The characters are owned by Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended. Plot elements are borrowed from an episode of TNG and an episode of DS9. Bonus points if you can identify the episodes.
Thank you to my amazing beta, without whom my stories wouldn't be worth reading at all. Everything you like is because of my beta, not me.
To "Deleterious" followers: I will get back to that soon, but I actually started this one first. Got to go where the plot bunnies lead…
Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed my stories so far. There are a lot of really great stories here and I'm overjoyed that you took the time to check out mine.
Harry Kim peered with dismay at the bulky box as Tom Paris manipulated the dials. He resisted the urge to cover his ears against the offending static.
"And people did this for fun?" he asked incredulously, attempting to resist the urge to yell over the white noise.
Paris nodded enthusiastically and raised his voice over the din. "It was sort of a game to see how far away they could make contacts. Of course, as they were on Earth, they got help from ionic propagation, moonbounce, stuff like that. If we go to the holodeck, I can simulate the conditions, but there's something about playing with real equipment, you know?"
"Uh, yeah," Harry answered, desperately wanting to escape, but not knowing how to tell his friend that this "pastime" was the most boring thing he'd ever heard of.
"Here, you try," Paris offered, grabbing the ensign's hand and pushing it towards the circular knob. "Just rotate that to change frequency."
Biting his tongue, Harry obeyed, mindlessly turning circles until suddenly, Tom reached out, grabbed his hand and cried, "Stop!"
Startled, Harry pulled back and stared as Tom adjusted the dial slightly, then froze and appeared to intently listen.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Sssh," cautioned Tom. "Hold on a second."
Then, a moment later, "Computer, run translation matrix beta four on the radio signal we're receiving."
Harry stared, wide-eyed, sure that Tom was imagining things. "I don't hear anything," he objected. "It sounds just like before."
Tom shook his head. "There's definitely something there. It's similar to Morse code. Can't you tell the static is quieter and there are some ordered noises?"
Harry sighed. "I guess," he conceded, though he remained unconvinced.
Tom continued fiddling with the dials while Harry fidgeted. It seemed to the young ensign that his friend was completely engrossed in his task, oblivious to his companion's discomfort. Ensign Kim began to fantasize about what he could be doing instead, if he weren't so loyal a friend…perhaps practicing clarinet, catching up on reports for the captain, or making out with Susan Nicoletti…okay, maybe not that last one, at least not without some more careful romancing…and when was he going to find the time for wooing young ladies when he was spending every off-duty moment as Paris's lap dog? And yet…the lieutenant sitting beside him had saved his ass on more than one occasion…he did owe Tom, plus their stag time did always seem to end in something interesting, eventually…
Suddenly, Tom rose from his seat. "Let's go get some lunch," he offered. "This is going to take a while."
For perhaps the first time, Harry actually found himself looking forward to a trip to the Mess Hall for some of Neelix's so-called cooking.
Despite his initial boredom, Harry found himself somewhat intrigued. "So, what does it say?" he asked.
Tom held up a hand for a moment. "Patience, young apprentice!"
Harry rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak again when the translation came through.
Is anyone out there?
The young men stared at each other, and before Harry could object, Tom had hit the reply button: yes.
Harry glared at his friend. "What are you doing?" he growled. "We've just broken the Prime Directive!"
"Relax, Harry!" he exclaimed. "Better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission, right?"
"I'm not so sure about…" Harry started, but quickly stopped when the signal returned.
My name is Nukina. What's yours?
I'm Tom.
That sounds like a nice name. Are you a god?
The two men exchanged alarmed looks, wondering if the translator had misinterpreted. Tom shrugged before deciding how to answer.
No, we're just people. Are you a god?
The translator couldn't interpret the next remark. "I wonder if she's laughing at that," Harry wondered aloud. The clarification came shortly.
I'm a child!
How old are you?
Four rotations of the sun. Are you a child too?
No. I am fully grown. Where are your parents?
Father died last winter. Mother is very sick. They said my little brother is inside her and will die soon if she doesn't get better. I'm scared.
Who are they?
The doctors. But they are very busy. Many people are ill. And they said mother can't take the usual medicine because it will hurt my brother.
Tom was trying to compose a reply when another message came: I have to go. Mother is here.
We'll be here when you return.
"How can you promise that?" Harry asked accusingly.
"I'll set an automatic alarm to notify me if we get a response," Tom explained.
Harry wasn't looking forward to being woken up in the middle of his sleep cycle for this…project, but on the other hand, he had to admit, the idea of getting to know this new culture, of being one of the first people to develop a relationship with this heretofore unknown race…excited his insides until they danced like gaseous molecules in low pressure.
"What is that, Mister Paris?" asked the captain curiously.
"Busted," mouthed Ensign Kim behind her back.
Guiltily, Tom handed her the padd that was making the faint buzzing noise. As she peered at its contents, her face became increasingly grim.
Finally, she dropped her arm to her side and gave him a withering glare. He wanted to climb under the console and die.
"In my Ready Room. Now," she ordered.
Harry's conscience nagged at him. He simply couldn't let his friend take the blame alone. It had been Tom's idea, but he'd certainly abetted the crime…plus, there was the oft-mused-about-lately issue of his ass Paris had rescued from foes ranging from Ferengi to a particular red-headed captain… "Wait," he called out.
Janeway turned, fixing her accusing gaze upon the ensign.
He clenched his fists to keep steady. "I'm part of this too," he admitted.
"I see," answered the captain, disappointment dripping in her voice. Then she turned and looked around at the rest of the bridge crew. "Anyone else in on this?"
One by one, the bridge officers began to raise their hands.
Chakotay was the last. Appearing sheepish, he looked down at the floor to avoid meeting her eyes. However, her thoughts were as clear as if she'd spoken them aloud: et tu, Chakotay?
After an interminable silence, the captain spoke. "Fine, let's deal with this here."