A Place In This World
By Laura Schiller
Based on Star Trek: Voyager
Copyright: Paramount
Crewmen Mortimer Harren, Billy Telfer and Tal Celes sat side by side along the briefing room table, opposite Captain Janeway. The topic of discussion was their future aboard Voyager, which, having gotten to know them quite well during the recent away mission, Janeway felt quite confident she could help them improve.
"So," she began, leaning forward with her hands clasped on the table, "First of all, I'd like to hear some input from you three. Have you thought about where you'd like to go from here, in terms of duty? Are you still satisfied with your current positions, or would you prefer a change? Mr. Harren, how about you?"
There was a subtle challenge in her blue-gray eyes. Mortimer looked away, drumming on the table with his fingers.
"I, uh … I hate to admit it, Captain, but I might have been wrong," he said, with customary brusqueness. "When I woke up in Sickbay yesterday and realized all of you were safe – well … it made practical experience, as opposed to theory, seem a lot less disagreeable to me than before."
Janeway smiled. "Is this your way of telling us you're glad to have launched that escape pod?"
He gave a jerky little nod as Billy and Celes exchanged an amused glance next to him.
Mortimer's unprecedented selfless courage on that occasion seemed to have surprised him more than anybody else, with the possible exception of Janeway, who had always believed there was more to him than there appeared.
"I would like to request a post that requires more … professional contact with my colleagues," he said. "Dialogue, exchanges of ideas … " A lonely, almost hungry look flashed across his plain, pale face for a moment, the same look which Janeway had observed when she'd asked him if he never felt a bond with the rest of the crew.
"Cosmology is your field of expertise, isn't it?" said Janeway. "So how about Astrometrics? I'm sure Seven could use you."
He wrinkled his nose as if at a bad smell. "That Borg of yours? Seriously?"
Janeway showed him formidable captain's glare, just enough to wipe that look No one spoke ill of Seven in her presence.
"That Borg is by far the most intelligent, most knowledgeable person you'll find on this ship," she countered. "What she doesn't know about stellar phenomena isn't worth knowing. And she'll never make fun of you, or bother you with small talk when you don't feel like it."
She thought back with amusement to the moment when this insufferable genius had dismissed her attempt to make conversation as "irrelevant".
"Which is more than I can say for some members of this crew," Mortimer grumbled, but his annoyed expression faded as quickly as it had come. "Do you think … she could help me disprove Shletzold's Theory of Multiple Big Bangs?"
"She'd enjoy the challenge," said Janeway triumphantly, knowing she had him just where she wanted him. "I take it you agree to my suggestion?"
"On a trial basis only," he replied, folding his arms and looking stiffer than ever just to remind them all that it was his decision to make.
"Very good." She noted it down on her padd and turned to the next person on her agenda.
"Now, Crewman … I'm sorry. Is it Crewman Celes or Crewman Tal? I should have stopped to ask before."
"It's Crewman Tal, actually," said the Bajoran with one of her deprecating shrugs, though there was a bit less deprecation about it than usual. "But you can keep calling me Celes if you like. Everybody does."
"Well then, Celes," said Janeway, with an open-handed gesture and a nod, "Where do you see yourself going from here?"
She remembered the young woman's rueful comment that there was no fitting post for her on Voyager, unless they wanted a waitress in the mess hall (which, as it happened, they did not – Neelix was just a tad posessive of his domain, and had never allowed anybody to work there except Kes and Tuvok). Surely, with such strength as Celes had shown during the mission – comforting Billy, insisting on staying with Janeway even during a crisis situation – she could somehow arrive at a better estimate of her own worth.
"Somewhere quiet," Celes admitted. "With no complicated calculations and no commanding officers forever breathing down my neck … no offense, Captain."
"None taken." Janeway had suspected all along that Celes' problems were just an unlucky combination: little talent, an overly demanding superior in Seven of Nine, and a serious lack of self-confidence. The first problem could not be helped, but the other two certainly could.
Janeway glanced between Mortimer and Celes. From a certain point of view, they were like photo negatives of each other – the genius scientist with no social skills, and the friendly, compassionate woman who couldn't solve an algorithm. She had an idea.
"Would Mr. Harren's shift in the plasma relay room suit you?"
Celes tilted her head like a curious bird.
"That shouldn't be too difficult. Just the occasional power transfer, two to three times a day. What do you think, Celes?"
Mortimer raised his eyes to the ceiling and looked on the point of saying something catty. Billy elbowed him to shut him up.
Celes paused for a moment in thought, a slow smile growing on her face.
"It might get a bit lonely down on Deck Fifteen," Billy pointed out, turning to his friend with cautious concern. "There are other people stationed there, right, Captain? She won't be all alone."
"That's right. Crewmen Mitchell, Gerron and Ambrose."
"So it won't be that lonely." Celes' smile grew into an outright grin, with turned especially bright when she looked back at Billy. "It sounds good, Captain. I'll give it a try. Will Harren be taking my shift, then?"
"Hmm … Grade three sensor analysis," said Mortimer, as if testing the words for flavor and finding them rather sour. "That's … not exactly the challenge I was hoping for."
"On a technical level, I suppose not," said Janeway. "But the challenge will be dealing with your teammates and your superiors. Isn't that what you told us you were hoping for?"
"Right." Mortimer's square jaw hardened with determination. "It is."
"Seven won't be hovering over you, for sure," said Celes, quite cheerfully now that she had escaped the ex-Borg's eagle eye herself.
"Not if I can help it," Mortimer scoffed.
"So, that's settled, then." Janeway gestured from one to the other. "When this meeting is over, go to Commander Chakotay. You have my authorization to exchange shifts."
"Yes, ma'am," they chorused.
Billy, seeing his Captain's gaze turning toward him, smiled and shrugged.
"I'm doing good, Captain. My job at the science lab is just right for me. As long as that alarm of mine doesn't start again, I'm gonna be fine." He rubbed his neck where the dark matter centipede had crawled out of him; after that, all the other assorted maladies he had dreaded were now placed firmly in perspective as the illusions they were.
"Glad to hear it, William." Janeway stood up, braced her hands on the table, and gave them all a warm, motherly smile.
"All three of you have performed admirably on this mission," she told them. "I'm proud of you, and I have faith that you'll continue as well, or even better, than you began."
She touched Mortimer's shoulder, straightened Billy's collar and ran a hand over Celes' pinned-up hair on her way out of the room.
"Dismissed."
/
"So, how was your first shift?" Billy asked Celes, during their lunch break the next day.
"Not bad." She leaned back comfortably in her seat, digging into a steaming plate of hasperat. "Gerron showed me how the plasma relay system works, and we got to chatting. You know I've been wanting to talk to him for ages, but I couldn't. Too shy – especially with him being a Maquis and all. But he's really very nice once you get him alone. Oh, there he is!"
She waved over Billy's shoulder at a slight, brown-haired Bajoran man entering the room, who replied with a grave nod and sat down at a table with his friends Dalby, Chell and Gilmore. Gerron, as Billy remembered, was one of the only two Bajoran crewmembers besides Celes (the third being Ensign Tabor from Engineering, whose hot temper and loud opinions made Celes nervous).
"So you weren't bored?" Billy inquired.
"Not at all. Don't tell the Captain," leaning forward and cupping her hand to her mouth for a conspiratorial whisper, "But they've got an ongoing poker game down there. Harren never played, of course. Oh, Billy, speak of the pagh-wraith! Would you look at that?"
He followed the direction of her delighted, astonished gaze two tables over from theirs. Nibbling on ration bars, passing a padd between them, wearing matching looks of deadly solemnity and speaking in a rapid technical jargon which gave Billy a headache just to listen to, were none other than Mortimer Harren and Seven of Nine.
"A match made in geek heaven," Billy remarked, making Celes giggle.
As they watched, little Naomi Wildman came up to Seven and Mortimer's table. Bily and Celes exchanged grimaces, hoping that whatever the abrasive Harren said wouldn't hurt the little girl's feelings that badly. Instead, to their surprise, Mortimer bent his head down almost to Naomi's level and ran his finger along the lines of the padd she was showing him, explaining something as gravely and respectfully as an Academy professor speaking to an adult cadet. Her small face lit up with understanding as she nodded and sat down at their table, joining Seven and Mortimer as casually as if she did it every day.
Billy and Celes shook their heads, smiled at each other, and fell back into their comfortable lunchtime routine of comparing each other's morning shifts. Meanwhile at the other end of the room, a certain redheaded Captain and her tall, dark First Officer lifted their coffee mugs in a toast to the Good Shepherd finding her sheep.