A/N: follows the events and a lot of the dialogue of the first Re-Animator movie, although much of it had to eventually be changed to fit the characters and timeline. you don't have to have read the story or have seen the movie to understand any of it (but like it's a great movie if you want to anyways haha). A lot of the really heavy gore/violence ended up being cut out of the fic just because it didn't fit the story well... also because Herbert does some of that stuff in private and my fic is only through the eyes of the narrator :) I present to you: the story you never wanted but now have!

If you are at all familiar with Starfleet, then you would know that it has produced many heroes; many great men and women who served their respective peoples well and eventually wrote their way into history. Yes, Starfleet has a knack for producing those blazing stars, those golden children who stand out amongst their peers and earn ships and crews, and go out into the sky to represent the Federation. And of course there are the rest of the young hopefuls—like me—who become the crew and not usually the captain. That was always my goal, although I'd hoped to rank up high enough to get my voice heard within my own sphere of influence… and I did… perhaps for different reasons than I'd care to admit, but it served me in the end.

But then there are those individuals such as Tom Paris, who have managed to slip in through the cracks in the entrance exams. They join Starfleet to serve their own purposes, their own secret agendas. When we were together, I was utterly floored by his mind, his creations. It is only now as I look back on it all that I can see them for what they really are, and it is perhaps that bitterness that taints many of the memories that I hold on to of us. It is also possible that I've distorted it, maybe even imagined things as if to inflate it, to justify what we did in my own mind. As most things do, it started slowly and grew until he'd mastered an unbreakable spell over me, of which I have a great deal of regret. I believe that he began roping me in the moment we met, those years ago when we were still young, only just cadets.

I had been at Starfleet Academy almost a whole three years before I met his acquaintance and I was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon I would promote from cadet to ensign and get sent out on a real Federation Starship; just the thought of flying around up there in the stars used to made me giddy with excitement. The only people probably more excited than me were my parents. They missed me of course, and I think that they would have almost liked it better if I would've stayed at home. And done what, then? Become a musician? No, I had an aptitude for the clarinet, but that wasn't a career that I wished to pursue full-time. If I ranked up high enough, maybe I could put it in to start a Starfleet band. Yeah, that's what I thought I would do. Until then, it was keep practicing and stay focused on schoolwork.

It was true that I was focused, and dedicated, and everything that you'd expect a good student to be. I had a reputation for following the rules and putting all my effort into every assignment, which had made me popular with some of the professors but not so many friends. We were all so busy with our work that we didn't have much time to make friends anyways, or at least that's what we all told ourselves in order to make it through each semester. It was at the time in my training when I got to do more hands-on assignments, working with some of the engineers and tactical officers to design and test prototype systems that would hopefully eventually work their way into the fleet. Mostly I was a grunt; doing the dirty work and filling out reports, but sometimes I was allowed to participate in the tests. It was on one of those days when I met him, when the course of my work would be irreversibly altered.

The test had been a failure, but I refused to give up. I'd had a heavy hand in designing that particular targeting system and I wanted nothing more than to see it succeed. The dang thing just wouldn't lock on, which was the worst possible thing that could've gone wrong. Kind of like if someone's heart just wouldn't beat; yeah, it'd be a disaster. I'd insisted on continuing to channel 'power' into the network (it was all a simulation of course, so I had nothing to lose but my own pride) even after the other officers had started to back away.

"Kim, your optimism is touching, but a waste of time." The senior officer, a Bajoran lieutenant, informed. She was kind enough, a great instructor, but had a terrible time with patience. It wasn't like we were in much of a hurry; this wasn't a warzone, we didn't need to pump out technology. I thought our time would be better spent fixing the stuff we were working on rather than scrapping it all to make room for a new project, but she was the boss and she didn't think that way. "A good officer knows when to stop."

"I can get it working!" I protested, hands still lingering over the console. I could feel my work dying in front of me and I was practically helpless, forced to follow the will of a lieutenant who wasn't even very invested in the test in the first place "I know I can."

"We're done here. Better luck next time, Cadet." She, along with the other officers and cadets who'd participated in the simulation, filed out of the room to prepare for whatever great idea was next. Knowing my luck, it'd probably become some sort of great success. I would have liked to say that my failure made me more dedicated, more hardworking and ready to pound out the next task that was delegated to me, but mostly I just felt defeated. Crushed, even. All I had wanted to do was prove that maybe I could be one of those blazing stars. It wasn't my fault that the targeting system had failed (really my hand in the entire project was minimal at best), but I felt like I should have been able to revive it. I'd had all the tools at my disposal, but I couldn't do it.

I was left with the work of powering down the simulation and making sure all the components were put back in their rightful places. This wasn't so bad; it was trying, sure, but it gave me time to think. I was going to have to 'bury' my project, so to speak, so it gave me time to think through everything that went wrong. When I was done at the main testing site, I gathered up the data chips used and took them out into the hall. There was a special lab on the lowest floor (actually, it might have even been underground, but there were so few windows that it always felt as if we were underground) where all of the broken or consumed pieces were stored and all useful data extracted. It was part of my final duty to take my failed program to its final resting place—the computer where it'd be analyzed, then most likely scrapped.

I paused by the entrance of the joint storage and examination room to get clearance from the security guard, a stony-faced Vulcan with little interest in his position. I often found him thumbing through pages of books or more commonly, scrolling through PADD after PADD. It was clear that like me, he would rather be off on a ship somewhere, doing something more exciting with his career, but this was where his rotation had landed him. It could've been worse though; I could think of worse stations to be, especially for a Vulcan.

"Hey, Tuvok." No response from the security guard. "I've got another one." I held up the storage devices for the man to see.

"Doctor Zimmerman is in the examination room." He informed, buzzing the door open so I could get inside. I thought it was a little unnecessary to keep such high security on the area; we were in one of the most secure areas on the planet. And anyways, who would want to break into this place, of all rooms? It was just a bunch of junk—rejects and deteriorating programs. None of the stuff that came in here ever got out, unless it was in a pile of ash.

I took little note of the balding man in the center of the room, the teacher who I'd had the privilege to learn from in the form of classes during my position at Starfleet Academy. The storage room, which connected directly to the examination room, was empty and chilled because computers don't need temperature control. Energy efficiency 101. Still, it gave me the creeps. The thought of staying in the room any longer than I had to was unappealing and I quickly made the drop, then exited back into the main room. I paused only out of courtesy, because the other man had an ego and he liked to think that others (especially his students) cared immensely about his work. Dr. Zimmerman was conducting a test on some sort of failed idea of his, but I couldn't identify what exactly he was doing. I was so engrossed with watching the older man work that I hadn't heard anyone else enter the room. A hand on my shoulder caused me to jump. After seeing what had caused the startle, I began to turn red with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry Harry, I didn't mean to scare you." It was the head of our department, Commander Kathryn Janeway. The middle-aged woman was a good four or five inches shorter than me, but the way she carried herself made her appear much, much taller. Although I didn't know her as well as I'd liked, I knew she was a fair woman who was willing to give anyone a chance. As a display of this she liked to sponsor cadets that the other professors and staff at the Academy tended to dismiss. I'd often overheard the commander referring to it as being a 'good shepherd', as having a duty to give extra assistance to cadets who maybe had a different learning style or just needed a bit of encouragement or extra help. One of such cadets was my best friend, who'd once come dangerously close to dropping out of the Academy. The important thing was that she was an attentive supervisor who I felt had my back, someone I could turn to with a problem. Janeway and I got along well, although we rarely interacted directly (something that was probably my fault; I didn't want to bother her with anything trivial and thus far I hadn't run into many real obstacles).

"That's ok, Commander." I offered a sheepish smile. "I just didn't know anybody was here."

"You mean anybody else." My attention was drawn for the first time to a man who was standing a couple of paces behind the commander, staring at me attentively. He was taller than me, an awkwardly-built man with a slim figure. He hadn't yet trimmed his sandy blond hair to meet Academy standards and so a couple strands of it fell loosely over his piercing blue eyes, not even completely combed back neatly. There was something about him that intimidated me, and it wasn't just the way he carried himself or his bold hairstyle. I knew, even then—before we'd even introduced ourselves—that there was something not quite right about him. It was stupid of me, I knew that. How many people in the department misjudged me just based on how I appeared? Just about every person in our class had referred to my 'baby face' at one point or another and one more than one occasion had inquired about my actual age. No, this man deserved the benefit of my doubt. His cadet uniform meant I'd be studying with him and I sure wasn't out to make any enemies. "Hello Harry, I'm Tom." Friendly, but arrogant, as if I couldn't tell that already by his reluctance to assimilate into the 'cadet look'.

I waited for him to offer out a hand, but he only crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly. I knew then that he was waiting for me to make the first move, that he was trying to assess me just as much as I was attempting to figure him out. But the time for handshakes had passed and I thought anything now would be awkward, look more like an afterthought. Our interaction was not off to a good start, but if he really was a new student, perhaps he was just nervous. Not shy, but anxious to see where he'd fit into the assortment of young hopefuls who gathered at the academy. It was I who broke off our unofficial staring contest first, glancing back at Commander Janeway as so she might provide more information on the subject.

"Mr. Paris was doing some independent research in Marseille. That's in France, isn't it?" Janeway looked to Tom for confirmation, who just gave a quick nod. The man took the opportunity to slowly circle the room slowly with his eyes, examining the area with great interest. It was almost as if he was searching for something, but I didn't know then what his intentions at the academy were. "He's decided to re-join Starfleet." Paris. The name sounded familiar. Wasn't there an admiral with that name? I also found it interesting that Janeway seemed to imply that he'd once been a member of the organization, but had either dropped or been dropped. Thinking it might be a touchy subject, I didn't pry.

"What were you researching?" I asked, hoping to gather some information on this mysterious new transfer student. There was a slight hesitation before he answered, not meeting my eye.

"Holograms." No elaboration. We stood there awkwardly for a minute before Janeway turned to address the fourth and forgotten man in the room. He'd so far stayed out of the conversation but had put down everything he'd been working on, clearly waiting for some sort of introduction or at least recognition.

"Ah, Lewis!" Janeway quickly greeted, as though she hadn't even noticed he was there right away. Wrong, of course, but the doctor was a sour man and it was best to try and keep him happy. "We don't see you around here much anymore." It was true, Zimmerman had begun much of his own independent research and only stopped by when he needed materials to test his theories on or for the couple of hours a week that he taught class (in which case, avoiding all main hallways and doing his best to be covert, something many of the students snickered privately about). I supposed that's what you could get away with when you'd catalogued as many years at the university as he had. Of course it didn't hurt that much of Zimmerman's work had eventually panned out to be worthwhile, earning Starfleet a fat check. "I was just showing our newest student, Tom Paris, the not so grand tour." She chuckled, but Zimmerman didn't crack so much as a smirk.

"You know, I've heard of your work, Doctor Zimmerman." Tom stepped forward now, the edge of arrogance that I'd previously detected now tipping the points of his words. He was not impressed with the older researcher, that much was certain. "Your theory on the creation of sentient holograms is… " He made a face, feigning thought and concentration as if searching for the right word. "Interesting… though it's derivative of Vulcan research in the early 2350's." And what would the young Mr. Paris know about Vulcan research? Clearly he'd studied up on his history. Either way, his eagerness to provoke a man he'd only just met intrigued me. Just who did he think he was? "So derivative that in some parts-" He gestured around, referring to space in general, "-it's considered plagiarized."

This didn't go over well. I could see the muscles in Dr. Zimmerman's face quivering, straining. Teeth grinding. He had a reputation for having a salty mouth, but he'd gotten in trouble for unleashing some of his colorful phrases on both staff and students. With Commander Janeway, his superior, there… well it was likely that he was holding himself back from saying anything that he'd regret. Tom, in contrast, couldn't prevent a smug smile from creeping up his face. He thought he was winning, but what exactly he thought he was winning I still have no idea. It could have been revenge, it could have been to establish himself, it could have even just been because he was the kind of guy who needed to take a couple of swings every now and then. He could have stopped right then and there and still would have walked away the victor, but that wasn't good enough for him.

"Frankly?" Tom continued, either not noticing or not caring that he was riling the staff member up, "Your work on holograms is outdated." Had Janeway not stepped in front of Tom at that moment, I feared that there might have been a crime scene in the examination room. If there was one thing you didn't want to imply to Zimmerman, it was that he was aging, that there would be new scientists trying to nudge him out of the way and get their hands on the programs he'd spent a lifetime developing. Tom had just crossed that boundary and I knew even then that there was no way to un-step over that line. There would be a price to pay. And in hindsight, maybe it would've been better if Janeway and I would have let the two square up and duke it out. It sure would have saved me a hell of a lot of trouble.

"Lewis, while I remember…" The commander quickly changed the subject, wanting to avoid a bloodshed just as much as I did. "We're having a department meeting on Thursday. B'Elanna and I would love it if you came to dinner afterwards." Evasion at its finest. Janeway sure had a reputation for diplomacy, which is probably what had boosted her to her position as department head in the first place. Usually it took a much higher rank—say, captain or admiral, to claim the job.

"I'd love to, Kathryn." Zimmerman stood up a little straighter, apparently pleased at the recognition and validation Janeway had shown him. He thought she'd taken his side, while really she was trying her best to be impartial. I wasn't going to be the guy to break it to him. "I'm looking forward to it." Then, tilting his head up so he could see over the woman, "And I'm looking forward to seeing you in class, Mister Paris." A feeling of dread and anticipation rose up in my stomach; I was in that class as well and although I'd just met the guy, I didn't want to see Tom have to suffer through an angry professor for the entire semester. Maybe it was me telling myself to watch out, and maybe I should've listened. As I said before, there was something about this mysterious transfer student, this ominous Tom Paris, that drew me in. Despite the impending trouble, I was intrigued. I didn't know it yet, but I was already trapped in his web… and I was in for one hell of a ride.