Chapter Two
Chakotay barely stifled a yawn as he stepped out of the turbo lift. Praying that there was either a decent coffee substitute or a good breakfast since he was short on rations he entered the Mess Hall. The Hall held only a few crewmembers. Normally the Commander did not come to the Mess Hall for breakfast but his almost nonexistent fund of rations dictated that he had better eat Neelix's food.
One of the crewmembers was Tom Paris, deeply interested in the PADD he held. Chakotay frowned as the quick blue eyes lifted and scanned the room, hesitating on the Commander before falling back to whatever held his attention. There was only a mug in front of the pilot.
"Good morning Commander. I've got some fruit and Chaka Bread made and can make you some eggs in a minute." The bubbling Talaxian cook said.
"Thanks Neelix, the fruit and bread will be good. Any coffee?"
"Well of course! I mean, it's made out of the Chaka kernels that make the bread, but Crewmen Chell thought it was just like a cup of Vulcan coffee."
"I'll have a cup." Chakotay said, though with little fervor. Beggars could not be choosy.
As Neelix bustled about for a mug, Chakotay turned to see if there were any of his closer friends around. There was not. Except for Paris, the rest were from the original Starfleet crew and most reported to either Torres or Tuvok. Chakotay took his dubious breakfast, wondering if the black bread would taste like Vulcan Coffee, and settled himself in the corner with his own set of PADDs and with the ability to see the stars go sliding by.
Ten minutes later he overheard Crewman Sontano raise his voice. "I said we want to sit here." Chakotay glanced over. Two big Crewmen from Ship's Maintenance flanked Sontano, one of his former Maquis members, and all three were glaring at Paris, who was leaning back further in his seat.
As the Mess Hall had fallen silent while the few others turned to see what would happen, Paris's voice, irritatingly calm, could be heard perfectly. "I believe I was here first."
"Well this is our table."
"Really? Last week I think you said that table was yours." Tom smirked as he nodded his head vaguely towards the port doors.
"Do we have to do this the hard way?" Sontano demanded. Tom's look hardened. Chakotay wished he would just move. He really did not want to have to break up a fight.
"You always have to do things the Hard Way." Tom informed the Crewman. He stood up, picking up his PADDS. "Enjoy the table. I'm sure you'll figure out what you use it for eventually. Maybe between the three of you, it may be possible to understand the use of the spoons and forks you have too! I only moved to this table because you couldn't keep the other table clean."
His childish taunt was clearly meant to annoy. He jauntily picked up his empty mug and turned with was probably meant to be a parting shot. Instead, Sontano's fist met his face, promptly throwing the pilot a step backwards into a second blow from one of Sontano's compatriots. Chakotay got up quickly and was shocked that no one else moved to stop the unfair altercation. Before Chakotay could make his presence known Paris tried futilely to shove his nearest attacker off, but was instead knocked backwards, losing his footing and crashing head first into the edge of the table.
He did not get up.
"Sontano!" Chakotay's voice thundered out and all eyes snapped to him, surprise and sudden disinterest filling their faces. Paris still did not get up. As the three crewmen backed a few steps away, guilty looks on their faces, Chakotay rounded the final table concealing the pilot. The younger man was out cold, a nasty cut alongside his left temple leaking blood into his fair hair.
As soon as Chakotay knelt and touched Paris the young man stirred, batting the Commander's hand away and rolling up to a seated position before he managed to get his eyes open. He snapped his head around like a hunted creature and winced before leaping to his feet and backing out of the reach of both his late tormentors and Chakotay. Once on his feet he touched the gash on his forehead, lips twisting slightly with pain.
"Sontano, you and you two, are confined to quarters when not on duty. You are also relieved of your remaining rations for the week and will be allowed twenty minutes to eat each meal." Chakotay dolled out the punishment.
Paris flinched and drew the Commander's attention.
"Dismissed." Chakotay snapped at the silent offenders. Paris turned to leave as well, but Chakotay caught his arm. "Paris, let me make sure you get to Sick Bay."
"Sick Bay?" A look of confusion fell into place. The pilot blinked a couple of times.
Now alarmed that the blow to his head had caused more damage than suspected, Chakotay began to lead the younger man towards Sick Bay.
"I thought… I was supposed to go to my quarters." Tom explained. Chakotay frowned as they entered the turbo lift.
"You aren't the one in trouble. You should learn to keep your comments to yourself but Sontano and the others have no right to shove you around."
"Really?" Paris's lips twisted into a poor imitation of his usual mocking smirk and he blinked as if Chakotay were not clear to his sight. Chakotay reached a hand towards the swaying Pilot. Then the lights went out, the lift was violently shaken and both men were thrown first against the wall and then to the floor, where they lay in silence, both unconscious.
When the transporters and internal sensors were repaired an hour later and the two men were rescued Tom Paris was in a coma from a second, more severe blow to his head.
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"How is he doing?" B'lanna asked Harry as the Ensign slumped down into the seat across from her.
"He's the same." Kim muttered, stabbing morosely at his food.
"Harry, it's Paris. He'll recover just to spite those who would be glad to see him gone." B'lanna tried to chuckle, but Kim looked mournfully at her.
Two days had passed since Voyager had nearly been pulled into orbit around a dense area of dark space, which Kim had discovered to be a Black Hole that was only just forming. There were yet a few repairs to make, but most of the bumps, bruises and the occasional severe injury had been repaired, except for Voyager's Chief Helmsman. After two violent blows to his head in the course of ten minutes, followed by an hour lying in a heap in the turbo lift, Paris' injuries were life threatening. He had swelling in his brain and the EMH had been forced to perform surgery to drain some of the fluid building up.
The brain was a unique field, even in the 24th Century. Although the EMH had been programmed with as much knowledge as possible, he could not take the place of specially trained neurosurgeon. Forced to resort to opening the skull to drain the dangerous build up the Doctor was now unable to do more than wait for his ministrations to work. He had regenerated as much as he could, but had to work slowly to avoid leaving Paris brain damaged from the regeneration as much as the injury.
Ensign Hamilton entered the Mess Hall, caught sight of Harry Kim and paled considerably. B'lanna barely stifled a chuckle. Hamilton had been the unfortunate pilot at the Helm during the incident. Though she had managed to keep them from being pulled into the wasteland of space, she had failed to do so with the smooth grace that characterized her Chief. She felt painfully guilty about this fact and that it was her inability to keep Voyager steady that had caused the injuries to her Boss. Kim shared the belief that it was Hamilton's fault.
Commander Chakotay came up behind B'lanna and she looked up at him. He turned to Harry Kim after resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "How is Paris?"
"No change." Kim said again. He glanced around the room at the curious eyes about him and his face blanched. "I can't stand this!" He got up and left.
"He's taking this hard." Chakotay sat down.
"I think he hates being reminded every other minute about Tom's condition." B'lanna answered. "Everyone has been asking him how Tom is doing. I'm sorry for him. Except for Captain Janeway I can't think of anyone else I could ask about Tom."
"Without going to Sick Bay." Chakotay mused. B'lanna frowned, disliking the brief pang of guilt that she had not inquired of the Doctor how the pilot was doing, but her mentor seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Perhaps he, too, felt that he ought to have checked on the other man personally. They were all part of the senior staff, and out here, they needed to look out for each other.
B'lanna didn't want to see the pilot inert and silent. In the few occasions she had seen him asleep or ill she had disliked how young and handsome he could be, the image not distorted by his sardonic smirks and bitter wit. While he held up his mocking walls around his private thoughts, she could trust him with all but her heart. She believed she could guess where Chakotay's thoughts were, but she said nothing.
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The EMH studied the display silently. Even his normal inclination to sing was still. He waited as he watched, hoping this latest treatment would wake his medic. Though all of the crew had quickly realized they needed at least a supplemental knowledge of medicine, Paris knew the most from his time in Starfleet Academy. Why the loud-mouthed man had chosen to take field medicine puzzled more than the Doctor, but the EMH was inclined to believe, should the man give his whole attention to his learning, that Paris could make an adequate doctor.
Samantha Wildman looked up from her display. "There is a ten percent increase in neural activity." She said.
"Well that is the best we've gotten so far." The EMH scowled as he turned to check where the fluid had built up to create dangerous pressure in Tom's head. The fluid had drained away and though the scans still indicated a slight build up, it was less than the last scan.
A monitor beeped urgently and Kes, who was the closest, hurried to look at it. "Heart rate increased to 57 beats per minute." She said, eyes lighting up.
"Another jump in neural activity. Up thirty percent." Sam called.
"Well Mr. Paris." The EMH addressed the still silent man. "Maybe your hard head could survive the rattling it received."
As if to prove the Doctor's sarcastic statements correct Paris's fingers flinched and he slowly opened his eyes. Sam and Kes' faces beamed with victorious smiles as the EMH began running on of his scanners around the Pilot's closely bandaged head. Paris blinked a couple of times and tried to turn his face away from the green light that was too close to his eyes. The Doctor merely followed his weak shift.
"Well, definitely vast improvement." The Doctor said. "Amazing. How do you feel Mr. Paris?"
"Tired. That light hurts." The young man covered his eyes with a pale, shaking hand.
"Dim lights to 50%." Kes ordered the computer. "Is that better?"
Tom split his fingers into a position similar to the Vulcan salute, and his bleary right eye peered out at the light. "Yeah, thanks, Kes. What happened?"
"You've been in a Coma." The EMH announced importantly. "If not for my fine surgical skills you'd likely be dead."
"Did I hit my head?" Tom tested the bandages around his head.
"A couple times." Sam grinned. "You were pushed into a table and then on your way to Sick Bay to get that injury taken care of the lift you were in dropped twenty feet and you appeared to have slammed your head at that time too."
"Wow. No wonder I feel like my head's in a vice. So, what did I do to deserve getting shoved into a table?" Paris grinned mischievously.
"The Commander said you made a few childish taunts, but it's more likely you were just being bullied." Kes said gently, saddened that her friend was treated so poorly. The man himself laughed, and then cringed as if the brief movement hurt. "Doctor, can I give him some pain relief?"
"Go ahead." The EMH said. "In the meantime, let's check out your responses. Can you curl your toes?"
Kes pressed the hypospray into Paris' neck and he smiled gratefully as the medicine relieved his pain. Sam and Kes started cleaning up the discarded scanners as the Doctor finished his examination. "Well, everything still seems to work. You'll need to stay over night, but if you are still doing well tomorrow morning I will release to your quarters. I would say you'll be as good as new in a week."
"Wonderful." Tom yawned. He glanced around the room. "Are my parents here?"
"Your parents?" The EMH stared at him in shock. Sam and Kes both gasped and turned to look at the alarmed patient. "Mr. Paris, where are you?"
"On a ship I take it. Not sure why. Did my leave get a little wild?"
"What is the star date?" The EMH asked.
Tom tried to sit up. "What's wrong? Did something happen to my family? Are they alright?"
"Mr Paris, we are on the Starship Voyager, and we are lost in the Delta Quadrant!" The EMH announced.
"The Delta Quadrant!" Paris cried, his face growing even whiter than before.