Tom wiped away the sweat that was building on his brow. The life support systems were keeping the shuttle's cockpit a comfortable temperature as always, yet Tom could feel perspiration beading on his skin as he maneuvered the planetary shuttle towards the medical centre's docking pad. How he had ended up flying an Astrudian shuttle back and forth from disaster zones to hospitals he wasn't even sure. He had been in a pub sipping Astrudian ale and chatting with the bartender about old Astrudian land vehicles that used combustion engines. One moment he was looking at a holoimage of the bar tender's prized antique vehicle, the next he was giving first aid to the injured and helping victims of the quake to board a transport shuttle. Suddenly there were calls for someone to fly the transport and he found himself in the pilot's seat. What had happened to the original pilot, he had no idea. To say that things were chaotic was more than an understatement.
He wished he was helping with rescue operations on Voyager, but Chakotay insisted that he was more valuable flying this make-shift ambulance than sitting at Voyager's helm while it orbited the planet. All the transporter systems on the ship and on the planet were working at full capacity trying to extract victims from collapsed buildings, delivering emergency supplies, and deploying rescue personnel. The Commander was right, every shuttle that could be flown was needed in the air to help with the rescue effort, but still, Tom felt out of the loop flying this transport. What was going on down on the ground? How much damage had the quake caused? Had they found everyone? Was anyone seriously hurt? Was anyone dead? He knew that Tuvok had been commanding Voyager when the quake hit, and he had seen Chakotay along with a handful of crewmen when he was loading the shuttle, but other than that, he had no idea what had happened to anyone else. Was B'Elanna okay? Harry? Neelix? Comm lines were tied up coordinating personnel. It would be hours before he would be able to attempt contacting anyone.
Tom punched landing commands into the helm panel. He was a Star Fleet officer. A professional. He would not allow himself to be distracted from his duty by worrying about his friends. In all likelihood, they were either working and doing their part to help with the disaster as he was, or they were being cared for by medical personnel. If not, well, there would be plenty of time to deal with that possibility later.