Falling Through the Cracks

Chapter 3

The Fenai ship was sleek and fast. Afrinar was large enough to hold a sizeable crew. She was small and maneuverable enough to make planetary landings.

Tom shared piloting duties with one other pilot, Ronjin Tanima. She was thin and wiry with short-cropped hair. She was also one of the few others on board who were not Fenai.

Only two fully qualified pilots on board meant that duty shifts were long. In the quieter stretches of space, one of the flight assistants handled the helm. Tom and Ronjin's cabins were both close enough to the bridge that either one of them could be back on the bridge in seconds.

Ronjin talked piloting. She didn't talk about herself or anything else. Tom found that this was true of the rest of the crew too. They were sociable enough when on shore leave. They'd chat with him about their daily activities. But when they were on board, it was all business.

In one way, that suited Tom just fine. It meant that there was no need for him to rehash his own past. He felt no inclination to share the details of his sordid history. If a lack of real companionship made Tom lonely, - that was the price he paid to have a job. He learned to tolerate life on the ship.

The job wasn't what Tom had in mind when he'd dreamed about making a difference in the universe. But at least he had a job. That counted as a plus. He quickly figured out that that it was Ilen who was his employer. Affri was the face of the ship in public. On the ship, he faded from view. The crew spoke only of 'The Lady'. Although she tittered and smirked, the crew treated her wishes as orders.

Tom preferred it when he was busy. When he had too much time on his hands, he thought about what it would be like if he had to spend the rest of his life settling for jobs like this - piloting private yachts for spoiled heiresses. His dead friends didn't seem to think much of this kind of future either. When they visited his dreams they stood beside his bed and shook their heads at him.

The ship made frequent stops and Tom got shore leave whenever they visited a planet. Only the maintenance and security crews stayed with the ship and even they rotated duties so that everyone got some leave.

Ilen, sought out pleasure planets. She and Affri spent their nights attending extravagant parties and their days shopping, sightseeing and finding new ways to offend the locals. At each stop the crew crammed the holds with more and more cargo. It was an awful lot for a so-called 'shopping spree'. At this rate they should be more worried about attracting pirates than kidnappers - if that ever really was a concern.

Garif brushed aside any of Tom's questions. "The Lady likes pretty things," was all he'd say.

Of course they visited Risa. Tom spent five days in luxurious accommodations. It felt wrong for him to be there. He didn't run into anyone he knew. He was glad about that.

The first couple of stops, Tom took all his possessions with him when he left the ship. After a close call with light fingers, he figured that the ship was more secure than any planet. After that he only took what he needed during his stay.

Tom couldn't make any sense out of the ship's flight path. They'd fly light-years in one direction. Then, after a short layover, they'd literally turn around and fly back to a planet they could have stopped at along the way.

Not every planet Ilen selected was filled with decadent pleasures. Ornau, for example, was a green and unspoiled world with few permanent structures. Temporary pavilions provided accommodation for visitors.

Tom loved it. It felt like he was on one of the camping trips he had taken when he was a child. There were cool streams and temperate lakes to swim in. Speckled sunlight filtered through tall, leafy trees to make soul-soothing patterns on the walking paths that wound beneath them. Tom breathed real air and the wind tickled his hair where it curled against his forehead. While others lounged in the pavilions, Tom explored the walks around the resort.

Tom was partway along one of the longer paths when he heard an uncharacteristic cry of distress, immediately followed by a child's voice.

"Oli! Oli! Come down. Please come down!"

A little girl was standing in a clearing to one side of the path. The dark scales on her back and arms caught the sunlight and redirected the light in sparkles of gold. A long white ribbon threaded through the ropey mane that trailed down her back. The girl was at the foot of a tree, calling up to a small ball of fur desperately clinging to one of the branches. The ball of fur emitted another plaintive screech, but stayed put.

Tom approached cautiously so he wouldn't alarm the girl or the fur puff he assumed was 'Oli'.

The girl wasn't in the least alarmed by his approach. She called out in relief. "Oh, thank goodness someone's come. My brothers made so much noise that they scared Oli up into the tree. Then they ran away. Now Oli won't come down to me. Can you help?"

Tom assessed the situation with the same care that he would use for any tactical mission. The furry creature looked much like a spotted tribble with ears and a tail. The branch that it was sitting on might be way above the girl's head. It was well within reach of his arms. But any creature that could scramble up a trunk as smooth as the one on that tree had to have sharp claws. The puff was scared and Tom was a stranger. Tom wasn't foolish enough to try to reach up and grab it.

Tom took off his jacket and shaped it into a comfy nest. He raised it and carefully positioned it in front of Oli. "Come on, little guy," he coaxed the furry pet. "Come on." Tom hoped that Oli had no immediate need to relieve itself.

Oli chirped a question.

The little girl crooned, "Oli, come. Come, Oli."

Oli stepped gingerly into the nest and curled into a tight ball. Tom slowly lowered the package of jacket and animal, taking care not to startle the pet. He held the jacket in front of the girl while she retrieved Oli and cradled him in her arms. Oli purred and nuzzled her shoulder.

"Thank you so much." The girl smiled up at Tom. Then she announced, "I've got to go now," and left.

As he watched the pair hurry off, Tom's face relaxed from its usual weary acceptance into a genuine smile. The warmth that he felt radiated outward and it lit up his face. He hadn't felt this good in a long time. He shook out his jacket, hitched it over his shoulder and turned to walk back to camp, whistling softly to himself.

A sudden movement in the trees caught his attention. Ilen was standing in the shadows, watching him.

Tom was young, healthy and male. Normally, he would be flattered by a beautiful woman's attention. Ilen's intense stare left him feeling cold. He dipped his head in the short bow that was expected of the crew. When his lifted his head again, she was gone.

After that encounter, Tom became more wary of Ilen. He noticed more of her little cruelties. While Ilen giggled and hung onto Affri with jeweled fingers, her sharp nails dug into his arm. She forced his shoulder down and twisted it when she spoke to him. When she noticed Affri smiling at one of the other ladies, Ilen immediately ordered her back to the ship where she stayed for the duration of their stopover.

Tom did his best to keep his distance from Ilen.

Ronjin left the ship the next stop after Ornau. Tom had no advance notice that she was leaving. She simply showed up in his cabin one day to say good-bye.

"I'm off here. Good luck the rest of the way. You're a good pilot."

Tom was surprised enough to ask questions he had avoided asking until now. "What's going on? Where are you going?

She shrugged. "This is my stop, that's all. This is where I got on. This is where I get off. There's another pilot waiting here to come back on board." She checked around to make sure that no one was listening before she went on. "They call this one a pilot! I wouldn't let him fly my kid's scooter."

It was the first that Tom had heard about her having children.

Ronjin realized how sharp she sounded and sighed. "To be fair. He's got the skills. No guts though, you know what I mean?"

Tom nodded.

She shook her head. "He's okay for the rules and regulations type of flying. I've been told that Ilen cares a lot about appearances and decorum when she's on her home world. Just make sure that you're at the helm for the tricky bits. That's all I have to say. I'll see you around sometime, My husband's waiting for me." Ronjin walked off the ship, threw her bags into a small ground car, motioned the driver over so she could sit at the controls and took off.

For some strange reason Tom felt like he used to when his father made him stay inside to study for the Academy Entrance Exam while everyone else got to go outside.

Back on Earth Admiral Paris was busy, as usual, when Nicole informed him that he had a call from Commodore Sharandeep Cordeiro. Nicole had a fine sense of which calls were important and which ones could wait. She could navigate the official Starfleet channels and knew her way around the unofficial ones too - better than almost anyone else at Starflleet Headquarters. Admiral Paris didn't question her judgment when she put through the call from the CTS department head.

"Sharandeep, what can I do for you? Is anything wrong with Tom?"

"We're not sure, Admiral. That's why I called. We received an inquiry from a Lieutenant Zhong who was trying to contact Tom. According to our files, Tom was transferred to private care the day after his release from Starfleet."

Owen noted the use of the euphemism 'release from Starfleet'. Something must be very wrong. "Which private care are you referring to? Where is he?"

Commodore Cordeiro shifted uncomfortably. "Our records say that transition services were transferred to private care with his family, at your specific request."

"I made no such request!"

"We're aware of that, Admiral. We've traced the service transfer back to a message from you requesting privacy for your son and his file. Someone who handled the file interpreted this as a request to transfer his whole file into private hands. We are presently investigating to find out how such a mistake could have been made."

"Commodore, while I am sure that it will be of great interest to everyone at Starfleet to know how such a mistake could be made, my question remains. Where is my son?"

"We don't know, Admiral. That's why I wanted to talk to you. Do you have any idea where he could be?"

A few days after this conversation, Owen Paris made his way from the transfer station to one of the older streets in Marseille. He stopped in front of an establishment that, until now, had only been known to him by name. The door was glass and wood with a patina of age. It was as heavy as it looked.

Inside a woman sat waiting at one of the tables. She assessed the admiral with a cold and quelling glare. He had used similar tactics to put insubordinate junior officers in their place. It had been years since he had found himself on the receiving end. Julia had been angry when he'd told her what had happened to Tom. She hadn't made him feel, as this woman did, that his worth as a human was in question.

Owen walked over to the table. "I assume that I have the pleasure of addressing Madame … Sandrine? I apologize if I am being too informal. You didn't include a last name in your message and I've never heard Tom use one."

"It is Gaspard, Madame Sandrine will do for now. I doubt that we have a long acquaintance ahead of us."

"I see. Perhaps you are right. Madame, I don't know if my son is willing to see me. But I need to know if he's all right.

"Surely that is an unusual question for a father to ask a stranger about his son?"

"Madame, do not play games with me. Your message said that you would speak to me only if I came to Marseille. I came. Despite what you may think, my son is very important to me. Is Tom here? Do you know where he is?"

Owen sized up the woman in front of him in turn. Sandrine was a woman of uncertain age. She was a presence in the room. She had a confidence that said, "I am someone. I matter. I belong to myself. Make of that what you will."

She was beautiful, but not because of the features on her face. It was her air and her confidence in her identity as a woman that made her beautiful. Owen thought he understood what had drawn Tom to this place. He was wrong of course. But Owen thought he knew his son.

"Tom was here," she admitted. "He is not here now. Would you care to see the room where he stayed?"

"I …I'd like that. Thank you."

They walked up a short flight of stairs and around a corner to a door off to one side of the landing. The door was dark and worn. It looked like it was as old as the bar itself. Despite that, the unobtrusive key system that she deactivated was state of the art. Owen suspected that the whole bar was similarly equipped for security. She pushed open the door and stepped aside to let him enter.

The room was moderate in size, simply furnished in keeping with the period style of the building. The bed had plain, white sheets, a pillow at its head and a striped blanket neatly folded at its foot. There were two wooden, or pseudo wooden, chairs flanking the window and a chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room. That was all. There was no indication that anyone lived here, or had ever done so. Owen crossed to the chest of drawers and opened the first drawer. It was empty as were each of the others that he tried. The closet that he now noticed beside the bureau held nothing as well.

Owen turned to Sandrine who waited and watched him from beside the door. "Why did you bring me to see this room? There is nothing of Tom here."

"That says something too. Does it not?" Sandrine studied him closely. "It was, perhaps, a test. I do not know what to make of you. I did not really expect you to come. If you had not wanted to see the place where your son has lived all this time, I think I would not have cared to tell you what I have to say about him." Then she shrugged. "Come back downstairs. I think now we can talk."

They retraced their steps to the main room of the bar. Sandrine led Owen back to the table near the fireplace where they sat down.

"Tom stayed here many months. While he was here, he tried his best to find work. Finally, he left. I do not know for sure where he is. But I will tell you what I can. First, though, there is something more that you must see."

Sandrine got back up to search for something behind the bar. When she returned she was carrying a PADD that she placed on the table in front of Owen.

"Tom thought that he'd deleted all of these. I made copies that I kept. I do not know why. Maybe I knew that a day might come when you would need to see them."

"What are they?"

"They are the rejection notices that Tom received when he applied for work. You can see how many times he tried, how many times he had to hear that he was not accepted. They would not even take him for a retraining program because he was still listed under your family name and those programs are restricted to those who do not have access to other options. Tell me, why did you do that? If you intended to throw him out of your family, why did you keep him tied to your name?"

"I didn't throw Tom out of the family. I would never do that. He's my son!"

"And yet you cut him off, left him on his own."

"I did no such thing! Tom was Starfleet. You may not understand what that means, but there have been Parises in Starfleet for generations. Starfleet has always taken care of its own. It took care of me when … I was ill. They were supposed to take care of Tom and provide him with all the things that he needed." Owen stared at the darkness of the unlit hearth. "Tom has always had to deal with being in my shadow. It put more pressure on him than I realized. After he had to resign from Starfleet, I thought it would be better to let him have his own space, to have a chance to find himself. I never intended to push him away."

"I see." Sandrine fingered the grain in the tabletop. "I did not show you these to give you needless pain. If you find Tom, you will need to understand what he has gone through all these months. It has changed him. He is no longer the same. I fear that he may change even more before you find him again."

"What do you mean?"

"The day that he was refused admission to the Federation Naval Patrol, Tom started to drink. He drank heavily that night and after that he drank whenever he could earn enough to pay for the wine. I refused to extend credit for drink. He was offered a job piloting a private ship. That was suspicious, I think. I was worried. But between drinking his life away and taking this job - there was not a good choice either way."

Sandrine sat back in her chair and sighed. "I can give you the name of the person who hired Tom and I can give you the name of the ship as it was registered in Dijon. I found that out for myself. I don't know if either one is accurate. Still, they may provide you with a lead. I am sorry, monsieur. I wish I could tell you more."