Chapter 2: Arias and Petri Dishes
"Doctor, this is no reason to pull me out of Engineering right now!"
At the sound of his girlfriend's angry tone, Paris almost wished he hadn't walked into sickbay, but instead had waited outside the door. He knew there was no way for him to have heard her before the doors swished open, sending him slamming into a wave of Klingon fury.
"No reason? Of course it's a reason!" The Doctor replied, aghast. "I know: I'm just a hologram—I have no true feelings! I've heard it all before!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on in here?" Paris said, hoping his entry would help break up the argument.
"Tom, tell this…hologram…his vocal performance program is not a priority!" B'Elanna crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Paris like he had something to do with this mess.
"It has been malfunctioning for nearly two days! No one will fix it! How am I supposed to go about my day?" The Doctor looked pained as he mentioned his affliction. "I don't tell people to go away when they have laryngeal inflammation!"
B'Elanna took a deep breath as if trying to calm down and keep herself from storming over to the console and deleting his holographic life for good. "Tom," B'Elanna said, slowly. "Tell him he can live without singing opera for a little longer." She looked up at him and Paris could see the annoyance written all over her beautiful hybrid face.
Despite her beauty, he couldn't let this continue. "Why do I have to be the translator?" he asked, and gave her a questioning look.
"Because if I talk to him," B'Elanna nudged her head in the Doctor's direction, "I'll say things I shouldn't." She smiled a grim and completely sarcastic smile. "You know what, I have work to do. I'll fix your program when I have time, Doctor." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.
"Yeah…B'Elanna's not in a good mood today…" Paris said, a bit uncomfortably. He loved that his girlfriend had such spice to her character even though he thought she went a little overboard with it sometimes. He would talk to her about it later.
"Does she have to be so…infuriating?" the Doctor asked, his program making him appear slightly shaken as well as thoroughly annoyed.
"'Infuriated' is more the word. She has a short fuse."
The Doctor suddenly seemed to look at Paris for the first time since he walked in. "Mr. Paris, where were you yesterday?"
Tom Paris sighed, acting nonchalant. "Busy as always, Doc," he answered, vaguely. He leaned against the main sickbay console casually, an expression of detachment on his face.
"You have an obligation to this sickbay, Lieutenant, and I expect you to fulfill it." The Doctor moved to a cart on which he had placed his PADD. He picked up the PADD and scanned its contents.
"Aw, Doc, come on, it was just one day!" Paris responded entreatingly. "I said I was busy! I can't help I'm in demand!"
"Next time, Mr. Paris, try to make some time for sickbay. Without Kes here anymore, things have been piling up." As if on cue, a stack of medical tricorders on the cart slid to the side, almost falling to the floor. Paris grabbed the one closest to the edge, keeping it from falling. Almost absentmindedly, he opened it up and scanned the space in front of him.
"I'm not much use here, anyway. I hardly know the difference between a cortical stimulator and tricordrazine," Paris stated, trying to make a point.
The Doctor turned and said, simply, "There is no difference."
Tom Paris stared off into the distance for a moment. "Oh."
The Doctor walked up to Paris and patted him on the back encouragingly. "Don't worry, Mr. Paris. With time you'll know all the necessary information. Kes did."
"Yeah, Doc, but Kes was an Ocampa—her short lifespan required her to learn quickly! You can't compare me to someone whose brain is wired completely differently than mine!"
"Well, then," the Doctor said, a pleased expression on his face. "It seems you're already learning!"
Paris sighed. "What ya need me for?" he asked the Doctor, squinting at the small figures darting across the tricorder screen. Then, he closed it and started to place it back on the pushcart.
The Doctor held out a hand. "Keep that. You'll need it."
"Ok…" Tom said, hoping his job wouldn't be too dull. He hated tedium.
The Doctor handed Paris six petri dishes. "I've given the bacteria in these petri dishes an antibiotic. I need you to scan these bacteria for any signs of resistance—for example, genetic mutations or adaptations. They should be in their final stages of life by now, but, if not, we have to start over."
"Oh, great," Tom said, enthusiasm not so evident in his tone. He strode over to the console in the middle of the room and placed the petri dishes on it, then proceeded to scan them. This would be tedious.
Before Tom could feel the full effects of the mind-numbingly dull activity of scanning bacteria, he heard a strange sound coming from the Doctor's office.
"Doc, you ok?" he asked, setting down the tricorder.
He got an irritated response. "Do I sound ok? I am completely unable to practice Luciano Pavarotti's 'E lucivan le stelle'!"
"Thank God," Paris muttered under his breath.
But, despite the fact that his program was obviously not responding, the Doctor tried again, hoping for a better result. Some strangled noises came from him, then nothing.
"Bravo!" Paris cheered, unable to resist a bit of teasing.
The Doctor glared at him through the clear wall surrounding his office. "This might amuse you, but it does not amuse me."
"What's up with everyone lately?" Paris asked while scanning another dish. "Everyone's on edge. Maybe we need some R and R. Some shore leave on an exotic Delta Quadrant planet, maybe..." A faraway look came into Paris' eyes.
"I could use some time on the holodeck…" muttered the Doctor. Then, snapping Tom out of his reverie, he asked, "Did you finish scanning the bacteria?"
Paris looked down at his tricorder. "Yep. No resistance."
"Excellent," the Doctor replied, looking pleased with himself. "I'll proceed with the second part of the experiment."
Right then, Red Alert sounded throughout the ship, startling Paris. He looked around the room in confusion as if the answer lay within his field of vision.
"Janeway to sickbay." A moment later the captain's voice reverberated through the room.
"Yes?" the Doctor asked, expectantly.
"There's been an accident in Engineering—prepare for casualties. Janeway out."
The Doctor and Paris looked at each other for a moment, the surprise written on their faces deepening the worried lines on their brows, both flesh and hologram.
But, before they began preparing sickbay, the doors slid open, revealing the bloodied body of B'Elanna Torres draped lifelessly over the arms of Vorik, his own skin stained green.
