Three times Tom didn't celebrate his lieutenant's pip and one time that he did. The second story in a set.
A Lieutenant's Pip
Redemption
Tom gave his empty collar one last look. There was no ceremony to mark this occasion, just a box of pips from the Captain and a padd from the First Officer's office listing his duties. Slowly, deliberately, Tom pinned the gold pip and its black companion in place. Captain Janeway's words from their earlier meeting echoed in his ears, "You've earned this, Tom."
He'd heard those words before. This time he believed them, probably because Admiral Paris was nowhere near the Delta Quadrant.
"I'm only sorry your father won't know."
The Captain meant well. But Tom had to smile when she said that. If Voyager had been in the Alpha Quadrant, Admiral Paris would have known all about it within the hour. When it came to his son's affairs, his intelligence system was second to none. In the Delta Quadrant Tom had breathing room - until they got back.
Tom turned away from the mirror. Although he couldn't see the pips anymore, he knew they were there. He had a fresh start, a new beginning. He was acutely aware that there was more at stake here than personal redemption. What he did from now on reflected on Captain Janeway. She'd put her trust in him. He couldn't let her down.
It was just ironic that the Captain's priority was getting her crew home. Getting home wasn't anywhere near the top of Tom's list. He cared about his family, missed them too. But he'd been cut off for so long. It was a familiar ache. It would take more than a physical return to the Alpha Quadrant to heal that wound.
Tom straightened his uniform, assumed an air of confidence and made his way through Voyager's busy corridors to the bridge. There were no half-fallen beams or exploded panels left to dodge. That didn't mean that all the pieces were back in place. The Captain wanted systems repaired and fine-tuned before Voyager began its long journey home. That meant work continued round-the-clock.
When the turbolift doors opened Tom wasn't surprised to find repairs teams from beta and gamma shifts vying with the alpha crew for space around the consoles. Every bridge station had its own crowd of workers.
"Lt. Paris." Captain Janeway surfaced from the huddle around the security station. He stepped around a pile of replacement parts to get close.
"We're not finished with the helm." She nodded in the direction of the bodies crawling over that console. "Right now you'll just be in the way. You and Mr. Kim seem to make a good team. The two of you can do more good helping out in Jeffries tube nine, deck six."
Tom raised an eyebrow in Harry's direction. Harry grabbed a tool kit and joined Tom in the turbolift. Harry gave Tom's collar the once-over and grinned. "I guess being a lieutenant doesn't earn you a pass when it comes to the dirty work."
Tom had to laugh. "I guess not." The doors swished open in front of them. "Let's get our hands dirty, Ensign."
"After you, Lieutenant."
The work was tedious, but nothing Tom couldn't handle. Working alongside Harry was better than sitting alone in his quarters, finalizing his personnel report. The Captain was right about the two of them making a good team. At least Tom thought so until he heard Harry swear.
"Damn it."
"What's wrong?"
"I left my micro-scanner on the bridge. I can't finish these adjustments without it. Will you be okay until I get back?"
"What? You expect me to turn into a pumpkin while you're away?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind. I'll explain another time."
Harry backed out of the tube and the door started to swing closed behind him. Tom felt the walls pushing in. "Uh, Harry, leave the hatch open, will you?"
Harry looked back at Tom. "Sure, if you want me to." He carefully propped the hatch open before he headed off to the bridge.
Tom shut his eyes and tried to sit back. These Jefferies tubes were not designed for the comfort of people over 180 centimeters tall. Harry better get back soon with that missing part.
Tom concentrated on the voices in the corridor. Some were discussing repairs, sharing their aches, pains and concerns about home. Others talked about the Maquis and about Tom Paris. Tom rated right up there among the top five topics of conversation.
"Paris, a senior officer, that's a laugh. He's no more a senior officer than my pet terrier!"
"So your terrier's a senior officer. Let it go. The Captain made her decision. Rollins said the guy did a good job on the bridge during the battle with the Kazon."
"He still has to prove it to me!"
All things considered, it could have been worse. At least one or two of them were willing to wait and see how well he lived up to the Captain's expectations. That was something.
The Maquis were going to be something else. This afternoon's memorial service would be the first time most of them would see Tom wearing his new rank pips. Well, there was a first time for everything. Tom would find out just how well Chakotay's promise of safety held up.
New footsteps approached the hatch. The handle jiggled and the door swung fully open. Tom relaxed when Harry's face appeared. Harry deposited a small pile of tools inside the tube and climbed in after them. "I thought I might as well bring these along," Harry explained.
"We won't need all this stuff, Harry."
"Probably not. But it won't impress the Captain if I keep running back and forth to the bridge for tools."
"Good point," Tom agreed. "You'll make a better impression after you clean up."
"What do you mean 'clean up'?"
"That streak of dirt on the back of your uniform, Harry."
"Really? Where?" Harry twisted his neck to get a better look. "Oh no! Do you think the Captain noticed?"
"Hell if I know. Besides, it comes with the job. We'll have plenty of time to make ourselves presentable before the memorial service."
Tom had tried to skip the service by volunteering to cover for other crewmembers. The Captain would have none of it. "Don't even think about missing the memorial, Mr. Paris. I expect all of my senior officers to attend and to show up at the mess hall afterwards."
So Tom dutifully cleaned up and changed into a spare uniform when he got back to his quarters. He was still in the accommodations that had been assigned to him when he came on board. He'd asked not to be moved into the former Chief Pilot's quarters. He'd taken over Lt. Stadi's position at the helm. As foolish as it sounded, he didn't feel right about taking over her quarters too.
Tom didn't expect any real problems at the service, not with security in attendance - more importantly, not with Chakotay and the Captain presenting a united front. He didn't see any reason to rock the boat by drawing attention to himself. He tried to slip into a seat near the back. The Captain seemed determined to make a point of the fact that Tom was a member of her senior staff. She gestured to a seat in the front row where Chakotay and Tuvok were sitting stoically side-by-side. The two of them made dull company. Tom was relieved when Harry joined him soon after.
The Captain spoke eloquently to the assembled crew about the crewmates they had lost and how they were taking a different path on the journey home. Chakotay stood up to add a few words. He spoke about the Maquis crew who had lost their lives when the Caretaker dragged the Val Jean into the Delta Quadrant.
Tom didn't recognize the names of the fallen. They must have joined the Maquis after he left. They probably weren't around long enough to pick up the survival skills that no one taught you, like where to stand in an emergency so that you wouldn't be in the blast radius of an exploding panel.
A few Starfleet crewmembers shared personal anecdotes about lost friends. Tom felt guilty about not liking Cavit when he found out that the man left a young family behind. Nothing that Tom heard about the ship's doctor made him regret the fact that he had disliked Dr. Fitzgerald.
Ensign Alyssa Hamilton spoke about Lt. Stadi. Nica Stadi had loved classic Betazoid literature, astropaleontology and a form of music similar to twentieth century Earth jazz.
Tom wished that he'd known about the jazz when Lt. Stadi was still alive. It was too late now. Along with the other dead, she rested inside a torpedo casing waiting to be shot into space. The ship shuddered with the launch of each casing and the service was over.
For Tom, the hardest hours were ahead of him. At the memorial service people were planted in rows. In the mess hall they could move around freely making it harder for him to keep track of unfriendlies. He wondered if the Captain would believe him if he told her that he'd developed a sudden case of the flu.
In the end he didn't get a chance to try out his excuse. Tuvok semi-adopted Tom and stuck with him until they reached the mess hall. Whether Tuvok meant to protect him from unwanted attention or simply ensure that he made it to the social gathering, Tom couldn't tell.
To brighten Tom's afternoon further, the lovely sight of Seska's sneering face greeted the two of them when the doors opened. Tuvok overlooked her presence and continued on into the mess hall. Tom ignored her too and went to find Harry. After that he spent time with the members of his staff. He also spoke to a few other faces that he recognized from the bridge.
Tom was 'accidently' jostled several times along the way. A drink ended up on his sleeve. He kept his resolve and listened to excuses with a graciousness that was as insincere as the apologies. He borrowed a napkin from the refreshment table to mop up the worst of the spill.
"Lieutenant."
Chakotay addressed him by rank.
"Commander," Tom returned the courtesy and acknowledged Chakotay's position on the ship.
"I assume that there is no need to remind you to submit your personnel report to me before it goes to Captain Janeway."
"No need at all, Commander," Tom answered smoothly. "But thanks for the message."
Chakotay could have commed him privately. The Maquis did not exactly sit up, but they noticed that Chakotay spoke to him with professional courtesy. Most of them seemed to take the hint. Tom no longer felt quite like a mouse in a room full of cats. He finished drying his sleeve.
Tom wasn't surprised when the Captain joined him minutes later. "Good work, Mr. Paris. I see that you have the right idea. Circulate. Be visible. But watch your back."
"I thought Chakotay was doing that."
"Commander Chakotay has enough on his plate today. There's no need to make him work any harder than he has to."
"Understood."
"Commander Chakotay informs me that the Maquis are holding a wake in cargo bay two tonight." She added thoughtfully, "That should make it a lot quieter for the rest of us."
"I'll keep that in mind, Captain."
Satisfied, she walked away to attend to other members of her crew.
Tom surveyed the refreshment offerings, looking for something edible. He wasn't too absorbed in his search to miss Seska's voice off to his left.
"So who do you think Paris made up to, in order to be made an officer? Janeway must be hard up for personnel to pick him. She's hard up for something, that's for sure." It sounded as if Seska had decided that Chakotay's message didn't mean she couldn't entertain herself at the Captain and Tom's expense.
Tom began a slow burn but forced himself to stay silent. He'd been caught in Seska's games before when he was with the Maquis. If he reacted now he'd only draw attention to her and spoil what the Captain had accomplished by this gathering.
A new voice broke in on Seska's performance. "Stow it, Seska. Chakotay said not to stir things up." Tom recognized Mike Ayala's voice. Not that he'd heard Ayala's voice often, but Mike spoke up when he had something to say.
"I'm not stirring things up. I just wonder what kind of 'favor' Paris did for Janeway to get her to give him a rank."
Tom stiffened. It was clear enough what kind of favor she was implying. He had a few choice words that he longed to say to her.
Mike spoke up before Tom could. "That kind of talk won't win you points with Chakotay. He wants us to work with Captain Janeway. He has his reasons now, just like he had his reasons for breaking it off with you. He won't like it if he hears you bad-mouthing Janeway. Besides, not everyone is like you. Not everyone tries to get ahead by giving some."
"How droll, Mike. You really should sign up for the entertainment committee." Seska's laugh sounded brittle to Tom's ears.
"I said shut up, Seska. This isn't the time. I buried friends today. I'm going to get another drink. Anyone else up for one?"
Out of the corner of his eye Tom saw others turn away, leaving Seska by herself.
"You mean the slop they call beer?"
"Quit complaining. Lousy booze is better than no booze at all."
"I'll remember you said that the next time it's my turn to buy."
Seska gathered up her dignity and went to find Henley, Jonas and a few others.
Chakotay must have been watching too. Tom saw him make his way over to the group of Maquis soon after Seska joined them. The conversation took a sharp turn when he sat down.
By the end of the evening Tom was mentally and emotionally exhausted. He'd spent the afternoon on high alert, acting a part in front of the crew. He felt wrung out but was in no mood for sleep. He wanted time for a good-bye of his own.
He'd liked Stadi. She was businesslike, but strangely knowing. She called him on it when he put on his 'I am a jerk' routine. Others took his act at face value. In prison it was better to be a jerk than a target. Unlike others, Stadi didn't toss him into the disposal unit along with his crap.
Tom decided against returning to his quarters. He headed to the observation lounge instead. Old habits died hard. Tom scouted the room before he sat down. It was empty, but he still chose a seat with a view of the door and access to an escape route. Then he leaned back to watch stars that Stadi never got to see.
A swish of the doors set off his 'fight or flight' reflex. He relaxed when he saw Ensign Hamilton come in. She was an attractive woman, fair haired and willowy. But not only was this not a good time, she was a member of his staff and exactly the type that reminded him of his sisters.
"Good evening, Ensign." He sat down again giving her the option of leaving or coming the rest of the way in.
"I didn't realize anyone else would be here." She used a quieter voice when not speaking in front of a crowd.
"I wanted to see Stadi off," he explained.
Apparently that was the right answer. She let the door close and chose a chair not far from Tom.
Tom watched her, trying not to be obvious about it. Both Baytart and Culhane had top flight ratings. Hamilton was an aberration. She was not a brilliant pilot, yet it was Stadi's recommendation that put her in charge of beta shift. That was one of the reasons he was having trouble finishing his personnel report.
The staff that was adequate for a short-term mission no longer cut it. Voyager needed a full rotation of skilled bodies at the helm. Tom had been given access to Starfleet performance files in order to identify potential recruits. He had a good idea of the current team's strengths and weaknesses and had identified some likely Starfleet candidates. There were also some Maquis that Tom knew might work out. But the reasoning behind Stadi's team organization escaped him. It was a puzzle he needed to solve before he finalized his report.
"I didn't realize that you knew Lt. Stadi so well," he commented to invite conversation.
"Nica and I met while on the Mars-Saturn run. She recommended me for my position on Voyager." She hesitated, then reached a decision. "I know what you're thinking, Lieutenant."
"What am I thinking?" Tom wasn't sure where this was going.
"That Lt. Stadi recommended me because we were friends. I know my flight rating. I can't compare with Baytart or Culhane. But Nica was Betazoid. She saw things other people didn't. She said that she needed more than technical brilliance. She needed judgment too. I don't panic. I know how to handle emergencies. I know when I need to call for backup and pilot egos don't throw me off my game."
Tom sensed she wasn't done. He nodded for her to continue.
"Baytart is full of nervous energy. You should see him juggle," Alyssa Hamilton allowed herself a half smile before continuing. "Pablo thinks he's the best. He's wrong. Culhane could out-fly him, but he doesn't have the confidence. That's why Nica paired Culhane with me."
Tom knew that Stadi was perceptive. She'd picked up right away how much he yearned to fly. She'd found time in a busy schedule to show him the flight simulations and let him try them out.
"Nica said that you could fly circles around both of them."
Tom turned to Alyssa and frowned. "How would she know that?" he asked. "She set the flight simulator way down at level … "
"Level Four?" Her smile was wider this time. "I know. But she could tell. What really impressed her was that you didn't try to show off. You respected the ship and what it needed from its pilot."
Tom's memory of that day was bittersweet. At the time he thought that it was the closest he'd ever come to flying a ship like Voyager. Harry Kim and Nica Stadi were bright spots in a lonely time.
"She must have been very good at her job."
"She was."
Tom nodded again. Stadi's decision finally made sense to him. Now he could move on and make his own recommendations for his team.
But Ensign Hamilton wasn't finished yet. "Lt. Stadi would be happy to know that her ship is in such good hands."
"Thank you," Tom answered her gravely. "That means a lot to me."
"I thought it might." She gathered herself to stand up. "I think I'll be going now. Good night, sir."
"Good night, Ensign."
After she left, Tom leaned back once more. He watched unfamiliar stars and said a proper good-bye to a fellow pilot - one who should have shared their journey, one who could have been a friend.