?"
"No," the doctor sounded extremely frustrated. "She is under some kind of pressure, but 
she refuses to discuss it. Her defense mechanisms were functioning adequately even with 
the ongoing difficulties of Voyager's situation. She reached a limit of sorts when Crewman 
Dishon was killed, which is why she attempted suicide. She is no longer suicidal, and has 
developed some sense of being connected to the crew thanks to Mr. Paris' very deftly 
helping her past that crisis. She's has enlarged her circle of acquaintances to include several 
other crewmembers, both male and female. She even managed to maintain her equilibrium 
under the duress of the break in her budding relationship with Ensign Kim. Something else 
is at work here. Something that hits close to home. Something very personal that her 
battered self-esteem has trouble dealing with. Or that endangers her sense of well-being."
"The last straw?" Chakotay quoted. Tom nodded, recognizing the reference.
The EMH blinked as he searched the database mentally. He nodded abruptly. "Very good, 
Commander. The cumulative effect of many levels and types of stressors are bringing 
Malista Shadow to a crisis point."
"Great," Tom snapped. "So she's coming to a crisis. What do we *do* about it?"
"We try to make her feel safe and secure," Chakotay replied. "We try to get her to talk 
about what's going on so we'll know what to do."
"She must let go of the past," the doctor said emphatically. "Whatever problem or problems 
she is dealing with presently, its severity has its roots in her past. The walls must come 
down."
"What you're saying is: the harder she tries to keep everything pushed into a corner of her 
mind, the more the pressure is building up?" Paris speculated. 
"Correct. Something is going to give way. The repressed emotions must find a healthy 
outlet before an emotional breakdown occurs. If that happens, she could become a danger 
to herself or others," the doctor concluded.
Paris' voice was choked. "Suicide?"
"Possibly. Though I don't think so. She has moved past that stage. There is a possibility 
that she may express her rage through violence directed at others."
Paris shook his head. "No. I don't believe that. Not Malista. She wouldn't hurt anyone."
"Unless she's cornered," Chakotay muttered. As the lieutenant's eyes flashed to him, he 
continued in a conciliatory tone. "Anyone will fight when cornered. As she did on Huldon 
III."
"That's different," Paris protested, his mouth suddenly dry. "Those were different 
circumstances. She's safe on Voyager. No one is going to hurt her."
"Are you sure?" Chakotay argued. "She's been awfully upset and defensive for someone 
who feels safe. She's been acting like someone who's being persecuted. If someone is 
pushing her into a corner, she may lash out. With serious consequences for everyone 
involved. If she can't handle whatever it is by herself, she needs to confide in one of us so 
we can take appropriate action."
"So what are we supposed to do? Should Harry or I try to be with her all the time? How do 
we *make* her feel safe? How do we get her to confide in us?"  The lieutenant was on his 
feet now. He couldn't sit still and deal with the churning agitation he felt in the depths of 
his stomach.
"Paris, calm down," Chakotay chided. His brown eyes had grown cold even as the 
younger man's eyes began to burn as a blue hot flame. Anger? Or fear? "I know you're 
concerned----"
"I can't deal with this, Commander! I'm not a doctor or a counselor! I'm just a damned 
good pilot!" He placed his hands flat on the table and leaned on them to keep them from 
shaking as he confronted the first officer. "Flying. That's what I'm good at. When it comes 
to emotions---I'm in over my head here! Can't you talk to her? You're the first officer. It's 
your job--"
"You mean *you* don't want the responsibility!" Chakotay flashed back at the taller man. 
"Well, tough!! Because want it or not---the responsibility is yours, Paris! You were quick 
to call a life boon when you saved my life in the Ocampan cave! You said I owed you my 
life. But you never heard of the other side of that coin, did you? Haven't you heard that if 
you save someone's life, you become responsible for that person and everything he or she 
does!? Well, you saved Malista's life---and now you have to accept the responsibility for---
"
"Of course, I don't want that kind of responsibility! In case you haven't noticed, I don't do 
feelings well, Commander! I'm not good at this! And who are you to talk about dodging 
responsibility? She was under your command on your ship for two years! What did you 
ever do to help her? She's been here on this ship for three years---you're the first officer! 
You're in charge of the duty roster and you didn't even know she was working double 
shifts! Yeah, you were doing your part!" Tom lashed out.
Chakotay's features hardened, but he refused to recoil from the truth or to make excuses 
for his failures. "You're right."  
Paris was taken aback by the first officer's honesty and lack of hostility. He dropped back 
into his chair and stared at the older man.
The commander continued, his jaw clenched so tightly it was hard to know how he could 
formulate words at all. "I did fail her. I thought that Dishon had everything in hand. I only 
made a half-hearted attempt to ask her if she was okay. I let her get away with stone-
walling me. I didn't really reach out to her. After Huldon III, I was too busy being a 
Maquis leader, planning raids. Even on my ship, I just left it all to Dishon. On the surface, 
everything looked fine. I told myself that she was just a private person. That her personal 
life was none of my business. On a small ship like that. Can you imagine? That's probably 
why she doesn't trust me enough to confide in me fully as her counselor." The first officer 
suddenly looked defeated and depressed as his eyes met the pilot's unflinchingly.
"Chakotay," Paris began, not knowing what he was going to say until the words came out 
of his mouth. "You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. If she'd ever asked 
you---"
"She didn't have to ask *you*," Chakotay replied harshly. "You volunteered. You reached 
out to her. And I tried to warn you away from her because I thought you were playing 
games. And you saved her life. You saw the warning signs I was blind to. I owe you an 
apology, Paris---Tom. I know if you confront Malista, you'll wind up paying an emotional 
price. I'm sorry. But I don't think anyone else on this ship has a better chance of getting 
her to open up."
"I got into a relationship with her as a friend. Just a friend! I didn't expect to have to deal 
with something like this! What am I supposed to do?!" His last words were almost a plea. 
Catching himself, hearing his own words and his agitated tone, he stood, stalked away, 
and leaned against the wall with his arms folded tightly across his heaving chest as he 
fought to regain his composure and emotional balance.
The doctor's gaze had been bouncing between the two men as if watching a hoverball being 
slammed back and forth. Silence fell as both Chakotay and Paris tried to get themselves 
under control and decide where to go from this point. Unpalatable truths had been spoken 
and hung in the air like an unpleasant odor. 
The first officer was the first to speak. "Paris---Tom. Sit down. Please," he added when it 
appeared the young man was going to pretend deafness, or possibly leave. "I'm sorry. 
This is not easy for any of us. I know when you befriended Malista, you had no idea what 
you were getting into. You couldn't know how desperately she needed your friendship, or 
how much she was going to come to depend on you. On us. I care about her myself and 
would help her if I could, but she's already made it clear that she won't tell me everything. 
I don't know why. Maybe I remind her too much of her father. You may be the *only* one 
who can reach her. Get her to open up and let go of whatever it is she's holding onto. But I 
promise you, you aren't in this alone. The doctor and I will help all we can in letting you 
know what to expect. We all need to work together."
"Damn," Paris muttered almost inaudibly. "That's exactly what B'Elanna said." He slunk 
over to the table and reseated himself without looking up.
Chakotay raised one eyebrow. "Really?"
Tom nodded. "She also said Malista's problems aren't my fault and I'm not responsible for 
solving her problems for her. Not all by myself, anyway."
"*I* could have told you that," the doctor stated. He didn't understand why the lieutenant 
and the commander shared a chuff of laughter at his remark, but he was pleased the 
emotional outbursts had been dealt with so they could move on to more practical 
considerations. "Now," he went on, "Shall we discuss our methodology? In therapy, it's 
sometimes referred to as 'Let's get naked together' ---"
"I'm not getting NAKED with my SISTER!" Tom refuted reflexively and adamantly.  
The doctor rolled his eyes. "Figuratively, not literally, Lieutenant. It's a metaphorical 
expression. It means you share your pain, which lets her know that she is not unique in her 
suffering. Therefore, she feels more comfortable and shares her pain. The common ground 
you find provides a basis for discussion. Many support groups are founded on this 
principle."
"I don't know if I can do that. I wouldn't know what to say," he mumbled, feeling his 
inadequacies sharply.
Chakotay interceded again. "Tom, whatever it is that you've been doing has obviously 
been working. You might have to drop some of your own defenses and let her see your 
pain before she'll share hers with you. And that's going to hurt you. I'm sorry for that. But 
I think your instincts have served you well in helping her so far. Don't start second 
guessing yourself. You'll handle each problem as it comes up. You can't plan exactly what 
you're going to say, because you don't know what she's going to say. Think of what you 
would want someone to say to you---what *you* would need to hear. Trust your 
instincts."
Paris swallowed hard and nodded, somewhat reassured by the first officer's confidence in 
him.
 The doctor cleared his throat to regain their attention once more. "Now, shall we discuss 
other methodologies?"
*************************************
"He said what?" Harry huffed with disbelief.
Tom sighed. "He said Malista feels insecure because you're not----"
"Not dominating enough?" Kim shouted. "I don't believe this! This is the 24th century! 
What's the matter with you? I don't want to---"
"Harry, he didn't mean you have to treat her like a slave!" Tom interjected.
"Then what did he mean?!" the ensign demanded.
"Maybe I chose the wrong word," Tom sighed. Harry's reaction didn't surprise him. Not 
much. Actually, not at all. "What he means is, that Malista has been feeling insecure about 
her relationship with you---you do remember what insecure feels like, don't you, Harry?" 
He couldn't resist the sly dig. 
Kim dropped dejectedly into the armchair opposite Paris.  "This is all my fault, isn't it? 
Because I got jealous and insecure because of Freddie Bristow and went nuts and----"
"That's only part of it," his friend said soothingly. "She has a lot of emotional issues to 
work out. The Doc and Chakotay and I discussed your role in helping her. What we came 
up with is that you're doing a great job as it is---just by being yourself. I told you that 
before. You're a great guy and you've been very good for Malista."
"If I'm doing so great, why is she so scared when I'm not with her? Why won't she talk to 
me? How can I make her feel more secure?" Harry's brown eyes were pleading with him. 
'As if *I* have all the answers,' Tom thought. 'What did I do to deserve this?'  
He took a deep breath and fought off a minor panic attack of his own.  "Harry, Chakotay 
thinks it might help if you---acted more proprietary with Malista. Not domineering. More 
like assertive. Just---I don't know. Possessive?"
"Possessive? I thought that's what started this whole thing! I got jealous and possessive!"
"No, Harry. Not necessarily jealous. Not like you don't trust her. Not accusatory. She's 
always far too ready to take the blame for anything and everything as it is," Tom 
complained, wishing he could make Harry understand. "Okay, make it proprietary. Act 
more proprietary."
"What's the difference?" Kim asked plaintively. 
"Proprietary means---well, more like 'You are my woman!'," Paris replied. "You know. 
With people you don't know, or aren't interested in, you behave very politely. You don't 
try to tell them what to do because you don't care what they do. It's sort of that idea. She 
needs to know you care about her. She has to see a difference in the way you treat her---
and the way you treat every other woman on the ship." 
Harry gazed back at him blankly. "What? I'm too polite? Is that what you---"
Tom sighed. "Okay. For example: the way you treat B'Elanna. You're B'Elanna's friend, 
but you don't tell her what to do, not just because you'd fear for your life, but because it 
isn't your place to interfere. But with Malista, she's given you that right---the right to offer 
an opinion or disapprove. So just do it. Encourage her to argue with you. You know, get 
her opinions and make sure she knows she doesn't always have to agree with you. Boss 
her around a little, but lovingly! And don't push too hard."
"Libby would never have---"
Paris flinched and winced with melodramatic exaggeration. 
"I know," Kim said. "I shouldn't bring up her name. But if I'd tried to treat Libby as 'my 
woman', she'd have had a fit!"
Though he'd never say a word to Harry about it, Tom had always had a sneaking suspicion 
that Harry's relationship with the other girl wouldn't have survived Harry's maturation 
process. From what Tom had read between the lines when Harry had talked about her, 
Libby sounded like a controlling wench. She was the one who'd begun making plans for 
their future together. As Kim had matured and become more self-confident, she would 
have had a harder time getting her own way. But of course, Harry didn't want to hear that. 
Certainly not now.
"Libby was a very secure young lady from what you've told me. Malista isn't. She needs 
some reassurance that you're sincere. When she's convinced you really care about her and 
she feels more self-confident, you can ease off on the proprietary stuff---if you want. For 
now, you want to make sure she knows you're committed to her. And you expect that 
commitment from her."  He studied Kim's reaction carefully. "You *are* committed to her, 
aren't you, Harry?"
"Of course, I am!" the ensign snapped exasperatedly. "I told Malista I wasn't going to walk 
away from her. I told her the night we kissed and made up that I thought I was falling in 
love with her. I wouldn't lead her on if I wasn't serious. Why would you even ask such a 
question?"
The pilot exhaled noisily, a sigh of relief. "The doctor said that maybe Malista needs more 
than---words. A tangible sign or symbol." He waited hopefully for Harry to pick up on the 
broad hint.  
Kim's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "More than words? Like what?"
Tom gave up. If Harry didn't get that rather unsubtle hint, he obviously wasn't thinking 
along the same lines. Paris didn't want to push his best friend into a commitment he wasn't 
ready to make. It would just end in disaster. 
Tom tried a smile. It was a weak attempt. "You know what they say, Harry. Actions speak 
louder than words. Just try to act like Malista is your choice. Let her know that. In public. 
In front of other people. That you care about her and will take care of her. If you make her 
feel like she's been *claimed* by you, she may begin to believe it's true. And then maybe 
she'll feel safe enough to tell you what's been bothering her."
Harry had the definite feeling he'd missed a cue somewhere. "Tom---"
The lieutenant got to his feet, faking an energy he didn't feel and hoping to effect a quick 
exit. "Harry, how would you like to try a couple of my private holoprograms. I brought 
this one----"
*************************************
Harry couldn't believe Tom had loaned him this holodeck program. It was one of his 
favorites and he usually kept them private. But then, Tom wanted Malista to be happy and 
relaxed. If this program could manage to relax the perpetual motion B'Elanna for more than 
thirty minutes, then it should work for the much more easy-going Malista.
"What did you say this is?"  Malista asked curiously. Her first impulse had been to pop the 
hood and take a look at the strange vehicle's inner workings. She'd restrained her 
engineer's curiosity as Harry seated her inside on the cushioned seat.
"It's a 1957 Chevy. It was a land vehicle. Predating flitters and skimmers," the ensign 
replied. He turned on the radio and adjusted the volume control so the music would be 
suitable for background as they talked. "The music is supposed to set the mood for a little 
romance. It's from the same time period as the vehicle, more or less. It's something called 
Doo Wop according to Tom."
"Doo Wop?" she echoed. "That sounds like the noise the drive belts of the cargo loaders 
make when they aren't aligned properly. The music is pretty, but the lyrics don't make 
sense. 'Are the stars out tonight?' The stars are always----"
"Malista," Harry interrupted. She quieted immediately and looked at him with an expectant 
smile. "Lean back. Yeah, right here. That's it. Perfect. Comfortable?"
She nodded, snuggling into the curve of his arm along the back of the seat. The music was 
soothing. Even if the lyrics didn't make much sense. The twinkling starscape above them 
was beautiful. Even if it wasn't moving.
After a few moments of absorbing the atmosphere, Kim began to use his free hand to 
stroke the silken curliness of her shoulder-length hair. Casually, he lifted her hair, angling 
the tilt of her head so he could gain access to her throat. He nuzzled his way up and down, 
finally tucking his nose into the nape of her neck. She giggled at the feel of his warm breath 
tickling the sensitive skin. "What are you doing?"
"Sniffing your shampoo. Or is it a body lotion?" The murmured reply came as lips nuzzled 
and nipped, tasting and teasing. "Mmm. What is that scent? It's so familiar. I love it. It 
makes me crazy. Sweet. So sweet."
"Vanilla," she gasped breathlessly. One hand came up to squeeze his shoulder as if she 
couldn't keep her hands to herself any longer. She let her hand travel up the curve of his 
neck and entangled her fingers in his thick hair, massaging his scalp gently. She enjoyed 
touching him.
"Oh," Harry replied, inhaling deeply. "No wonder I like it. It reminds me of the cookies 
my mom used to make. Sugar cookies. Lots of vanilla."  His lips trailed kisses up the 
column of her neck, stopping to nibble at her earlobe, flicking it with his tongue. "You 
taste like cookies too. My sweet sugar cookie. Positively edible." She could feel his mouth 
smiling against her neck. He nipped at her skin playfully. Her uniform would hide the 
marks. If she wanted them hidden.
"Cookie?" she gasped. "Well, as nicknames go, it's better than---" Her breath disappeared 
completely, lost, along with her train of thought, in the sensations he was creating with his 
lips and tongue as he found and caressed the throbbing pulse in her throat. 
"*My* Cookie," he affirmed, drawing back to study her expression with solemn brown 
eyes. "Don't let me scare you, Malista, but being with you, kissing you, makes me feel---
territorial. Possessive. That's it. I feel possessive." Well, I never claimed to be subtle or 
tactful, Harry thought. And the more direct, the less the chance for misunderstanding.
Her green eyes widened, but she didn't look alarmed. "You do?" She blinked. "What 
exactly does that mean?"
Harry smiled slowly, sensually. "Well, I won't throw you over my shoulders or drag you 
to my quarters by your hair," he drawled. Though the idea did have a certain appeal to him 
on some levels. "But I do feel a need to tell you that you are *my* Cookie---and I don't 
share."
"Harry---" She tensed apprehensively. He wasn't feeling jealous again, was he? 
"I just want you to know that you are mine," he said, stroking her cheek, then cupping it in 
one hand. "And, vice-versa."
"Vice-versa?" Her voice was barely a whisper. A smile was tugging gently at her lips as 
she melted bonelessly into his arms once more.
"I am yours," Harry clarified. He took her right hand and placed it gently against his 
cheekbone, nuzzling his face into her palm. "And I hope you don't plan on sharing either."
"Oh, Harry, you are an angel," she sighed as he swooped towards her for an impassioned 
kiss. It felt like he was setting his seal upon her. Marking her as his. It felt wonderful. Her 
hands cupped his cheeks then slid up and around his neck, drawing his body closer. Those 
were the last words spoken in the holodeck for some time.  
*************************************
On the star chart, the planet was identified as Four One Seven Three Eleven Red.  Of 
course, Megan Delaney immediately dubbed it FOSTER.  She hated numeric names for 
planets, an odd quirk in one who specialized in Stellar Cartography, but one of her pet 
peeves.
Food gathering missions were now a common duty for all the crew. Almost everyone 
volunteered to take a shift, if only for the opportunity to set foot on real soil and breathe 
real, unrecycled air. It was a refreshing chance to forget about the trials and limitations of 
life aboard a starship. And to forget about personal problems for a while.
The climate of Foster was mild and sunny. The food gathering crews were scattered around 
an area of approximately one hundred kilometers, collecting various berries, tubers, and 
plant samples. All samples collected had been subjected to rigorous tests for nutritional 
value and biochemical compatibility with the digestive systems of the various races aboard 
Voyager before the harvesting began. 
The fruit trees on this planet were extremely large. The smallest was over thirty meters high 
with branches that spread like a canopy over the lake next to it. The trees surrounded the 
lake. They evidently required copious amounts of water. The leaves were a bluish green, 
the branches sturdy and thick with rough bark. The purplish fruits were similar to a pear in 
shape, a peach in texture, but an apple in taste. 
Harry Kim studied the grove of trees as he approached from the transporter site. He and 
Mikel Hudson were carrying four sets of antigrav boots that would allow them to reach the 
tops of the trees and pick the fruit which didn't grow lower than ten meters above the 
ground. 
"These are going to be very popular with the crew---the human crewmembers, at least. 
Unless, of course, Neelix finds a way to cook them with leola root," commented the 
Security Officer. "Yuck!"
Kim shot a rueful smile at Mikel. "Don't even mention leola root or pepper sauce," he 
pleaded. "We just have to tell Neelix we prefer our fruit raw." He stopped at the base of the 
tree and looked around for the other members of his team. "Where are Malista and Tom? I 
swear this is where we told them to wait."
Mikel shrugged. He pushed a forelock of dark brown hair back away from his eyes. He 
squinted in the sunlight that seemed so much brighter than the artificial ship's lighting and 
hoped he wouldn't burn---or, even worse, freckle. He felt the light dusting of golden 
freckles across his nose and cheeks made him look far too young and unsuitably boyish for 
a Security Officer. In an effort to counter the effect of the freckles and the upturned nose, 
Mikel attempted to maintain a serious demeanor while on duty in an effort to look 
professional, if not intimidating. Intimidating was usually beyond his ability. 
A leaf drifted down and fluttered past Harry's line of sight. He tilted his head back and 
gaped up---and up---and up---at Malista Shadow!
She'd climbed the tree!  She was at least twenty-eight meters above the ground! Harry 
suddenly had trouble drawing breath. 
A cloth food sack was hanging from one shoulder, her long legs were wrapped around a 
branch about two feet in diameter, and she was using both hands to pick the fruit and place 
it in her sack. Harry cringed as she stretched out full length over empty air in order to reach 
a particularly succulent piece on another branch.
"Malista!" he shouted. "What are you *doing* up there? I told you to wait for the anti-
gravs! You're going to fall!"
She was so startled by his yell, she lost her balance and almost made his words a prophecy 
come true. She grabbed for the branch with one hand and clenched her knees more tightly. 
When she'd regained her composure, she gazed down at the ensign with a disarming smile. 
"Harry, I was doing fine until you scared me! The Greek people have a saying, 'He that 
will have the fruit, must climb the tree.' Besides, I like to climb trees. And I was careful," 
she tried to reassure him, touched by his distress on her behalf, but not convinced it was 
justified. One thing she was absolutely NOT afraid of was heights.
"How could Tom *let* you do something so dangerous!?" Harry exclaimed with an 
annoyed grimace. He had trusted his friend to take care of her while he was gone---and 
Tom let her put herself in danger! He frowned fiercely. "Where *is* Tom?" he called up to 
Shadow.
She bit her lip to stifle a grin. Silently, she raised one hand and pointed to her right---and 
up. And up. 
There was Tom. Even higher in the tree than she was---maybe forty meters above the 
ground. Unlike Malista, he wasn't picking fruit or even pretending to be doing so. He was 
stretched out, face down on a wide branch, his arms and legs carelessly dangling limply 
over either side. His food sack was folded up under his cheek and he appeared to be 
napping. 
Harry heard a snorting gasp, and turned to find Hudson unsuccessfully smothering a 
laugh. At Kim's glare, Hudson dropped to the ground and gave fervent attention to 
strapping on his antigrav boots.
"Harry?" 
Kim looked up again. It was so high it made his neck hurt to tilt his head back so far.
"This sack is getting full. When you get your boots on, could you bring up a couple of 
others? I think---"
"I think you should come down from there. Slowly," Harry said, straining *not* to make it 
sound like an order. He knew if it did, she would obey him, and he didn't want to take that 
heavy-handed an approach. That just wasn't him and it wasn't the role he wanted to fulfill 
in her life.
"But, Harry, I can still reach a couple of dozen---" Malista began.
"Malista, please? You're making me very nervous," the ensign announced edgily.
She hesitated for a moment as if torn, then argued tentatively. "Harry, this isn't even as 
high as the trapeze or high wire! And I'm holding on. I'm not being careless," she insisted 
apologetically. Unfortunately, she was trying to use logic and rational argument on a man 
who was beyond it at the moment.
His jaw tightened. "When we work out on the holodeck, the safeties would catch you if 
you fell. What if you fall from up there?"
"You mean you wouldn't catch me?" Shadow teased mischievously, studying his reaction 
carefully. 
"Malista!" 
"Aw, Harry, don't get your knickers in a knot!" Tom called down drowsily. "She's 
perfectly safe. As long as she holds on. We didn't feel like waiting for you to get back with 
the antigravs. Besides, tree climbing is a human tradition. Especially if there's something in 
the tree to eat that makes it worthwhile. Didn't you ever climb trees as a kid?" He yawned 
mightily as he blinked sleepily down at his best friend.
Kim grudgingly let it go for the moment and sat down to don his own boots. He would 
have a few choice words to say to Tom Paris later---in private! It was all very well for Tom 
to say Malista needed to be encouraged to be more daring and open, but some things were 
just reckless. Paris should have more sense. And if anything happened to Malista Shadow-
--
Hudson, anti-grav boots in place, got to his feet, grabbed a couple of extra sacks and hit 
the controls. He floated to eye level with Malista, carefully dodging tree branches on his 
way up. He hovered there for a moment, surveying his surroundings. He noticed that 
Shadow looked increasingly uncomfortable as he drew closer. She tensed, almost as if she 
expected him to say or do something hostile. 
The ensign wouldn't have claimed to be a friend of Shadow's, but he had become a 
friendly acquaintance when she'd been working third shift in the Security Office. More 
friendly on his part than hers, but still.... Her reaction was a little out of line. He made a 
mental note to ask Ethan Simms what was up. His partner usually knew what was going 
on. People tended to talk to him easily.
Hudson's dark brown eyes met Malista's with a hint of gentle concern. "He's just worried 
about you. Don't get mad at him if he doesn't express it well." His was the voice of 
experience objectively offering amicable advice.
She smiled at him tentatively and exchanged her full sack for one of his empty ones.  
"Thanks. I know."
Hudson floated down and gently deposited the fruit on the ground beneath the tree, then 
levitated up among the branches and began to fill his own sack. He discreetly kept his back 
turned toward Malista as Kim drifted up to join her, anticipating a showdown of some kind 
between the two.
As soon as their eyes were on a level, Kim opened his mouth to reprimand her for 
carelessness. Malista didn't want to argue with Harry. With unaccustomed boldness born 
of a buoyant mood, she grabbed his collar to pull him close and captured his mouth in a 
lingering kiss, nibbling on his full lower lip as the ensign cooperated fully and with 
enthusiasm. He was enjoying the fact that she was the one initiating the display of 
affection. It was the first time in a long time that she'd done so. 
She let go of his collar and ran her fingers up his neck to card them through his thick black 
hair. She kissed him just behind the ear before returning her attention to his mouth. 
"Hmmmm. This is nice. Oh, Harry, you have the most wonderful lips---"
"What have I told you about PDA's, Sis?" Tom complained dramatically. He snapped up to 
a sitting position with a careless grace that made Kim cringe for his friend's safety. 
The pilot wasn't even using his hands to hold on! Kim hoped that Paris was aware of the 
precariousness of his perch. He almost wished Torres was here. Tom might listen to her if 
she urged him to be more careful. Maybe. More likely he'd have the Chief Engineer 
climbing trees as well. 
"It wouldn't *be* a Public Display of Affection if *you* had the sense and good manners 
to keep your eyes closed," Malista remarked scornfully as she drew back and studied 
Harry's face fondly, searching for any hint that he was truly upset with her.   "No one else 
can see us up here." She ran the tip of her index finger along Harry's lower lip playfully. 
Tom yawned robustly once more, this time stretching his arms high over his head then 
rolling his shoulders. "Details, details. What about Mikel? He's a Security Officer. At any 
given moment, he could snap on the restraints and take you both into custody!"
"Mikel is *not* looking, sir!" Hudson called over his shoulder, not bothering to hide his 
grin since no one could see his face. "I see nothing! Absolutely nothing!"
"Good judgment, Ensign! Keep up the good work!" Paris retorted pompously. He 
stretched up a lazy hand, snagged a piece of fruit, and dropped it into his bag. "That's 
one," he announced smugly.
"Thank you so much, Lieutenant," Mikel replied with mock gratitude. "It's always my goal 
to perform any and every assignment to the best of my ability and satisfy my superior 
officers---and even the not so superior ones!" He knew the helmsman well enough to know 
he wouldn't take offense at the wisecrack. He was right. Tom snickered his appreciation of 
the witticism, but didn't reply to it.
Harry Kim hovered on a level with Malista, fascinated by her impish smile as she listened 
to the exchange. She didn't seem upset that Harry had reprimanded her for climbing the 
tree. In fact, it seemed to please her. She also appeared to enjoy the mock arguing with 
both Tom and Harry. She darted a quick glance at Harry to gauge his reaction, as if she 
wanted to find out if he was seriously angry with her defiance of his request for her to 
climb down. 
He had the feeling that if he frowned at all, she would immediately give in and let him take 
her to the ground to don her anti-grav boots. But he also had the feeling it would be like 
caging a wild bird just as it was about to take flight. He took it as a good sign that she 
hadn't immediately yielded to his opinion. Maybe she was beginning to trust in him enough 
to disagree with him.
Of course, she'd had Tom's permission to climb, so maybe she was just trying to make 
them both happy. Now there was an idea that seemed doomed to failure! Harry gave her a 
reluctant grin, snatched another kiss, and set to work. Sometimes a guy couldn't win. And 
when he couldn't, it was smarter to give in. For the time being. Besides, Malista was more 
relaxed than she'd been in days and seemed to be having fun.
He didn't want to think about it right now. He wasn't going to risk upsetting her again. He 
still hadn't figured out for sure what had upset her the last time. Nevertheless, he made 
sure he stayed close enough to grab her if she lost her balance.
"Two," said Tom. Another piece of fruit plopped into his sack. He yawned again.  
"Don't strain yourself, Paris," Kim taunted.  His friend sniffed and ignored him. Malista 
chuckled under her breath, eyes darting from one man to the other as she waited for the 
next volley.
************************
Mikel Hudson didn't have to go looking for Ethan Simms to ask him about Malista 
Shadow. Ethan came looking for Mikel. And found him sitting at the desk in his quarters 
downloading a novel from the ship's database. 
After he'd finished his temporary assignment as a fruit picker, Hudson had been invited to 
join Paris, Kim, and Shadow for an impromptu picnic in the shade of the fruit trees beside 
the lake. He'd spent time socially with Paris and Kim before so he was familiar with their 
humor and easy manner, but he'd been caught offguard by the change in Malista Shadow. 
When he'd known her in Security during their duty shifts, he would have described her as 
cold, distant, and professional. Behind her back, she'd often been referred to as The Ice 
Princess. She didn't make small talk. In fact, he could hardly remember hearing her say 
more than two unnecessary words. 
After Ethan Simms had befriended her, as much as she'd let him, the coldness had eased 
up a little. At least to the point where she appeared to acknowledge Hudson's right to exist 
on the same ship by giving him a civil smile whenever she saw him. But usually only if she 
saw him with Simms. He had concluded that she didn't want or need friends so he'd been 
polite, but made no overtures to deepen the relationship or get to know her better. 
Seeing her with Paris and Kim, had been a revelation. She fit right into their
comfortable companionship, her sense of humor surging to the forefront as she used her 
agile wits to defend herself and Harry Kim from Paris' playful barbs. And when Harry 
Kim had evidently experienced a slip of the tongue and called her 'Cookie', she'd giggled! 
She'd actually giggled. And then giggled again when Kim refused to explain the reference 
to Paris who'd pouted for at least five minutes, claiming the pair were ganging up on him 
and spouting a playful diatribe on the subject of disloyal sisters and traitorous best friends.
Until that precise moment, Hudson had never really noticed that The Ice Princess was 
remarkably pretty. Beautiful, in fact---when she forgot herself and that others were 
watching her. And she certainly knew her way around a replicator! The lunch had been 
plentiful and astoundingly tasty. Paris had frequently bragged on her cooking skills to 
anyone who would listen. It was wonderful to find out from first hand experience that he 
hadn't exaggerated.
Commander Chakotay had wandered by and was promptly challenged to a tree climbing 
contest by Tom Paris. When Paris revealed that he had no intention of climbing himself, 
that he wanted Shadow to act as his proxy and race Chakotay up the tree, Ensign Kim 
objected loudly. The contest was called off forthwith.
Malista protested that she thought she could win. Harry Kim frowned his disapproval---
and that immediately settled the issue as far as she was concerned.  It also provided Paris 
with fodder for facetiously badgering Shadow about her browbeaten status and ribbing 
Kim about his secretly domineering nature. Shadow entered into the argument in defense of 
Kim. Paris eventually retired from the lists, smiling smugly at both of them. Hudson had a 
feeling there was a subtext to that whole topic of conversation, but he didn't have the key to 
decode it so he'd decided not to worry about it.
Chakotay had departed to check on the other food gathering teams, shaking his head over 
the pilot's scandalous suggestions for sporting events other than tree climbing that could be 
incorporated into the harvesting activities. The berry toss, the tuber dive, the tree vault, a 
seed expectoration contest....they all sounded messy and a few of them rather dangerous to 
Ensign Kim, although Shadow encouraged Paris to reveal his wildest flights of fancy and 
occasionally topped them with one of her own.
Hudson had sporadically entered into the repartee, but mostly he sat back and enjoyed 
listening to the other three. Eventually, the conversation had turned to literature, not 
surprisingly considering it was an avid avocation for both Paris and Shadow. They were  
remarkably well read and the two of them, joined by Kim had dived into a detailed 
discussion---or debate---about a story called "A Tale of Two Cities" by someone named 
Dickens and the concept of self-sacrifice as opposed to enlightened self-interest and the 
greater good.  
Hudson had found himself pondering which point of view he would take and their 
conversation about the novel had inspired Mikel to read it. That was what he was 
downloading when his partner walked into his quarters.
"Hi, Ethe, what's up?"
His friend looked faintly anxious, which was unusual enough to capture Hudson's full 
attention. Simms hadn't worn that expression since he'd finally confessed to writing 
anonymous love letters to Janine Lamont.
Mikel paused the computer and sat up straight. "What's the matter?"
"Uh, Mik, I sort of have this problem..."
"Sit down. Tell me about it." 
Simms sat---but not still. He moved restlessly, seeming at a loss for words. 
"What's the matter, Ethe?" Hudson leaned toward his friend, trying to read his expression.
"I'm trying to think how to say it."
Hudson pushed the annoying curl of brown hair off his forehead with a sigh of 
exasperation. "Just say it. Always works for me."
Simms sighed. "It's not my story to tell. Someone told me about a problem, a friend of 
mine is having and I'm not sure how much I'm supposed to tell anyone else. It's sort of a 
privacy issue." He raked his fingers through his own auburn curls. "How do I decide how 
much to tell?" 
"I assume you want to tell me?" 
 His friend nodded.
"Then tell me anything. I can keep a secret. Discretion is my middle name. Mikel Discretion 
Hudson. Who's got a problem?"
"Malista Shadow." 
Hudson raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Now there's a coincidence, Ethe. I was 
thinking about her today and wondering what's going on with her. I planned to ask you 
about it."
"The food gathering parties?"
"Yeah. I was working in the same group with her, Kim, and Paris. We had a picnic lunch 
together afterwards."
Simms brow puckered. "Did she say anything?"
"Anything like what? About what?" Hudson queried. "After she got used to my being 
there, she seemed fine. But there was something---something I couldn't quite put my finger 
on. Something lurking in the back of her eyes."
Simms nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. A haunted look. That's how I felt when 
we were working Gamma shift and I ran into her in the shuttlebay. Except now I know 
why she was so---antsy. Someone's been harassing her."
"Harassing her? How?" Hudson was mildly surprised. It wasn't a common problem on 
starships, but then Voyager wasn't exactly the usual starship either. "We are talking about 
sexual harassment here, right? You don't mean Kim---"
"No!" his friend denied hastily. "Somebody has been making suggestive remarks, sending 
her messages on her terminal, maybe even getting physical. Physically threatening."
"Has she reported it?" 
"No."
"Why not?" Hudson demanded.
"I'm not sure. Diane wasn't sure who was doing it. Gerron got Malista to tell him about the 
computer messages, but she didn't let him see them. She's just been deleting them as they 
came in. Diane is sure it's Starfleet personnel that are picking on her. The Maquis are upset 
about it. They've been keeping an eye on Malista, but they haven't been able to pinpoint the 
source of the trouble." Simms seemed seriously disturbed at the idea. "Gerron told Diane 
that Malista gets real  jumpy around the Starfleet men. Almost all of them."
Hudson nodded. "I noticed that. When I approached her today, she acted like I was going 
to hit her---or insult her."	
"Maybe because someone else has?"
"But not me! And not *all* the Starfleet guys! Why would she expect it from the 
'Fleeters?" Mikel asked somewhat indignantly.
"Maybe because some of them have done something? Or because she's Maquis?" Ethan 
conjectured. At Hudson's questioning look, he continued. "She may think no one would 
take her claim of harassment seriously. In the last few weeks, there have been some stories 
floating around---you know, about the Maquis women. Their sexual appetites." Ethan 
flushed to the roots of his dark auburn hair.
Hudson suppressed a smile. "There are always those kinds of stories. But do you mean 
that someone has been talking about Malista specifically? I don't believe it could be true. 
She doesn't have a roving eye. And if she's supposed to be some kind of sex fiend, what 
about the last three years? Or did whoever started this talk claim to have an explanation for 
why she just turned into one?"
If anything, the younger man's flush deepened. "I heard some of the talk, Mik. It's really 
nasty. There's a malicious edge to it---not like the usual idle talk. They say she and Dishon 
were---you know. That he kept her fully occupied. Dominated her. And when he died---
she went looking for a new owner. Someone who could advance her career. Somebody 
has been spreading the story that Malista went after Tom Paris to try to get on  the captain's 
good side. And when that didn't work because of Torres, she made a play for Harry Kim. 
That she'd do anything to get in good with the Senior Officers."
"Come on! Wouldn't she go after Chakotay instead of Paris? He's the top male officer. 
Naw. I don't buy it. I don't think she has that much guile or ambition." Hudson snorted. 
"I didn't say I believed it," Simms protested. "I said that's what someone has been feeding 
the rumor mill."
"Somebody with a grudge against Malista?" Hudson said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 
"George Natwick?" Ethan guessed, then answered his own question. "Naw, I don't think 
so. It's not George's style. If he was going to bother to insult you, he'd do it to your face, 
not start rumors behind your back."	
"Someone using Malista to hurt someone else?" Hudson hypothesized.
"Like Harry Kim?"
"Or, more likely, Tom Paris. There are more people who still don't like him. The morons. 
Some people would require brain surgery to change their minds about anything." Hudson 
turned back to his computer terminal and canceled the download. "Let's see if we can 
narrow down our field of suspects. You said you suspected something was going on when 
we were working Gamma shift and you saw her in the shuttlebay. Now, who was around 
during Gamma shift the week Shadow began looking frazzled?"  
A list of names of those on duty during that time period began to scroll down the screen. 
Mikel hit the pause button and pointed to a particular name. "Hmm. I spy---something 
suspicious. He and Dishon had a bit of a problem as I recall. Didn't they both wind up with 
a loss of privileges and doing extra duty? What do you think, Ethan?" 
"Do we need to tell Lieutenant Tuvok about this, Mik?"
Hudson shook his head. "Right now, we only have a theory. Let's get some proof---or at 
least a few more facts to go on. Someone other than Malista is bound to know something---
facts beyond the rumors. So keep your ears open. Not that I need to tell you that. Why 
does everyone tell you everything?"
"Because I listen?" Ethan speculated modestly.
"Naw," Hudson drawled. "It's that boyish charm---or those kelly green eyes. You look 
trustworthy." 
Ethan punched his friend's shoulder. "Aw, c'mon!"
************************
Torres did not understand why Voyager's systems seemed to be involved in a conspiracy 
to complicate her scheduling of Engineering duties. She tried to explain her conspiracy 
theory to Tom Paris during their shared lunch break. 
His first response was that if she insisted on anthropomorphizing the ship, as he himself 
was known to do, then this display of temperament on Voyager's part provided conclusive 
and positive proof of his theory that the ship was, in fact, feminine in gender and 
disposition. 
After he'd finished whining about the bruise beginning to form on his upper arm, he'd 
apologized and listened more respectfully as she told her tale of woe. He even sympathized 
with her and offered her a back rub, but she wisely suspected him of ulterior motives and 
turned him down---for the time being. Then she returned to duty.
The power coupling problem had been diagnosed and corrected---over a period of weeks---
which had thrown a hydrospanner into the scheduling for all other repair and maintenance 
priorities. No sooner had that crisis been resolved than the environmental control systems 
in various sections of the ship decided to randomly develop glitches. The hydroponics bay 
wasn't humid enough. The messhall was too hot. Now the Science labs were reporting 
fluctuating temperatures that interfered with accurate results in the experiments being 
conducted there. 
Torres ran her eye down the list of repair requests and summoned her repair crews. Malista 
Shadow was assigned to the Biology Department. Torres thought she caught a flash of 
discomfort when she made the assignment so she kept Malista behind when she dismissed 
the other crews. "Malista, is something wrong?" 
Her stoic mask firmly in place, Shadow looked B'Elanna right in the face and lied through 
clenched teeth. "No, ma'am."
Torres read the prevarication in the green eyes, but didn't know what she should do about 
it. "Dismissed."	
 She couldn't help the younger woman if she wouldn't ask for help. Or could she? As 
Malista walked away, B'Elanna flagged down Crewman Gerron. He came to her side, his 
own eyes following Shadow as she left the Engineering section.
B'Elanna had noticed that Gerron Tem had been escorting or trailing after Malista Shadow 
for days. She would have thought it was just a crush, but she had somehow gotten the 
impression that Gerron was interested in Megan Delaney. So why was he following 
Malista? And watching her all the time?  Though no one had told her anything outright, 
Torres was forming her own theories. "Gerron, I want you to go check out the repair work 
done on the Biology Department's ecosystem sphere."
The young Bajoran squinted at her, unsure if he should speak up or not. "Wasn't that work 
done last week?"
"Yes. But there's no harm in checking it out again," Torres said blandly. "Preventive 
maintenance."
Gerron studied the half Klingon skeptically. She wasn't normally known for wasting time-
--or a pair of willing hands without a very good reason. 
"Malista will be working there. She may need your help with the environmental controls," 
the lieutenant added. Her face remained determinedly neutral.
Gerron nodded. Now he understood. As the Chief Engineer and a supervising Starfleet 
Officer, Torres might not have been informed about what the Maquis were doing to protect 
Malista or why it was necessary, but somehow she had figured out that something was 
going on. And she didn't object to his assumption of unofficial and self-appointed 
bodyguard duties. He went to get his tool kit.
************************
Lieutenant Trent Salaka, the Biology Department Supervisor, was leaving just as Malista 
arrived. "Hello," he said, a bright smile of welcome warming his hazel eyes. "Here to take 
care of our little problem?" 
She hesitantly returned his smile. Trent had been one of the men she'd dated during the 
week in which she'd been trying to regain Harry's attention and make him jealous. He'd 
taken her to a play as a favor to Jenny Delaney. 
He stood back to let her pass, saying as he did so, "Since we couldn't get anything much 
done in this icebox, most of my people are taking a late lunch break. Or early dinner break. 
Whatever. Give me a call if I can help with anything."  
"Thanks," she said, moving past him and into the lab. The door slid closed behind her. It 
was very cool. Much too cool for humans to feel comfortable working there in regulation 
uniforms. She started for the environmental controls on the opposite wall. As she reached 
up to swing the access panel open, she heard a slight sound to her right and glanced in that 
direction. 
Ensign Laro Longoria was standing behind the computer console, running simulation 
models on the screen. He smirked as his eyes roved over Shadow's body, which was well-
defined by her form-fitting uniform as she stretched her hands above her head to reach the 
panel latch.
She caught her breath, decided to ignore him, and sincerely hoped he would return the 
favor. She returned her attention to her assignment. The panel swung open and she looked 
over the controls and circuitry, trying to isolate the problem. It could be the thermostat itself 
or the.....
She felt a hand caress her right buttock and whirled to face him. She hadn't heard his 
approach. Her hand came up to shove him away. He caught her wrist and held it between 
them. 
"Still playing games, chica?" Longoria purred. He brought his other hand up toward her 
face. She ducked back away from him. As she did so, the shoulder of her uniform caught 
on the corner of the open panel door. Her jerking movement caused the material to tear, 
leaving a three inch gap and a long, deep gouge in the top of her shoulder. She hardly felt 
the pain. She was focusing on breathing, wondering what she should do next. 
When George Natwick had confronted her like this, it had been in a public corridor. Any 
shout for assistance would have been heard and responded to promptly. In this 
soundproofed lab, no one would hear her shout---unless she hit her commbadge and called 
for Security. Was she scared enough to justify that reaction? What would everyone say? 
What would Harry think? Was Longoria just testing her the way George had? Surely he 
wouldn't really...
Her eyes dropped to the floor. "Leave me alone." Her words were barely audible. It was all 
she could think of to say. She couldn't move away. She was pinned between the bulkhead 
and his body, trapped by the lab tables on either side of them. 
"What if I don't want to? What are you going to do? Tell your boyfriend? It's against 
regulations to use your rank for personal reasons. Come on, Malista! I've heard stories 
about you Maquis women. Your savage sex lives. A woman who looks like you couldn't 
possibly be an innocent. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I like games. 
Make my dreams come true. Didn't you make Dishon a happy man for three years? He was 
so protective of you. He wouldn't let me near you. No one was allowed to touch. Or even 
look. He was very jealous, wasn't he? Too bad about poor Niko. But no matter how good 
he was, I bet I could teach you a few things. Or you could teach me!"
She tried to pull her arm away. His grasp tightened painfully. His eyes played over her face 
and he leaned toward her. She could feel his breath on her skin.
She turned her face away, straining to get away from him. "Don't!"  
"Come on. You know you'll like it. I've heard stories about you. Niko didn't want to 
share. I'm more generous. I don't mind sharing. Kim doesn't have to know if you want to 
keep it a secret." He slid his hand from her hip to her waist and tried to pull her closer. Her 
free hand shoved against his shoulder. That didn't work. She was frantically trying to 
remember what she'd learned about fighting in close quarters in her self-defense class. 
How serious was he? How scared was she? She wondered if she could raise her leg 
enough to reach her boot and get to the....
The hiss of the opening door froze both of them in place. Longoria's eyes guiltily darted 
toward the entrance. It was Gerron Tem. 
"Let her go." His low voice was a dangerous snarl. The Bajoran cub looked surprisingly 
dangerous, almost feral.
With a casual air of contempt for both of them, Longoria stepped back wearing a nasty 
smile. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender as he returned to his computer 
console. "Sorry. Didn't mean to trespass. I didn't know you had a prior claim, too."
Gerron's eyes, mere slits, flew to the laceration on Malista's shoulder, took in the torn 
uniform, and the fact that---though her icy mask of control was locked firmly in place---
small tremors racked her body from head to toe. He moved protectively between Longoria 
and Shadow, shielding her from even having to look at the other man.  "Do you want to go 
to Sickbay and have that taken care of?" he queried in a low voice, concerned by her pallor.
"No, let's finish this first." Her voice was shaky, eyes fixed on the floor. 
"Well, if you don't need me," Longoria sneered, "I think I'll go get a snack. It's 
impossible to think in this cold anyway. Things seem kind of---frigid to me." With that 
parting shot, he strode out of the lab.  
Gerron made a move to go after the man, but Malista caught his arm. "Don't. He's not 
worth it."
"Malista, you have to report this---"
"I can't."
"Why not?" the Bajoran demanded.
"I don't want Harry or Tom to know about this," she said, looking through her toolbox for 
a tool she couldn't seem to find.
"Why not?" he repeated.
"B-Because...because I d-d-don't," she said finally. "Oh, d-damn." Her shaking hand 
went to her forehead. "What am I looking for?" she asked him tremulously, her eyes 
pleading with him for understanding and agreement.
He pulled a stool over and pushed her down onto it. "I'll take care of this. Sit there and 
calm down."  
As he worked on the controls, she tried to decide what she should do now. She didn't see 
Longoria that often. Surely, she could avoid him. She would just make sure never to be 
alone with him. This wasn't a big problem. Not really. Gerron wouldn't tell. Not if she 
asked him not to. "Gerron?"
"Yes?" He closed the panel. It had been the sensor in the thermostat that was causing the 
problem. It had only taken a moment to replace it. The temperature was already improving. 
It was getting warmer. He looked at her. 
"I don't want anyone to know about this. I'm going to handle this myself."
"How?"
"I don't know. I---I'll stay away from him. I've managed to before. I haven't seen him for 
a week at least."
"This is a small ship. You can't avoid him forever. What's his problem anyway?"
She smiled weakly. "I think he's heard too many stories about oversexed Maquis women 
and their erotic exploits."
The Bajoran shook his head. "I wish I knew how those stories got started. If we spent as 
much time---" He paused to censor himself. "Let's just say we wouldn't have had time for 
fighting if all those stories were true."
"Yeah." Her mind was far away from him at the moment.
"Malista? Next stop, Sickbay." He cupped her elbow in his palm and helped her to her feet. 
"Oh, I don't think---"
"It could get infected---"
"No! The Doctor would be upset and report---"
Gerron almost growled in frustration. "You have to change your uniform. Somebody will 
notice that." He pointed to the ragged, blood-soaked tear. He was afraid to push her too 
hard. She was so tense now, she seemed brittle. As if the careless flick of a finger could 
shatter her into tiny shards. He'd seen women with that look in the Bajoran refugee camps. 
Women who'd been victims of Cardassian brutality. He'd hoped never to see it again.
Her eyes dropped to her shoulder. She'd forgotten. "Then I'll go to my quarters. Now if I 
just had a dermal regenerator---?" She smiled at him hopefully.
He scowled at her. "I suppose I could swipe one from the emergency kit in the corridor 
near the cargo bay. Well, come on then." It was the best he could do for now.
"And Gerron?"
"Yes?"
"Promise me you won't tell Tom or Harry---or B'Elanna?" she added hastily.
He had no problem with that request. "I promise I won't tell Paris, Kim, or Torres," he 
vowed solemnly. Of course, he had carefully chosen his words. He hadn't promised not to 
tell *anyone*. "I'll meet you at your quarters with the regenerator."
************************
Malista underestimated the number of watching eyes. Someone had seen the pair leaving 
the deserted lab, and reported it to a friend. Within twenty minutes of their departure from 
the Biology Lab, yet another rumor began winging its way through the ship. 
It took longer for Shadow to heal herself than she'd estimated. The gash was quickly 
erased by the dermal regenerator. She had a spare uniform in her closet. It should have 
taken no more than five minutes. 
But when she'd changed her uniform, she'd become aware of the large, perfectly defined, 
finger-shaped bruises forming on her forearm. Healing those had required a little more time 
and care. One glimpse of those and Harry wouldn't accept silence as an answer. The extra 
time required led to even more speculation.
Another tattletale soon spread a report of seeing Gerron and Malista leaving her quarters, 
some *thirty minutes* after Gerron had been seen entering them. Thirty minutes was not 
explainable with an innocent excuse that anyone could come up with readily. As the rumors 
made the rounds, they grew and became so distorted as to be unrecognizable, as rumors 
often do.
The Maquis version of the tale was that Gerron had assisted Malista in fighting off a 
number of Starfleet crewmen who had been attempting to sexually assault her. The 
evidence? The torn uniform, the cut on her shoulder, and her distressed and disheveled 
appearance. There was no report filed because, after all, she was a Maquis. The Maquis 
still had a tendency to want to handle their problems outside of the usual channels. Or 
possibly she didn't want to make waves that would affect her boyfriend's career as a 
'Fleeter? Or perhaps she didn't want Harry Kim to find out because he would never believe 
her side of the story and she didn't want to risk losing him?
The Starfleet crew members came up with a different version. With the same evidence 
available, they speculated that Gerron had sexually assaulted Malista Shadow and that she 
hadn't reported it because he was a fellow Maquis or because he had threatened her. Or she 
feared Harry Kim, Tom Paris, or both would go after Gerron. 
Those who liked Kim and disliked Shadow also held forth a theory that it wasn't assault at 
all. That Malista had been cheating on Kim with Gerron and they'd gotten a little carried 
away. This story was slightly more widely accepted since there was additional evidence. 
Gerron and Malista were seen leaving her quarters after thirty minutes---if not more---
alone. During Harry Kim's duty shift. 
The slight level of tension between the two factions increased to a more uncomfortable level 
and threatened to erupt into something more than hard feelings and suspicion.
*************************
George Natwick was sitting alone with his morning coffee when Malista Shadow and 
Gerron Tem approached his table. With a welcoming smile, the ensign stood and pulled out 
a chair for her. As she seated herself, the Bajoran excused himself and went to sit with his 
Maquis friends. The boy's behavior reminded Natwick rather forcefully of a bodyguard 
dropping off his client in a safe zone.
"Good morning," Malista whispered. Her impassive mask was in place, but he sensed she 
wasn't sure of her reception.
"Malista. How are you?" A casual approach seemed best. 
"Fine. I'm fine. And you?" Her tone was of polite interest.
Natwick had never been one for feigning polite interest, but he recognized it when he heard 
it. She was stalling as she tried to think how to phrase her request.  "Malista, can I help 
you with something?"  Blunt. Too blunt. She reacted with a slight start, almost a flinch. He 
was afraid she was going to retreat without saying anything more. He could all but see her 
mental gymnastics as she considered her options.
"Oh." She bit her lip, caught herself, and tugged her lip free of her teeth with one hand. 
His gaze followed her hand. "Harry doesn't like it when I do that," she explained 
breathlessly. "Habits are hard to break. I keep forgetting."
The big man fought to keep any hint of bitterness from showing in his smile at the mention 
of Kim's name and his role in Malista's life. "Malista, why did you want to talk to me?" He 
softened his tone, trying to sound as inviting and helpful as possible. 
She took a deep breath and plunged right in. "You remember I was in your self-defense 
class?" He nodded encouragingly. "The other day---" She cleared her throat. "Well, I was 
wondering---"
"Get to the point. I can't help you if you don't ask," he stated gruffly, his slight amount of 
patience exhausted. 
His bluntness was almost comforting. At least George was behaving predictably in 
character. She smiled ruefully. "I have a problem," she admitted. "The other day, I---
needed to act---I felt threatened, but I just froze. And I thought when I took the class that it 
would help me to know what to do---"
"It will only help you if you practice. You have to practice until it becomes instinctive. Tell 
me what happened." The muscles in his jaw were painfully tight as he strove to keep his 
expression impassive and his voice level to avoid frightening her back into her shell. Those 
sitting in the mess hall weren't close enough to overhear and couldn't read the expressions 
on either face, though they were watching closely. 
More grist for the gossip mill. Did Kim know Shadow was meeting Natwick for breakfast?
She was choosing her words carefully. "Someone made me feel---threatened. And I froze."
"You want to tell me who?"  he asked. She shook her head. "Damn. There goes my 
exercise for the day." He deliberately flexed one bulging bicep, then rippled his powerful 
pectoral muscles. It was an impressive sight. A few of the watchers quickly turned their 
attention back to their meals, not wanting to attract his notice.
His actions startled a smile out of her as she caught his meaning, but she shook her head 
reprovingly. "George, I want to handle this myself. But why didn't I do something? If I 
was scared? I know the moves. You know I do." Her breakfast forgotten, her hands 
fluttered nervously.
In an effort to calm her, Natwick reached across the table and clasped one slender hand 
firmly in his own big paw. "Malista, if you're thinking too much, you won't react. Did you 
second guess yourself? What exactly did he---"
"You don't need to know that." No room for argument with that tone.
'Damn!' he thought. 'She's stubborn.'   He nodded acceptance. "Up close?"
She nodded. "Very close." She swallowed hard as she remembered how trapped she'd felt 
when cornered by Longoria.
"Did you raise your knee?" Natwick asked.
"You mean---? No." She blushed at the thought. "I told you I just froze. I almost used ---I 
almost drew a weapon."
Though not often or easily surprised, this simple statement floored the big ensign.  He let 
go of her hand and leaned back in his chair. Once the rumors had begun flying, he'd 
expected something to happen. But not this. "A weapon? Was the threat severe enough to 
justify using deadly force?"
She looked at him blankly. "I don't know. How can you tell?"
Natwick clenched and unclenched his fists as he tried to come up with a comprehensive 
answer that would cover all the bases, yet not lead to major trouble for the guileless young 
woman. "Was your life in danger? Or someone else's life? That would justify using deadly 
force. But normally, in a threatening situation, things don't escalate from verbal to deadly 
without some warning in between."
She seemed puzzled, but desperate to understand. "So you mean I should warn him before-
--"
"What I mean is, deadly force---using a weapon is a last resort, unless it's a phaser set on 
stun?" She shook her head. He didn't ask what weapon. He didn't want to know. If she 
told him, his sense of duty as a Security Officer would dictate that he report the incident to 
Lt. Tuvok.  
So instead he tried to think of some guidelines that would ensure her safety without leading 
her into overreaction. "Malista, confrontations usually grow in intensity. You should try to 
deal with the problem before it reaches critical mass. You say this guy---whoever he was---
made you feel threatened?"
"Yes. He, uh, crowded me, trapped me," she stammered.
"Did he hurt you?" 
She flinched from the intensity of his low voice. She wasn't afraid of George, but she 
could easily see why others would be. "No. But what if he'd done more than just---what if 
he'd---"
"Did he get physical? Grab you? Hit you?" Natwick's breathing was unsteady, as was his 
control on his temper. He hated to think of anyone threatening her. Hurting her. It made 
him want to pound something---or someone. 
"No. Well, he grabbed me." Unthinkingly, she rubbed her wrist as she recalled the incident 
as if reliving the experience. "I was trapped. Sort of. I couldn't get away from him. We 
were---there was no one else there. I couldn't decide what to do. I told him to leave me 
alone. But he wouldn't. The next thing I thought of was the weapon. I was trying to think 
if I could reach it---"
"Hold it. You skipped a couple of steps there," Natwick interrupted, adopting his self-
defense instructor's tone. "First of all, you warn him verbally. Strongly. If that doesn't 
work, you try mild physical resistance. Push him away. If that doesn't work, bring up 
your knee. It's an old trick, but it works. Or do whatever it takes to get away from him. 
Then run like hell. If you can't do any of that, well, that's the time to go for a weapon. But 
you have to be able to justify your use of force. That there was no other option." 
Her eyes locked on his, she nodded as if memorizing his statements for future reference.
The ensign wasn't sure he wanted to know, but had to ask. "So if you froze, how did you 
get out of the situation?" 
"Someone else came in and he backed off."  Unthinkingly her eyes darted toward Gerron.  
Natwick immediately realized the truth behind some of the rumors he'd been hearing. So 
Gerron was the white knight in this scenario. How unexpected. How unlikely.
How unfortunate.
Natwick would have traded every replicator ration at his disposal to have been the one on 
the scene to rescue Malista. For several different reasons. But his feelings weren't the issue 
here. This wasn't solving her problem. He dragged his attention back to the scared young 
lady before him. 
"Malista, we've talked about this before. Controlled fear can be an asset in a fighting 
situation. It makes you cautious, keeps you safe, and motivates you. Controlling it is the 
key. When this person made you feel threatened, what exactly did you do? Other than think 
about the weapon. Did you tell him to back off?"
"N-n-no," she stuttered. "N-n-n-not exactly. I said 'Leave me alone'."
George snorted impatiently. "In that mousy tone of voice? And you expected him to believe 
you were serious?"
Her brow creased in an indignant frown. "I didn't know what else to say. I thought anyone 
would understand 'Leave me alone' as a negative response."
Natwick shook his head. "He probably thought you were being coy. Remember when I 
tried to throw a scare into you? To test you? As I recall you said something like 'Back off. 
Leave me alone.' And you said it firmly. Then you told me that if I didn't back off, I might 
be able to take you down---but you'd hurt me. That it would cost me to come after you. 
And Malista, *I* believed you." His lips twitched in an admiring and fondly reminiscent 
smile. "And I'm not easy to fool."  
"That was different," she mumbled.
"Why? What was different? I made you feel threatened, didn't I?"
"Yes, but I was angry. I was furious at the way you'd tried to humiliate Harry and I---" 
She paused, wonderingly. "And I didn't lose control of my temper."
He grinned at her proudly. "No, you didn't. You used your anger and channeled it to help 
you handle your fear. Fear can do that for you. You can let it make you weak and 
ineffective, or you can use it to give you the strength to act to deal with the fear. You have 
to take control of your emotions. You turn the fear into anger and use it."
"Turn the fear into anger, and use it," Malista said in an undertone. Her eyes glinted as she 
beamed a radiant smile at him. He was dazzled by it. "Thanks, George. You're a good 
friend. I appreciate your help." She leapt to her feet and scurried away, dumping her 
uneaten breakfast, and collecting Gerron on her way out the door.
"I'll settle for that," Natwick sighed as he returned to picking at his breakfast. "Since I 
don't seem to have any other choice."
*************************
There had been no further telemetry received from the orbiting satellites. Voyager had just 
entered orbit around the second uninhabited planet in the system. 
Without warning, a bright white ball of dancing light about two feet in diameter appeared 
on the bridge. It hovered directly in front of the viewscreen for a split second then began a 
slow circuit of the bridge stations beginning with the Engineering station then traveling 
toward Security.
 "Intruder alert," Tuvok stated, hitting the alarm controls manually since the automated 
system hadn't been triggered.
Tom Paris reflexively jumped to his feet, standing behind the conn position, vigilant and 
ready to move at the captain's order. Or to put himself between the intruder and the captain, 
who happened to be standing about four feet from his right shoulder and slightly behind 
him.
"Captain, it seems to be a probe of some kind," Harry Kim reported. "It seems to be taking 
readings. I've never seen this kind of energy signature before though. And this is not the 
only one. I'm reading twenty such probes located throughout the ship." Harry tuned the 
internal sensors to take as many readings as possible as the thing passed his position.
"Everyone stay where you are," Janeway ordered. 
The gleaming beam reminded Harry of a spotlight. It seemed to be taking a personnel 
survey. It stopped briefly at each station, hovered momentarily in front of each person, but 
didn't seem interested in what they were doing. Their movement, or lack of movement, 
didn't seem to affect the probe in any way.
As the glowing sphere approached the conn position, Tom Paris watched it suspiciously. 
Kathryn Janeway was studying the light intently looking for clues to understanding its 
purpose.
The white luminescence suddenly intensified in brightness, causing all those present to 
instinctively shield their eyes---everyone except the captain and the helmsman. The radiance 
had stopped moving, hovering in midair at a point equidistant between the two of them. 
They stood staring into the brilliance as if transfixed. Then as abruptly as it had made its 
appearance, the probe disappeared.  
In that instant, Tom Paris and Kathryn Janeway closed their eyes and crumpled to the deck 
like marionettes with their strings cut. Chakotay was beside the captain in a heartbeat, two 
fingers on her carotid artery, checking her pulse. She was dazed and seemed disoriented. 
"Captain?"
"What---what happened?" She was blinking her eyes rapidly as if in some pain. "I can't 
see---can't focus. Spots."
Tuvok was checking on Paris' condition. The lieutenant hadn't moved or made a sound. 
He was unconscious. Tuvok hit his commbadge. "Transporter Room Two, medical 
emergency. Lock onto Lt. Paris' commbadge and transport him to Sickbay at once."  Paris 
disappeared in the transporter beam as the captain got to her feet with Chakotay's help. "In 
my opinion, you should go to Sickbay as well, Captain," Tuvok suggested.
It was a measure of Janeway's grogginess that she didn't attempt to argue. She nodded and 
leaned heavily on Chakotay as he slipped her arm over his shoulder and his arm around her 
waist to support her. "Feel dizzy," she mumbled. 
"Tuvok, you have the bridge," Chakotay ordered as he led his captain into the turbolift. 
"See if you can find out what that was and its source."
	
***************************
Ethan Simms and Mikel Hudson had just arrived in Engineering. They were off duty and 
hoped to get a chance to talk to Malista Shadow on her lunch break.  They were spotted on 
arrival by B'Elanna Torres who waved them into her office.
"What are you two doing here? I didn't think we had any tours scheduled today." Her 
words sounded sharp, but her smile robbed them of any sting. 
"We were looking for Malista," Ethan said.
"Business or pleasure?" Torres said. Her smile was gone. Security Officers looking for 
one of *her* crew? And she didn't know anything about it? Torres tended to be very 
possessive and protective of her crew. She could yell at them---and frequently did---but 
Kahless help anyone else who did the same.
Simms and Hudson exchanged looks. "It's both," Hudson admitted. 
"Do you know what's going on?" the chief engineer demanded.
"What do you mean?" Simms asked cautiously.
Torres growled under her breath. "Never mind. She ought to be on her way back from the 
ship's library. Now that she finally got the consoles working properly, the environmental 
controls are acting up. I want to know what the----" She glanced up to find Simms and 
Hudson staring at her. "Never mind. But if I don't find out what's going on, and pretty 
damn *soon*,  I am *not* going to be happy! Is that clear?" She jabbed a finger in their 
direction.
"Yes, Lieutenant," the security officers replied in unison, the tone of their voices carefully 
neutral though neither had any idea what Torres was talking about or what they were 
supposed to do about it. Better safe than sorry as far as irate Chief Engineers were 
concerned.
"There she is," Hudson said as he and Simms turned toward the exit. 
Shadow and Gerron were just coming into Main Engineering when the intruder alert 
sounded. Almost simultaneously, a bright sphere of white light appeared near the warp 
core and began to scan the area.
"What is that?" Hudson whispered. There was no reply from his partner. He shot a look at 
his friend. 
Simms was motionless, his eyes fixed on the object. Hudson's eyes darted around the 
Engineering section. Shadow and Nicoletti were in the same condition. Everyone else 
seemed to be normally curious, but no more than that. After approximately one minute, the 
glowing sphere vanished. 
Nicoletti sank into the chair behind her, holding her head as she moaned. Shadow and 
Simms fell to the deck, unconscious. Torres called for an emergency beamout for the two 
of them and asked Hudson to escort Nicoletti to Sickbay. He was glad to oblige. He 
wanted to check on his partner anyway.
***************************
There was standing room only in Sickbay. Six biobeds were occupied by unconscious 
crewmen:  Tom Paris, Malista Shadow, Megan Delaney, Janine Lamont, Ethan Simms, 
and Sven Haldersen.  There were another fifteen or twenty who were conscious, but in the 
same state of confusion, disorientation, and dizziness as the captain.  They were seated in 
chairs, on the other biobeds, or on the floor, awaiting treatment or for their symptoms to 
subside.  Jenny Delaney staggered to her feet, offered her chair to Captain Janeway, and 
reseated herself on the edge of her twin sister's bed. 
Chakotay eased the captain down into the vacated seat then glanced around at those present. 
Among the dizzy were Lt. Trent Salaka from Biology, Lt. Sue Nicoletti from Engineering, 
Joe Carey who'd been off duty in his quarters---they'd been all over the ship. Those who'd 
been more severely affected had been on different decks as well.
The doctor was scanning the unconscious patients. He looked up as Chakotay approached. 
"Would you mind telling me what is going on? I was not prepared for a sudden onslaught 
of patients---"
"Doctor," the commander said patiently. "The ship was apparently probed by some kind of 
energy beam of unknown origin. How severe are the injuries?"
The doctor snapped his tricorder closed. "As far as I can tell from the preliminary scans, 
they are merely unconscious. Asleep if you will. There does seem to be some minor 
irritation of the optic nerve in each patient. They should awaken momentarily and I will 
perform more detailed scans."
"How many people were affected?"  Chakotay asked.
The doctor made a gesture indicating the crowd. "This would seem to be it. Approximately 
fifteen percent of the crew. The effects ranged from a momentary dizziness to complete loss 
of consciousness. The lack of uniformity of symptoms is most interesting."	
"The light was bright enough to irritate my eyes, but I didn't feel dizzy," Chakotay 
reported. "Tuvok and Harry Kim and the others on the bridge seemed to be unaffected as 
well."
The doctor seemed intrigued. "Hmmmm. Fascinating. I'll take that into consideration as 
well when developing a theory on the comparative severity of the symptoms. Now if you'll 
excuse me, Commander---"
"Of course," the first officer said. "I would like for you to have your report ready for a 
staff meeting---say in one hour?"
"Yes, yes," the doctor muttered impatiently as he centered his attention on his patients once 
more.
Chakotay returned to the bridge to see what Ensign Kim and Lt. Tuvok had come up with.
********
Lt. Paris was the first to regain consciousness. "Owwwwwwww." The sound was nasal, 
long, and drawn out.
"Is that in the nature of an editorial comment or are you in pain?" 
The holodoctor's snippy tone confirmed Tom's first guess as to his present location. 
"Sickbay. Again," he sighed heavily.
"Yes, Mr. Paris---Tom," he corrected himself. "Now can you give me more specific 
information? How do you feel?"
"I can't see," he complained.
The doctor sighed with exaggerated patience. "It might be helpful if you would open your 
eyes."
The lieutenant's eyes fluttered open briefly before he quickly squeezed them shut again at 
the intrusion of the dim lights overhead. "Owwwwwwww." His tone, volume, and the 
nasal, whining quality of his voice were exactly the same as his prior complaint.
"You said that before. It is not informative. Please define the exact nature of the problem."
Tom squinted his eyes to slits so he could peer up at the relentlessly pragmatic EMH who 
was bending over him. "Spots. In front of my eyes. Lots of colored spots. That keep 
moving. And my eyes feel dry."
"Anything else?" The doctor sounded as if he were making a shopping list as he entered the 
information onto his padd.
"Head hurts." 
"Keep your eyes closed for a few moments. Your optic nerves are a bit irritated from 
exposure to bright light. This will help." 
Tom felt the hypospray hiss into his neck. His headache began to ease almost immediately. 
"Don't rub your eyes!" the doctor barked.
"I'm not," Tom began, but then realized he wasn't being addressed as he heard the EMH 
move away from him toward another biobed a few feet to his left. From the noise level he 
was now alert enough to notice, he was not the only sufferer in Sickbay this time. His eyes 
barely open, he turned his head to see who was in the bed to his right. 
It was Malista! 
"I didn't even drink anything," she whimpered. "I don't deserve this." The doctor came to 
her side and ran the scanner over her.
"Yeah, it does feel like a hangover, Doc," Paris agreed, suddenly recognizing why this 
feeling was so familiar, though it had been a while since he'd been in this condition. "A 
really bad hangover. Except without the nausea. Well, maybe a little nausea from the 
dizziness. Yeah, like a hangover, but without the bad taste in the mouth."
"Hmm. I'll make a note of that."
"Tom?" 
"Yeah, Sis?"
"You too?"
"What happened?"
"You can discuss that later," Doc interrupted. "You have a staff meeting in less than one 
hour. Lie still, be quiet, rest your eyes, and wait for the medication to take effect." 
For the first time since he'd been activated, the doctor didn't get an argument from the 
crew. It was a most satisfying experience. One he'd like to repeat. Often.
*********************
The briefing room seemed crowded. In addition to the Senior Staff, the other crewmembers 
who had been most harshly affected by the probe's beam had been invited to attend. 
Additional chairs had been brought in, but limitations of space led to a feeling of being 
packed into a small room. Jenny Delaney was also present, at the doctor's request, though 
she'd been only mildly affected by the probe. She seated herself to one side, where she 
would be out of the way, but able to keep an eye on her twin sister.
"Doctor?" Captain Janeway said, yielding the floor to the EMH who was giving his report 
via the viewscreen.
"As far as I have been able to ascertain the only pattern to the distribution of the severity of 
the symptoms is that there is no pattern." The Doctor seemed to be as displeased with that 
vagueness as the captain was.
"No pattern at all?" Janeway asked.
"None that I've been able to detect. As Mr. Kim has stated there were twenty probes 
altogether, scattered throughout the ship. There was no perceptible pattern concerning 
location in the ship. I ran scans of all those who were not affected at all and compared them 
to scans of those who were affected most severely. There was no correlation. This probe, 
whatever it was, seems to have acted at random."
"Was there a pattern among the---" Janeway hesitated to use the word 'victims'. "Among 
those affected?"
The doctor frowned. He did not deal well with frustration. "All three groups, those who 
lost consciousness, those who became dizzy, and those who were not affected are made up 
of a cross section of the ship's crew. The one factor that remained consistent is that only 
full humans were affected. Since the majority of the crew is human, that is hardly helpful 
information."
Janeway looked at the end of the table where the six crewmen who'd been most strongly 
affected by the probe were seated side by side. "And these six, Doctor? What do these six 
have in common that caused a common severe reaction?"
All eyes studied The Six: Tom Paris, Malista Shadow, Megan Delaney, Janine Lamont, 
Ethan Simms, and Sven Haldersen. The Six blinked back at them. 
Tom Paris spoke with cool derision, "May I say as one of 'The Six' that an hour later, my 
eyes *still* feel dry and I'm *still* seeing colored spots dancing around? And my head 
*still* hurts. Just not quite as much as before."
The other five gingerly nodded their agreement with his assessment. They all looked 
sapped of energy and drawn by the pain they'd experienced---were experiencing.
Janeway scrutinized them. "Three blondes---two male, one female. One brunette, female. 
Two redheads, one male, one female. Five Starfleet, one Maquis. Ethan and Malista were 
in Engineering on Deck 11, Sven was in the messhall on Deck 2, Tom was on the bridge, 
Janine was in the shuttlebay, and Megan was in the holodeck on Deck 6. You're right. I am 
not detecting a pattern here, Doctor."
The doctor cleared his throat, a human mannerism he'd adopted to enable him to regain 
control of a conversation. "There is one fascinating discrepancy, Captain."
"Yes, Doctor?"
"The fact that Lieutenant Megan Delaney is among the six rendered unconscious, while her 
sister, Lieutenant Jennifer Delaney is not," the EMH announced triumphantly.
"And your point is?" Chakotay asked.
"Commander, they are identical twins. *Identical.* This means they have an identical 
genetic makeup. Any stimulus that acts on the two of them, should produce an equal 
response or lack of response in both women. However, in this case, for some reason, it 
did not. Megan Delaney was rendered unconscious by the  probe, while Jennifer Delaney 
became disoriented, but did not lose consciousness."
"Why?" Harry Kim asked.
The doctor's face fell. "I don't know. But it is fascinating."
"Perhaps the stimulus was not uniformly felt throughout the ship?" Tuvok hypothesized. 
While the doctor and Tuvok debated that point, Harry Kim threw an encouraging wink 
towards Shadow. She smiled wearily. One hand was massaging her temple. Paris was 
seated next to her and holding her other hand. He looked pale and drawn. It was hard to tell 
who was comforting whom. Perhaps it was mutual. 
Harry's eyes began to wander, following his mind. He looked at the six, then at the others 
in the room. He and Chakotay hadn't been affected at all. Why? He focused on the 
Delaneys. The Doc seemed to think they might hold the key to the puzzle. 
Harry sat up straighter. There was something different. It was strange, but today---They 
didn't look---quite so identical? He didn't understand why he thought so, but didn't try to 
rein in his imagination. He was onto something here. Now if he could just figure out what 
it was. 
His eyes returned to the six. Tom, Malista, Megan, Janine, Ethan, and Sven. What did 
they have in common? According to the doctor, nothing. Not something common to all six 
of them. So what if it was something not common to all six? 'That could take years to 
figure out. You can't prove a negative,' Harry told himself.
As if magnetized, his gaze returned to Malista. Her pretty green eyes were bloodshot. They 
must be painful. That light had been a bright white, possibly hot. Green eyes. Like 
emeralds.  
'Hmm. Ethan has green eyes, but not the same shade of green,' Harry thought. He shook 
his head. 'That couldn't be it. Tom's eyes are blue. And so are Sven's. And Janine's.'
He looked at Megan. Her eyes are blue. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of Jenny 
Delaney, feeling foolish for even looking. Her eyes were---gray. Slate gray. Not blue. 
Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. His head jerked back toward Megan. Definitely 
blue eyes. Why? 
"Mr. Kim?" It was the captain. She'd noticed his abstraction and sudden alertness and 
wanted to recall his attention or to obtain an explanation.
"Captain, she's out of uniform!" Harry pointed to Jenny Delaney. 
Everyone in the conference room stared first at Kim, then at Jenny. "I'm off duty," she 
offered confusedly. "I was in the holodeck. My sister had just joined me there."
Harry got to his feet, his excitement wouldn't let him sit still. "But, Jenny, you're wearing 
a gray shirt."
"Yes? What about it?" Jenny's tone implied she was humoring a raving lunatic.
"Your eyes are gray. Megan is in uniform. Her blue uniform. Her eyes are blue," Harry 
announced. He paced quickly around the table to stand behind the six. "Look, Captain. I 
think I know why these six." As he spoke he touched each one on the shoulder. "Tom---
blue eyes. Malista---green eyes. Megan---blue eyes. Janine---blue eyes. Ethan---green 
eyes. Sven---blue eyes. And Jenny Delaney---the twin whose reaction didn't match her 
sister's---gray eyes. Like yours, Captain. You and Jenny were affected the same way by 
the probe."
"Eye color? Is that possible, Doctor?" Janeway asked.
The doctor looked stunned. "I did scans down to the genotype level---and the pattern is as 
superficial as eye color?"
"But is it possible?"
"Those with dark eyes weren't affected at all," Harry theorized. "Think about it! On the 
bridge, the humans not affected were Chakotay, Ayala, and I.  We have dark brown eyes. 
Hudson was in Engineering, standing right next to Ethan. Not affected. He has brown 
eyes."
"But these six aren't the only ones with light colored eyes," Torres protested.
"And those are probably the ones who were dizzy. The captain and Jenny---gray eyes," 
Harry added as he returned to his seat. "Who else got dizzy?"
"Lieutenants Salaka and Nicoletti and Carey, among others," the doctor replied. He 
checked the medical files on his desk. "Hazel eyes. They could be considered light colored 
eyes."
"I'll bet if you check, you'll find that the only humans not affected are the ones with the 
darkest eyes," Kim offered.
"An interesting theory, Ensign," Tuvok commented. 
"More than that. He may be right," the EMH declared. "The difference in eye color stems 
from the absence or presence of melanin. It's possible that the amount of melanin present in 
dark eyes blocked whatever effect the probe had on those whose eyes have less melanin."
Paris tried to smooth away the frown between his eyebrows as he concentrated. "So you're 
saying we six have less melanin in our eyes---so our eyes didn't block out---whatever."
"Colored spots?" Chakotay said. "Paris, did you say you were seeing colored spots before 
your eyes?"
Paris squinted at him. "I don't remember. Yes. I guess so." He closed one eye, then 
opened it again. "Yeah. They're colored, all right. The light was colored. Why wouldn't 
the spots be colored too?"
"Because the light was white," the first officer announced. "Even our instruments read it as 
a pure white light beam. No color."
"That could just be the effect of the dazzling brightness," Janeway offered.
"No," Malista said. "When I saw it, the probe wasn't white. It was green. The light was 
green and blue."
"I would have said blue and green," Sven Haldersen disagreed. "It was more blue."
"Captain, I would like to run more tests---" the EMH began.
"Oh, no," Paris groaned. He closed his eyes, then opened one sad-looking eye toward the 
captain. "Back to Sickbay?"
"Back to Sickbay," she retorted unsympathetically. "I want to know what that probe was 
doing. We need to know its purpose, and if possible find a way to prevent such an 
occurrence again."
Harry walked to the end of the table once more and helped Malista and Tom to their feet. 
The Six trudged wearily back to Sickbay for more tests. Harry and the rest of the Senior 
Officers returned to the bridge to resume their search for answers. 
*************************
Ensign George Natwick was not on duty during Beta shift, but he was in the Security 
Office anyway, accessing computer records. Ensigns Simms and Hudson, who were on 
duty, caught him at it. Technically, it wasn't a violation of regulations. Not exactly. But it 
was close enough to give the pair some leverage in dealing with him and finding out what 
he was up to.
Hudson smiled politely and insincerely. "What are you doing in the personnel and security 
files, George?"
For a moment, the two didn't think he would answer. To his own surprise, Natwick 
replied, "Helping out a friend."
Hudson and Simms swapped looks. Simms got there first. "What friend?"
The big ensign clenched his jaw stubbornly.
Another look at Hudson. Simms ventured, "Malista?"
George relaxed suddenly. "You know about it, huh?"
"Know what?" Hudson returned. "If she's filed a complaint, I haven't heard about it. How 
do you know anything is going on?"
Natwick curled a scornful lip in his direction. "I'm not stupid, Hudson. I've known 
something was wrong. I just didn't know who. I thought it was Kim. Again."
"Wishful thinking?" 
Simms nudged his partner with his shoulder. That wasn't exactly a tactful remark. He 
knew Hudson and Natwick didn't like each other much. Their relationship was purely 
professional. It might be better to keep this discussion on a professional basis. "Malista is 
being harassed. She may not be the only one. Gerron and Dalby sent word to me because 
they wanted some help in identifying the source of the problem. What do you know about 
it, George?"
"What? Don't you mean what have *I* been doing to Malista?" the ensign sneered.
"No. We already took you off the list of suspects. Not your style," Ethan told him flatly.
"You're right about that." Natwick had slightly more tolerance for Simms. "Why hasn't 
she reported it? Filed a complaint?"
The younger man shook his head. "We don't know why. When we find out who and 
exactly what, that may tell us the rest. This is unofficial. We're just looking into it---as 
friends. So what do you have?"
"I have one name. What do you have?"
"We have one name," Mikel stated, still not letting his guard down. 
"You guys want to compare notes and work together on this?" Ethan proposed. 
Natwick and Hudson both stared at him as if he'd suggested they step out an air lock and 
go for a stroll. 
A moment of silence ensued as the three of them thought it over.  
Finally, Natwick nodded. "Yes. To help Malista." He eyed Mikel defensively, as if waiting 
for a wisecrack.  
Hudson saw genuine concern for Shadow in the muscle man's demeanor so he let the 
opportunity pass. He and Simms simply nodded their agreement as well. 
Natwick showed them the file he'd just pulled. Crewman Paul Castelle. Simms gave him 
the name they'd come up with as a suspect. Lieutenant j.g. Laro Longoria.
"Now what?" Natwick growled. 
"Good question," Hudson replied. They both looked at Ethan Simms.
"Now---we try to get some proof," the auburn-haired ensign said.   
"I had in mind pounding Castelle into the ground like a climbing piton," Natwick 
confessed. He flexed his bulging biceps. "Strictly out of sight and off the record."
"Ah, the unofficial approach," Hudson said, grinning boyishly. "Tempting." He pounded 
his right fist into the palm of his left hand.
Natwick grinned back. He might grow to like Hudson after all.
Simms eyed the pair dubiously. Maybe telling Lt. Tuvok wasn't such a bad idea after all. 
With or without proof.
	
**************************
If Malista Shadow had known B'Elanna Torres as well as she thought she did, she would 
have been suspicious when Torres explained that the two of them were to meet Harry and 
Tom at Sandrine's for a snack before going to the other holodeck for their workout.  
And even more suspicious when B'Elanna insisted that she wear her sweats,  rather than 
the tights she usually wore. 
And warning klaxons should have sounded when Torres told her to leave her commbadge 
in her quarters.
But Malista Shadow was too thoroughly distracted by her own thoughts to read the signs 
that would have made her suspicious. Even the most obvious clue. Just as they reached the 
inner doorway of Sandrine's, Torres oh-so-casually mentioned there were alien visitors 
aboard that reminded her of Nausicaans.
So the two women walked into Sandrine's---and into the beginning of a bar brawl. Five 
Nausicaans, huge, hulking, and armed with knives, were rushing with hostile intent 
toward the Voyager crew members present in the holodeck.
A terrified Malista watched as one of them swung a wicked-looking knife at Harry Kim. 
The ensign ducked under the swing and came up in a lunge with both fists in the alien's 
face. They fell to the floor, the ensign on top, struggling for possession of the knife.
Tom Paris, on Kim's right, had tackled one of the big aliens and pinned him to the floor. A 
second alien was approaching from Paris' rear, knife upraised. Screaming a Klingon war 
cry, Torres rushed forward and threw herself onto the alien's upraised arm, using all her 
weight to swing him away from his intended victim. The element of surprise was a great 
help as she slammed him into a wall.
Kim had knocked out his opponent and staggered to his feet. Shadow rushed to his side to 
steady him, only to be pushed behind him as yet another alien rushed at them. Distracted by 
trying to protect her, Kim allowed this one to get through his guard. The alien landed a 
punishing blow to the young man's midsection, doubling him over. Kim landed at 
Malista's feet, retching and trying to catch his breath.
The Nausicaan reached down to seize the ensign. Without hesitation, Malista grabbed the 
nearest chair and with all her strength brought it crashing down on the alien's head and 
shoulders. He crumpled to the floor, narrowly avoiding crushing Kim beneath him when 
Shadow used a well-placed kick to push his falling form back and away from her beloved.
Shadow leaned down, got her hands under Kim's shoulders, and dragged him to a 
relatively safe location, behind the bar so he could catch his breath as she stood watch over 
him to keep him safe and out of harm's way. She popped her head up over the counter to 
perform a quick reconnaissance. Only two of the aliens were still up and moving. 
Torres was still engaged with the same huge alien. He'd lost his knife and was now using 
only his fists as weapons. She was using her speed to confound the enemy as she darted in 
to deliver well-placed blows, then danced out of the way of the retaliatory blows. She was 
laughing jubilantly at her opponent and his inability to pin her down and administer 
punishing blows with those big hands.
Paris was down, hurt, but not too severely. He seemed to be shaking off the effects of a 
blow to the jaw. He'd taken two of the Nausicaans out of the action before being knocked 
off his feet. There were three other Voyager crewmen down and unconscious nearby. The 
other Nausicaan was moving towards the pilot's recumbent figure. Paris, still groggy, 
didn't seem to be aware of the danger. 
Torres noticed and yelled,  "Malista, take him out!" She quickly danced out of reach of her 
opponent's long arms. Seizing a broken chair leg, she swung it threateningly, daring him 
to come closer and decisively leaving Paris' fate in Shadow's hands.
Shadow moved to the end of the counter and stopped. Her hand dropped toward her ankle-
--but she didn't have her boots on. She picked up a bottle of liquor and hurled it at the 
alien's head with remarkable dead-on accuracy. The shattering glass didn't seem to hurt the 
Nausicaan very much, but it did serve to get his attention.  He abandoned his original 
target, turned, and started moving toward her with a roar.
She picked up another bottle and let fly. And another. And another. In rapid fire 
succession, she hit the alien over and over, the heavy liquor bottles pounding his skull then 
his body relentlessly as she hit every vulnerable spot with pinpoint accuracy. He suddenly 
lurched to a stop, teetered for a moment, then crashed to the deck with a resounding thud. 
Suddenly, Shadow felt a hand on her shoulder. Reacting instinctively, as she'd been 
trained in her self-defense classes, she reached back, grasped the forearm firmly and 
heaved!  A body went flying past her and landed in a heap against a broken table. Her eyes 
widened with horror as she recognized her victim! It was---Harry Kim!
"Computer, freeze program." It was Tom Paris' irritable voice---but it was coming from 
the doorway---not from his position on the floor.
Malista stood frozen for a split second. Her eyes shot from the panting figure of Harry Kim 
lying near her feet---to the figure of Harry Kim that she'd just tossed across the room. 
Tom Paris spoke again. "Computer, remove all holocharacters from this program."
The Harry behind the bar and the Tom on the floor disappeared---along with the 
Nausicaans and the other Voyager crewmen. Everyone except the four of them.
Almost simultaneously, Malista Shadow launched herself across the room and skidded to a 
halt on her knees beside the real Harry Kim who was sitting up slowly, rubbing the back of 
his head which had banged against the floor when he'd landed. Fortunately, he'd 
remembered enough of his own self-defense training to fall properly and avoid serious 
injury.
Shadow's eyes frantically searched for damage to his head or limbs. "Harry, I'm so sorry--
-are you all right?" Her hand automatically flew up to signal---but, thanks to B'Elanna's 
forethought, she wasn't wearing a commbadge. "Tom, we have to beam him to Sickbay." 
She seemed positively panic-stricken.
Harry grabbed her hand and smiled at her reassuringly. "Calm down. I'm all right. I don't 
need to be beamed to Sickbay for a knot on the noggin. My head's almost as hard as 
Tom's." 
She didn't even try to smile at his weak attempt at humor. "Are you sure?" She began 
frantically checking him over, trying to prove to herself that she hadn't really injured him. 
Giving up on reasoning with her for the moment, Harry wrapped his arms around her and 
pulled her tightly into his embrace, letting the strength of his hold convince her. "I'm fine, 
Cookie. Sit with me a minute and catch your breath." She was shaking as she snuggled 
into his warmth, her hand stroking his thick hair as she tried to soothe away even the 
smallest hurt.
Torres, her exuberant enjoyment of the conflict interrupted, was belligerently regarding 
Tom Paris as he approached her with a disapproving frown. "You weren't invited," she 
accused defensively, hoping to get in a preemptive strike. She dropped the chair leg to the 
floor and dusted her hands off on her hips.
"I wonder why?" he asked sardonically. "Nausicaans?!" His eyebrows flew up almost to 
his hairline.
"They may be thugs, but they're formidable opponents," she retorted. In the background, 
they could hear Harry Kim whispering to Malista, though they couldn't make out the 
words, his tone implied he was reassuring and comforting her.
"Why?" Paris asked quietly. "Why did you do this?"
Ignoring his question, B'Elanna walked over to stand next to Malista and Harry. "I wanted 
you to learn to fight," Torres told her. "If you have to go on an away mission with Tom---
or anyone else, I don't want you to endanger others because you aren't prepared to defend 
yourself."
"This wasn't a good idea, B'Elanna," Paris said from behind her, his jaw tightening.
Malista didn't look up. She kept her eyes fixed on the pulse beating in Harry's throat and 
tried to stop shaking. She didn't acknowledge even hearing the other woman's remark.
"I'll tell you one thing," Harry said lightly. "I've learned my lesson. Never again will I 
enter a holodeck program without announcing my presence. Oof." The last sound was 
uttered when Malista compulsively squeezed him tighter, forcing the breath from his body 
in a rush. 
"You ought to go to Sickbay," she murmured, speaking for his ears alone.
"For this little lump on the head? The Doc would laugh at me. I tell you what, why don't 
you take me back to your quarters, get me an ice pack, and feed me baklava? My kind of 
therapy," Harry replied. He wanted her to focus on something besides his so-called injuries 
and she always responded to feeling needed.
Paris extended a hand to Harry and pulled him to his feet. The two men held their hands 
out to Malista and pulled her upright as well. Tom embraced her in a quick hug. "Hey, 
where did you learn to throw bottles like that?"
"I didn't learn to throw bottles. I learned to throw knives---at the circus. Much to my 
father's dismay, I tried to learn all the acts in the circus," she explained in a husky whisper. 
"My uncle Anthony had a knife throwing act. I've been teaching Aron Dalby and Diane 
Russell how to do it. They want to perform at the talent show when we---if we do our 
trapeze act." She stepped back from Tom and retreated into Harry's welcoming, enfolding 
arms. She didn't spare even a glance for Torres.
Trying to ease the tension, Tom asked, "Just one question, Sis. In this knife throwing act, 
I hope you were the throw-ER, not the throw-EE?" He faked a panicky frown.
She managed a weak smile. "Both. I substituted for Uncle Tony or for his target, my 
cousin Maria, when either one couldn't perform." 
Harry and Tom's eyes met over her head which now rested on Harry's shoulder. "I think 
we'll skip practice tonight, Tom. I think you're both worn out and on edge from the effects 
of that probe yesterday. Maybe we can get back on schedule tomorrow?"
"Sure, Harry. Get a good night's sleep, Malista," Tom said. When the holodeck doors had 
closed behind them, he spoke again. "Computer, reset holodeck program to original 
parameters of Paris Program Three."
The computer complied. The broken furniture and shattered bottles vanished to be replaced 
by the usual holographic patrons and furnishings. He walked to the bar, sat down, and 
poured himself a drink.
Tired of being ignored, Torres slipped onto the barstool next to Tom. "How did you two 
get in, anyway? I had a security lockout in place."
Paris held his glass up to the light and inspected the contents as carefully as if he were 
counting the bubbles in the carbonated liquid. "I've told you before---you'd be surprised 
the things you learn in prison."  
Torres found it difficult to read his expression. He didn't seem angry---not the cold, hard 
anger he'd displayed only once before in her presence. He didn't seem irritated---the quick 
flash of sarcastic temper that he more commonly exhibited.  
"Tom?" With one word she asked several questions at once.
"This was a mistake, B'Elanna." His voice was heavy. From his posture, she guessed the 
burdens of his mind were weighing down not only his voice, but his whole body.
She fought off an instinctive urge to react defensively and deny any possibility of an error 
in judgment on her part. "Why?"
He pressed the cold glass to the center of his forehead and held it there for a moment. 
"Because Malista is very stressed right now---and you just applied more pressure."
She considered the possibility that he might be correct, but felt the need to explain her 
rationale. "I thought it might help her. If she would learn to fight."
"And did it work? Did she fight?" He finally turned to look at her, his blue eyes for once 
unreadable---at least by her.
She dropped her gaze, uncomfortably aware that she had upset Malista, Tom, and Harry, 
and all for questionable results. "No. Not the way I expected her to. She didn't fight for 
herself. She only fought when Harry was in trouble---or when you were. She fought for 
you, too. But not the way I expected. Throwing bottles?" Her tone was incredulous. 
Tom, however, seemed to understand or at least accept it.  "She used what was at hand."
"But, Tom, she's taken training in self-defense! She should know how to---"
"She does. That's how she tossed Harry. And she made a very good job of it, too."
"Then why didn't she *use* those fighting techniques?" The frustration was bubbling out 
of the engineer now. Hers was an analytical mind. Her failure to correctly analyze and 
correct Malista's problem made her feel inadequate and inefficient.
"Maybe because she had time to think about what she was doing. Sometimes if you second 
guess yourself, you forget your training. When she threw Harry, she reacted instinctively, 
because he caught her by surprise while she was in a dangerous situation---or thought she 
was." Tom's brow furrowed. "That's not the most important question. Why will she fight 
for others, but not herself? I think I've figured that one out."
"You have?"
He set his glass down on the bar. "Yes. She won't defend herself---because she doesn't 
think she's worth fighting for. She has no problem with risking herself for others though, 
because she thinks they are worth dying for---and if it costs her something, it's no loss to 
anyone."
"How do you know?" Torres examined his face intently. For a moment, she didn't think he 
was going to answer. 
"Personal experience." His voice held a razor's edge of bitterness and another emotion she 
couldn't identify. 
Torres wanted to reach out to him, to hold him---but she was afraid he would shrug her 
hand away. "Oh, Tom." 
He rested his elbows on the bar and hid his face in his hands, his fingertips rubbing small 
circles on his temples. "Not exactly a death wish. Sort of like what she said on the 
holodeck---the night she---" He didn't want to say it. Torres would know he meant the 
night Shadow had attempted suicide. "Sometimes you think it might just be easier to be 
dead."
Since that night, B'Elanna had wanted to ask him about a statement he'd made to Malista, 
but the opportunity had never presented itself before. "Tom, you said you had seen that 
look in the mirror. That you had thought about killing yourself. More than once. Was that 
true?"
"Yes." He dropped his hands onto the bar and turned his head slowly to gaze into her eyes. 
His mask had completely disappeared. His feelings were too strong to be hidden. The 
memory of past anguish was clearly written in the blue depths of his eyes for her to see. "I 
did think about it. When your life is so out of control, when you're so unhappy that---it 
even crosses your mind---even for just a moment, that it would be easier to be dead than to 
have to deal with the guilt or---whatever---that's when you need to go running, screaming 
for help. Or decide to go ahead and get it over with."
Torres struggled to breathe around the lump in her throat. "And you got help?"  She 
couldn't resist the urge to touch him any longer. Her hands found his and clasped them 
tightly. She was relieved when he squeezed her hands in return.
"Not exactly. I ran a good bluff---too good for my own welfare," he confessed. "I didn't 
*look* like I needed help---so no one offered. I had too much pride to ask for help. Paris 
pride. I was afraid they'd say no anyway. But then I always had to learn things the hard 
way, I guess. I found out I had enough stubbornness and enough determination not to let 
my---not to let *anyone else* count me out."
He curled his lip, the derision aimed at himself. "I'm the only one who can tell me that it's 
time to give up. And I was contrary enough not to give in and let *them* win. Them being 
everyone who told me I couldn't do anything right. That I would never amount to 
anything. That with one lie, one falsified report---I'd thrown away any chance I had at a 
good life. I told myself that I wasn't ready to admit they were right and if I killed myself, 
I'd never be able to prove them wrong. I couldn't even convince myself that if I did kill 
myself 'they'd be sorry'. It had a certain attraction---punishing others by killing myself---
but then I realized that 'they' had already walked away from me. They might not even 
notice if I ceased to exist. So the only one I would hurt would be me---oh, and maybe my 
sisters. And Sandrine. She'd be disappointed in me. So I managed to hold on until things 
got better---or at least eased up some. My uncle used an expression that I thought about a 
lot: When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on!" 
He smiled ruefully at that. "It worked in a way. But that doesn't matter now. I got past 
that. Lessons learned the hard way are the ones that stay with you. I got by with the help of 
some good books that gave me hope---good friends like Harry and you, and good fortune 
in the person of Kathryn Janeway who gave me a chance and then her trust. I got a second 
chance---and this time I *won't* blow it." His azure eyes showed his conviction and 
determination to make that statement come true. 
"I know you won't," she replied calmly, when she could speak at all. That single flat 
statement of fact reassured him more than if she'd made a lengthy speech. "But what about 
Malista?"
"I'm really worried about her, B'Ella." 
She felt the tightness in her chest ease as he used his pet name for her. Maybe he wasn't 
furious with her after all. Maybe she hadn't damaged their own relationship beyond repair.
"She was doing so well and getting comfortable with herself and the crew. Something else 
is going on. Something that's been eating at her for weeks. She won't talk about it. Harry 
hasn't got a clue. When she's with him, she's determined to act like everything is fine. She 
seems happy when they're alone together. She doesn't want to go out among the crew to 
socialize. It's like she's afraid of someone. Or something."
"I know. She's been distracted and upset, but she never shows it when Harry's around. 
She seemed tense. That's why I thought if I could get her to fight--- A good hard workout 
always makes me feel more relaxed. I was trying to help her."
"You went about it the wrong way." Paris sighed heavily. "The Doc thinks she's avoiding 
confronting her feelings of anger. You just tried to push her into it, in a way. It didn't work 
though. It's not your fault. She doesn't---communicate too well. It makes it easy to 
misread her."
Torres felt guilty. She'd caught a glimpse of Malista's face when she'd realized the whole 
scenario had been a holographic trick and knew the younger woman felt B'Elanna had 
betrayed her trust. Though she hated to admit to being wrong, this was the second time 
she'd made a misstep with her relatively new friend. 
"I know. I'll apologize---I'd do it now, but I think she's too upset. I'm not as good with 
people as I am with engines. Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to use you and Harry as 
images. I thought that would make her more likely to fight. And it did. She's very 
protective of you both, you know."
"I know. I wish you'd talked with me about this. And by the way," he added striving for a 
light touch, "why did you program *me* to get clobbered? I'll have you know, I'm pretty 
good in bar fights. I should be. I had enough practice between leaving Starfleet and joining 
the Maquis." It was a weak joke, but the best he could do at the moment.
She tried to smile. "If you didn't get 'clobbered', she wouldn't fight at all. I thought she'd 
get caught up in the commotion and enjoy herself. I did."
"Not everyone enjoys the thrill of combat, B'Ella. Confrontation and fighting---exhausts 
me more than it exhilarates me. Malista is the same way, I think. She turns her hostility 
inwards. I do at times. Your way of dealing with your feelings is probably healthier. At 
least you get them out and do something about them. Malista keeps stuffing them down 
inside her. I don't know what to do about her. Neither does Harry. He's really upset that 
she won't talk to him about what's bothering her, but he doesn't want to pressure her. 
He's afraid he'll just make it worse. And he may be right." Paris shook his head, then 
winced as if he regretted it. "Ouch. My head still hurts. The doctor thinks it's 
psychosomatic. I wish I could give this ache to him. I'd show him psychosomatic!"
She released his hands and went around to stand behind him. She placed her small, strong 
hands on the base of his neck and began kneading the tight muscles there. "Maybe Harry 
can get her to talk tonight. Now that I've got her all stirred up, she may be in the mood to 
talk to him," she said regretfully. "Don't worry about it. Let those two take care of 
themselves for now. You may be worried about her, but I'm worried about you. You need 
to take better care of yourself, Helmboy!"
"Mmmm. Feels good," he murmured drowsily, smiling slightly at her use of the nickname 
bestowed on him by the Lady Q. 
As she felt his tension lessen, her curiosity got the better of her. "Tom, did you really learn 
to break security codes in prison?"
"No, but when I say I learned it in prison, most people change the subject and don't ask 
more questions. Another defense mechanism. Sorry, B'Ella. It's a habit." He sighed 
contentedly, feeling muscles he hadn't known were taut loosening under her ministrations. 
"To tell you the truth, I learned to crack codes at a much younger age. When I was a kid, 
my dad's favorite punishment was grounding me. For one thing, it kept me from doing 
anything to embarrass him in public. Which I did quite often for one reason or another---
usually by accident. Being sent to my room got to be practically a continual punishment 
between the ages of eight and fifteen. Almost every weekend, I wound up restricted to my 
room."
"You had security code lockouts on the door of your room?" Torres had never heard 
anything so outrageous. To treat a child like a hardened criminal?
"Naw," he chuckled. "That wasn't it. You have to understand---sending me to my room 
wasn't exactly a good punishment. I *liked* my room too much. I spent  lots of time there. 
As I got older,  I found out that if I went to my room and didn't make much noise, people 
would leave me alone---forget I was even there. I remember crying in my room when I was 
a kid, hiding out there. I'd keep the door locked and read or play games. When my father 
grounded me, he'd put my computer on security lockout so I couldn't do any of the things 
I liked to do. But---"
"But you figured out how to get around his lockout codes?" Torres smiled at the thought of 
a rebellious boy breaking into his own computer. He was becoming so contented, he was 
beginning to droop. "What were you grounded for?"  
"You name it, I probably did it at one time or another. I had many varied interests," Tom 
said ruefully. "Climbed the highest tree in the neighborhood. Swam in irrigation canals. 
Tried to fly off the roof using a bed sheet for wings. Trust me, that wasn't a good idea!  I 
also tampered with the holographic programming in the Youth Recreation Center. Played 
doctor with the neighbor's daughter. Got in fights. Took stupid dares. Took *lots* of 
stupid dares. Went for a joyride in my father's skimmer. Got caught---" 
His eyes suddenly snapped open. He couldn't believe he'd almost told Torres that he'd 
gotten caught peeking through the bedroom windows of the Vulcan Embassy when he was 
twelve. He'd done it to settle a bet with a friend. Which they had never settled to their 
mutual satisfaction---because his friend wanted hard evidence of Tom's claim---and Tom's 
camera had been confiscated by the Vulcan authorities, much to his chagrin.
B'Elanna suppressed a laugh. She could easily imagine the kinds of mischief Tom had 
gotten into as a boy and the kinds of mischief he wouldn't want to tell her about. She 
preferred to speculate about his pranks, rather than consider his statement about how much 
time he'd spent crying in his room. "Those don't sound like serious crimes to me. Most 
kids pull stunts like that at some time or another." 
"Maybe. But I was a *Paris*---I was supposed to be serious-minded, obedient, and goal 
oriented. You know, if my father ever found out how much serious hacking I did while I 
was grounded---When I was eleven, I once got into the Starfleet Academy files! Aw, he'd 
never have believed it. He didn't think I was smart enough to do that much damage. He 
mistook lack of motivation for lack of intelligence." He reached up and took her hand and 
walked her around to stand in front of him, between his knees.  "Enough about that. 
Thanks for the neck rub, B'Elanna. Now, can I return the  favor?"  He dropped his hands 
on her shoulders and pulled her towards him.
The doors to Sandrine's swung open and several crewmembers wandered in, chattering 
and laughing. Their brief moments of privacy were gone. Tom's polite facade descended 
like a curtain, veiling his eyes and his feelings once more as his public persona made its 
reappearance as automatically as he breathed. 
"Why don't we go to your quarters and replicate some tomato soup? You told me it was 
comfort food. Maybe it will help your headache." B'Elanna said, stepping back and pulling 
his arm around her waist as he stood.
"Now there's an offer I can't refuse," Tom retorted with a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. 
"Promise not to burn it?"
B'Elanna growled at him. He growled back. 
"Tom, don't growl," she admonished. "You're much better at---purring." Her wicked 
brown eyes flashed. His blue eyes widened. He smiled.
	
**************************
The EMH raised skeptical eyebrows as he checked the readout on the scanner. "You came 
to Sickbay for *this*?" he asked, miffed at having been interrupted while conducting his 
research. If not for Malista Shadow's anxious presence, he might have been even ruder to 
the young Ensign and dismissed him out of hand.
Harry Kim felt himself flushing. He'd finally agreed to stop by Sickbay on the way to 
Malista's quarters, because that seemed the only course of action likely to pacify her. She 
seemed to be convinced he must have at least a fractured skull. 
Before Harry could formulate a response to the doctor's acrid comment, Malista leapt to his 
defense. "He could have a concussion. Are you sure he's all right?" Her tone bordered on 
hysterical. "He hit his head. On the floor of the holodeck. I don't know if the safeties were 
on or not."
The doctor, taken aback at her uncharacteristically adamant tone, handed her the scanner. 
"If it will reassure you, check the readings for yourself." He traded looks with Ensign Kim 
and nodded apologetically. Now he understood why they'd come here. He'd been treating 
the wrong patient.
Having verified for herself that Kim had not suffered an injury, a relieved Malista handed 
the scanner back to the doctor and leaned tiredly against the biobed next to Harry's legs. He 
slipped his arm around her and pressed her head against his shoulder, his eyes still on the 
doctor. 
Flicking a switch, the doctor surreptitiously ran the scanner over the young woman. "How 
are you feeling, Malista? Any after effects from the probe?" 
Her eyes opened to mere slits. "I'm all right. My head aches and I'm still seeing spots now 
and then."
"I would suggest you get some rest, then," the EMH stated. He filled a hypospray and held 
it to her neck. "This analgesic will help. I've also included a mild sedative. Perhaps you 
should check back with me in the morning, before you report for duty."
She nodded as Harry slid off the bed and steered her toward the door. 	
The EMH made a note in her file before returning to his research project concerning the 
probes and their effects. He thought he had a line on a possible palliative for the most acute 
symptoms. 
*****************************
"Sit down and put your feet up," Harry ordered, silencing her protest with an upraised 
finger. "Every time I come to your quarters---or you come to mine---you spend half your 
time racing around, waiting on me. It's my turn to take care of you. You'll hurt my feelings 
if you don't cooperate. Sit. Rest. I can program a replicator."
Malista surrendered. If Harry wanted to fuss over her, she would let him. Anything Harry 
wanted, she'd do her best to be sure he got it. No matter what it was. She sank thankfully 
into the firm support of the couch, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She hadn't 
been sleeping very well. She was tired. But when she slept, she dreamed. She didn't want 
to dream. Maybe if she just rested her eyes for a moment.....
Harry came back with two cups of hot chocolate and found her dozing. He set the cups 
down on the coffee table, trying not to make any noise at all. He stood there for a moment, 
just watching her sleep. In repose, with all her defenses down, she was so beautiful. So 
young. So vulnerable. The slight shadows under her eyes and the finely drawn lines 
around them lent her an air of fragility that he found alarming.
He tried to decide if he should carry her to her bed, or simply try to make her comfortable 
on the couch. Tiny frown lines began forming between her brows as she slept. He 
wondered what she was dreaming that made her frown. She started to murmur fretfully in 
her sleep. The only word he understood was 'dome'. Dome? Maybe she said home? No, 
she said it again. It was 'dome'. Strange.
The computer terminal on her desk suddenly beeped---an incoming message. Harry was 
across the room in an instant to silence the signal. It was too late. Just as he hit the control 
to display the message and shut off the alert, she snapped awake and sat up, her green eyes 
startled.
"Sorry. I wasn't fast enough." He indicated the computer with one hand. His eyes drifted 
down to the message.
"No, Harry!" she yelped, holding up her hand to forestall him. Uselessly. 
His eyes had already scanned the message. "What IS this?" His face was flushing, partly 
from anger, partly from embarrassment. The message on the screen was obscene. No, it 
was worse than that. It was a sexual attack---a smear directed at Malista---designed to hurt 
and humiliate her---or perhaps to intimidate or scare her.
"Just delete it," she sighed, falling back against the couch.
Kim scrolled it down looking for a signature. There was none. It was an anonymous, 
obscene...."Have you gotten these before?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Just delete it."
He didn't. He saved the file then snapped off the screen and came to sit next to her, taking 
her hands in his. "Malista, have you reported this to Security?"
She closed her eyes.  "No."
Harry was speechless for a moment. "No! Why not? Do you know who's sending you 
that---that filth?"
"No." She pulled her hand free of his hold and thrust them through her hair. "I don't 
know. I wish they'd stop."
"It would stop if you would report it, and let Security put a stop to it."
"Harry, I don't want to report it."
"Why not?" he asked, speaking very precisely in an effort to keep control of his temper. He 
wanted to explode, but he didn't have a target for his anger----yet.
She exhaled on a quavering sigh. "I don't want to make trouble for anyone."
"Malista, I will *not* have you subjected to this kind of---abuse. Sending material like that 
through the ship's communications system is in violation of at least half a dozen Starfleet 
regulations. Especially sending it anonymously. Have you kept any of the other messages? 
How many have there been?" Harry seemed to have no doubts about the proper course of 
action.
She wished she was as sure. "I don't know how many. I've been deleting them every night 
as soon as I---Harry, I don't think it will do any good to report it. I mean---it's 
anonymous. I don't know who---"
"There are ways to find out. It may take some time, but---" He stopped as she turned away 
from him, arms crossed on the back of the couch, and dropped her head to hide her face. 
To hide her face---from him? "Malista?" 
"I'm sorry, Harry." Her words were muffled, but the pain came through clearly. Was she 
crying? She almost seemed to be cringing, as if she expected---as if she thought---
Harry Kim felt like kicking himself. She thought he blamed her? That he was angry at her? 
Because of that---stuff? She was always a little too ready to accept the blame for anything 
and everything---even things she had no control over. He had to tread carefully. He had to 
make it clear she wasn't to blame and that he knew it. 
Kim drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it slowly. His head was a 
little clearer. He sank down on the couch next to her and gently slipped an arm around her. 
Overcoming her slight resistance, he gently twisted her body towards him and cradled her 
against his chest, pressing her face into the curve of his neck. 
He couldn't think of what to say. So he stroked her hair with one hand, while the other 
held her firmly and lovingly against his body. After a moment, he began to croon under his 
breath, the way his mother had when she'd soothed him as a child. "It's all right, Malista. 
It's all right. I'm here, Cookie. I'm not going anywhere. It's not your fault. It will be all 
right."
She didn't speak. This was so much more than she'd expected. She'd thought Harry 
would be angry at her. She must have done something stupid or mislead someone. Why 
else would the anonymous sender think she would welcome such messages? Had she 
unknowingly encouraged this kind of---She didn't want to think about it.
Right now, Harry was here. Harry was holding her. She'd think about that. Nothing else. 
Not the messages. Not all the people who stared at her or the two men who tried to touch 
her. Not the future---when Harry might not be there. If he knew---if he found out how bad 
her reputation---No! She wouldn't think about that. Just the now. That's all she would 
think about. Just what was happening right now. This minute.
She was so tired. Tired of being on guard every moment that she was out of Harry's sight. 
Tired of being wary every moment that she was out of her quarters. Tired of not being able 
to sleep for fear of hearing her father's voice accusing her in her dreams. Tired of 
everything and almost everyone---except Harry Kim.
He was rocking his upper body back and forth, and her along with him. It was so 
soothing. Almost like being in a swing or a hammock. Except there were warm, strong 
arms enfolding her. Comforting her. She hadn't felt so safe, so cherished and protected 
since....
She wasn't even aware of the moment that she fell asleep. In his arms.
*****************************
The tension between Maquis and Starfleet personnel was running high. It was inevitable 
that an eruption would occur as the anger and resentment simmering beneath the surface 
surged upward and spilled over. It was ironic that Malista Shadow, the innocent reason for 
most of the ill feeling, wasn't even present at Sandrine's when it occurred. 
Henley was shooting pool with Gerron Tem. As she bent over for a shot, she heard a 
snickering remark from someone seated at the bar. The first two times, she didn't 
understand all the words, but she caught the tone. The third time she heard the words 
clearly. Slamming her pool cue down on the table, she spun to confront the smart mouth 
who'd been stinging her with sotto voce comments. 
It was Crewman Paul Castelle. He'd just shared one gibe too many with the unresponsive 
Starfleet crewman sitting next to him at the bar. When Henley turned to confront him, 
Castelle got to his feet, his expression combining smiling defiance and a smirking leer. 
"Something wrong, Henley?"  Insolence dripped from every syllable.
She made a move toward him, to find her way blocked by Gerron's shoulder as he faced 
her. "Henley, don't lose your temper."
She darted a glance at the young Bajoran, then turned her glare toward her antagonist. 
"Yeah, there's something wrong, Castelle. You have something to say to me, say it loud 
enough I can hear you. And say it to my face!"
The confrontation drew the eyes and ears of all those present in Sandrine's bar. All activity 
was at a standstill. Several people stood and drew closer, vaguely forming a semicircle. It 
was no coincidence that the Maquis were lining up near Henley and Gerron.
"What did I say?" Castelle said mockingly. "I was just expressing admiration for your 
form---with a cue stick." Unsure what was going on, several Starfleet crewmen were 
moving to stand with him---just in case. They couldn't leave one of their own isolated and 
outnumbered---whether they liked him or not. Castelle knew that and counted on it. He 
hadn't expected Henley to actually confront him. Shadow hadn't.
"Yeah, sure," Henley snapped. "I don't need your admiration. Or your opinion. So keep it 
to yourself."  
"Maybe the Maquis haven't heard of freedom of speech? It's one of the principles of the 
Federation Constitution," he sneered. "But I forget, you Maquis are from those backwater 
colonies in the demilitarized zone."
Henley went for his throat. The only reason she didn't get it was because Gerron Tem 
wrapped his arms around her waist and thrust her back into the small crowd of Maquis and 
her forearms were seized by Dalby and Chell on either side of her. 
"No! That's what he wants! If you throw the first punch---" Gerron whispered vehemently 
right in her ear.
Henley, breathing hard, let Gerron's words soak in and subsided even as she glared at the 
other man. The whole incident might have ended there, except for a single mistake in 
judgment.
"See?" Castelle said to the other Starfleet crewmen, gesturing toward Henley. "I told you 
those Maquis women were savage. They're barely civilized---but that just makes them 
wilder for sex. I hear they're insatiable? Right, Gerron?" The ensign was keeping a wary 
eye on Dalby and Henley, assuming any action would be started by one of the two hottest 
heads among the Maquis crew. That was his mistake. 
He underestimated the young Bajoran's reaction to the taunt. That became clear as Gerron 
swung a fist and connected with Castelle's jaw. Castelle dropped to the deck, holding his 
chin and shaking his head to clear it. Before he could scramble to his feet, Dalby, Henley, 
and several other Maquis stepped forward, as did Castelle's Starfleet companions. 
Before more fists could fly, a strong and powerful voice boomed, "That's enough! Stand 
down!" The First Officer, accompanied by Lt. Tuvok and two Security Officers pushed 
through the crowd and placed themselves squarely between the opposing sides. 
"Everyone back off," Chakotay continued, staring down each and every crewmember 
individually. "You're finished for the night. Go to your quarters. As of now, the holodeck 
is closed for the night."
Reluctantly the crowd started to dissolve, the level of muttering increased but they obeyed. 
There were several more Security Officers stationed in the corridors to ensure the hostilities 
wouldn't be carried on elsewhere.
Chakotay looked down with disgust at Crewman Castelle. He should have known this man 
would be involved. "Lt. Tuvok, place Crewman Castelle and Crewman Gerron under 
arrest. The captain will deal with this in the morning."
At a nod from Tuvok, Ensigns Simms and Hudson took the sullen pair into custody and 
marched them to the brig. 
Dalby began to protest, but was stricken into silence by the glare in Chakotay's brown 
eyes. He swallowed his words. 
Henley was still standing there as well. "Gerron didn't---"
"Save it," the commander snapped. "I expect a full incident report from each of you in one 
hour---in my office. And that goes for you, too," he added, directing the comment to the 
Starfleet crewmen who'd apparently been siding with Castelle.
They nodded reluctantly, accepting their dismissal and skulking out of the holodeck. 
Henley and Dalby continued to wait for an opportunity to speak to the first officer. Their 
eyes darted to Lt. Tuvok.
Chakotay noticed. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate your promptness in dealing with 
this situation before it got out of hand."
"Anticipating problems facilitates dealing with them when they arise," the Vulcan replied. 
"Though I fail to see how you were able to predict this course of events with such 
accuracy. Did you have access to information that I did not?"
Chakotay's dimples briefly flashed into view. "In a manner of speaking. That's why I 
programmed Sandrine to warn us, if it seemed likely that a brawl was about to occur."
Tuvok nodded. "A wise course of action. If you will excuse me, Commander, I will fill out 
an incident report of my own and check on the status of the prisoners." At Chakotay's nod 
of dismissal, he left the holodeck.
The first officer now turned his attention to his former Maquis shipmates. "When I asked 
you for information last week, you stonewalled me. You ready to talk? Now?"
They nodded.
*****************************
	
Lieutenant Tuvok ran a quick assessing eye around the brig and the occupants of the two 
cells. He nodded approvingly at Simms and Hudson. "Have you summoned medical 
assistance for the prisoners?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir," Simms replied. "The doctor is on his way. He was a little put out that we didn't 
bring them to Sickbay---"
"The doctor is quite frequently 'put out' as you call it," Tuvok replied evenly. "Their 
injuries do not seem severe enough to warrant chancing further confrontation while they are 
undergoing medical treatment."
"Yes, sir." Simms darted a look at his partner, soliciting his opinion wordlessly.
Hudson stepped forward. "Lt. Tuvok, there is a matter we need to discuss with you. 
We've been informally investigating a problem that may be more widespread than we 
believed in light of this incident...."
***************
END OF TRIALS FOUR PART 2    
Continued in Part 3 -the final chapter---Thank God!