CHAPTER 1 - PALMAT
~~~~He came on a summer's day
~~~~Bringing gifts from far away
~~~~But he made it clear he couldn't stay
~~~~No harbor was his home
Before the Delta Quadrant...
Surveying his surroundings, the tall, lanky pilot brushed back
the dark blond hair from his forehead. Damn, it was hot but he
would have gone insane if he stayed in that sardine can the
Maquis called a ship much longer. Even if the ship had been of a
superior design with a spacious interior like Picard's
Enterprise, just being cooped up with other people on it for the
last several weeks was reason enough to split for a while. He
knew, at best, his crewmates tolerated his presence. If he
wasn't such a damn good pilot, he would have been dropped off on
the nearest space station or planet weeks ago--that is if someone
didn't slit his throat before then.
Shielding his eyes from the perpetual glare of Palmat's twin
suns, Tom Paris looked cynically around this port of call that
would be he and his crewmates' new home for the next few weeks.
The planet of Palmat, or its port city of Malac, would hardly be
what anyone's idea of a prime tourist attraction--or any type of
attraction at all--Tom concluded, unless they were looking for
the seedy side of space. It served a dual purpose though,
providing them what they needed--a safe haven until the ship was
space-worthy again and rest for her weary crew.
The last few weeks had consisted of numerous skirmishes with the
Cardassians and even a few run-ins with Starfleet. The Maquis
ship "Liberty" had taken several hits, and was in desperate need
of repair.
Strolling down one of Malac's streets, Paris made note of the
people that inhabited this hell hole. The citizens of the city
looked like all the dregs of the universe had decided to make
this their home. Even the dirty children that scampered through
the even dirtier streets, looked any innocence they might have
possessed had been ripped away. That was a shame, Tom thought,
children shouldn't be subjected to the squalor that he saw.
He followed a pair of ragamuffins with his eyes as they played a
curious game of touched-you-last. They darted back and forth
across the street, heedless of any traffic or people that might
collide with them.
Finally, outside one of the many dreary bars that lined the
streets of the town, the children crashed into a trio of rough
hewn men who had stopped to talk. The men yelled at them and
then pushed the youngsters away so they could continue their
conversation. Shortly afterwards, the men, looking startled,
took off down the road in the same direction that children had
traveled, and Tom laughed. Those children were obviously expert
pickpockets and had plucked their elders dry, Tom realized.
Licking his parched lips, Paris realized that he too was in need
of some liquid refreshment, but not here he decided. It was too
close to the ship--too much of a chance to run into one of the
other members of the *noble* Maquis. He'd wait, until he found
just the right bar, something a little out of the way, some place
that sported the right kind of clientele--women--and if he was
lucky, good looking and willing women.
* * * * *
Turning a corner in what passed for a street, Tom again licked
his dry lips. A short stone's throw from his position, he saw
what he was looking for. A small establishment, nestled beside a
large pillar of stone approximately two kilometers from the
Liberty. The building itself was made of some type of masonry.
White paint had been splashed on the exterior in a haphazard
fashion, what looked like years ago, and the metal roof was
thoroughly rusted. But what intrigued the pilot the most, was
the pair of women that he saw enter the bar. Both, while not
what he would consider beautiful, had all their curves in *all*
the right places. They'd do, he decided. It had been a while
since he had been in intimate contact with a member of the female
gender, and if the hardening below his belt was any indication,
it had been much too long.
Trying to maintain his cool, even though he was sweltering, he
entered the bar.
When he stepped through the entryway, Tom was temporarily blinded
by the abrupt change from the brightness outside to the darkness
within. His sense of smell was assaulted by the aroma of alcohol
and cheap perfume intermingled with spicy incense. It was just
like most bars he had frequented since he had been cashiered out
of Starfleet, he thought. Dark, dank, and a good place to go to
forget your problems--at least for a while. In other words, just
what he was looking for.
After his eyes adjusted, he saw that most of the bar was
illuminated by a pale blue light that emanated from several
vertical glowing tubes of varying heights that were placed
randomly around the main seating area. The patrons--what few
there were--were clustered in groups of twos or threes around
small oval tables. The two women that Tom had followed in wasted
no time and had already selected a pair of men...or perhaps the
men selected them. Even in the dim light, Tom Paris could tell
that the ladies weren't as young as he had originally thought.
If it wasn't for the raging thirst tearing at his throat, he
would have left in search of a more attractive tavern, instead he
made his way around several tables toward the back of the room
where the bar itself was situated. He neared the bar, which was
constructed of a long, thick plank of gray stone supported by a
heavy, black metal base. Two men who were already there, perched
on a pair of stools like vultures, looked up at Tom.
The older of the two sneered at Paris through acrid pulls of
smoke that spewed out of a pipe clenched between his yellowing
teeth. Not about to trespass on their territory, the pilot chose
a stool at the other end of the bar.
Satisfied that they would not be bothered by the stranger, the
men turned their attention away from him and resumed their
conversation.
Tom shrugged. It would have been a pleasure to strike up a
conversation with someone outside of the Liberty's crew--even
those men. It would be a nice change of pace to talk to someone
who would not prejudge him and think that they knew him based
solely on a few well-publicized facts. Not that the facts
necessarily lied--the crash *was* due to pilot error. *His*
pilot error had caused the crash of that shuttle on Caldik
Prime--but it would have been nice to put it behind him for a
little while, to forget but for a moment he his actions had
killed three people.
Turning towards the bar itself, Tom noticed a dark head just
below the top of the counter--the person seemed to be crouching
and mumbling to himself. Paris waited a little while, then
cleared his parched throat trying to attract some attention, but
it didn't work. Whoever it was behind the bar seemed to be very
absorbed with his task. Finally, the pilot leaned over the bar
and tapped the person on the head.
"Do you think I could get some service?" he asked.
The two men that were seated at the end of the bar quickly
abandoned their posts fleeing toward the back of the room just
before the dark head snapped upward and Tom fell back almost
toppling off his seat. It wasn't a man, he discovered, but a
woman--a vibrant but enraged woman. Her dark mahogany-colored
hair hung to her shoulders and even in the dim light he could
make out the ripples that adorned her forehead. Instantly she
intrigued him.
"Do I *look* like a barkeep?" she snarled.
"I--I--don't know," Tom Paris stammered. "I guess not?"
"Damned right, I'm not!"
"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."
The woman slowly expelled a breath she wasn't aware she was
holding.
Then she looked into the sky blue eyes of the man and made note
of his aristocratic features and blondish hair. Not bad, she
thought. {What is someone like you doing here in this arm pit of
the universe?} She also noticed that the redness of the man's
skin was not a natural state--the twin sun's of Palmat had
toasted another person.
"Look, I'm trying to repair the refrigerant coils, but I'm not
having much success. Sorry if I snapped," she admitted. She
pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. Tom
could tell that her anger was barely contained. "What is it
you're looking for, drink or company?"
Paris was mesmerized by her raw beauty, tawny skin, full lips,
and her refreshing bluntness. He had the nagging feeling that
somewhere, somehow, they had met before.
"Make up your mind!" she snarled when Tom didn't reply
immediately. "I'm not the bartender--I have work of my own to
do. Do you want booze or someone to warm your bed?" She jerked
her head in the direction of the women Tom had followed in.
"Hurry up, I don't have all day."
"Um...I'll have a Bolian beer, if you have it." Tom replied. He
fished out a few credits from his money pouch that hung around
his neck and tossed it on the bar.
She nodded once and reached under the counter selecting a mug.
Topping the mug off from one of the taps, she slid the mug across
the bar toward the man.
"Thanks...keep the change." Tom gratefully picked up the mug and
drained half of its cool contents. Placing the mug again back on
the bar, he wiped his mouth unceremoniously with his sleeve. "I
can't believe how thirsty I am," he remarked.
"It's the Twin Terrors," she noted.
Tom looked at her perplexedly.
"The pair of suns," she explained. "Makes this place one hot
sonofabitch. I can see that you're already showing their
effects." She paused a beat and then continued when he didn't
seem to understand. "Your skin is all pink and red. You've
developed one nasty sunburn."
{Could brown eyes look any richer?} "Oh, yeah...my skin. I was
in such a hurry to leave the ship that I didn't get a dermal
protectorant. When I get back I'll have to have this taken care
of...one of the curses of being fair skinned," he chuckled
nervously. Tom couldn't remember the last time he felt this
unsure of himself around a woman. "Got it from my father's side
of the family. I guess you don't have that problem."
"Ah...no. Along with this..." She touched her rippled forehead.
"I got the complexion too."
"Klingon?" Tom guessed.
"Half."
"The other half Human?"
She nodded, but didn't seem too pleased. Paris couldn't tell if
she wasn't pleased with the Human half or the Klingon half, or
the fact that she was half and half period. It would be
something for him to find out later. Later? Interesting. Would
there even be a later?
"Hey, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself before, the name's
Tom." Why risk mentioning the last name? Even out here the
famous disgrace of the mighty Paris family might be known. He
held out his hand to her in a gesture of friendship.
She looked at it for a little while then wiped her right hand on
her pants leg before she placed her hand in his and shook it
firmly. "B'Elanna," she replied. She then released her grip and
picked up one of the tools she'd been working with and adjusted a
setting on it.
{No pretense...no flattery...just a woman being herself...how
rare.} "B'Elanna is a lovely name," Paris remarked. It was an
old line he realized, but it was the truth.
She ignored him; she had heard the same compliment before used in
here when a man tried to pick up a woman for the evening.
"How about forgetting the repair for a moment, and..." he pushed
on and patted the seat next to him. "...join me for a little
refreshment and some talk."
"Can't, I promised Mroki that when she returned I'd have this
pile of refuse repaired. She doesn't keep me around to small
talk with the customers. That's their job." B'Elanna motioned
with a flip of her hand toward the women in the back of the room.
Tom turned to see not only the two women he had followed into the
bar, but three more who had joined them--two brunettes and one
striking blonde.
"The 'company'?" Tom surmised.
B'Elanna's head bobbed. "Mroki provides the 'best drink and
company to ease the minds and souls of wayward travelers'." She
had heard that line so many times, it nauseated her.
"Mroki's slogan?"
"Yeah, something like that. Makes her feel more like an
entrepreneur, than just the owner of a bar with a few rooms for
rent by the hour upstairs."
"So one can purchase this company, if one has the money?" Of
course one could, Tom wasn't stupid.
"You got it." Damn, this man seemed interested in more than the
drink. She, for reasons unknown, had hoped that he wasn't like
all the rest that came in here. But she couldn't blame him if he
found Mroki's girls of more interest than her.
He turned his attentionfrom watching the other women back to
B'Elanna. "What if I wanted to purchase *your* company?"
Lightning quick, B'Elanna threw her tool down on the bartop and
launched herself over the bar. Her intent was to choke the life
out of the handsome man on the other side. Nothing he could have
said could have surprised her or angered her more. Since she had
arrived on Malac, no one had wanted to spend time in her company
for very long, and she'd be damned if she'd ever sell her body
like Mroki's other female employees did!
"Pp'taQ! I'm NOT a whore! You think I'd lower myself to sleep
with some..."
Tom raised his hands in self defense, trying hard not to notice
the sounds of giggling that had arisen from the back on the room.
"Hey, I didn't mean *that* kind of company, B'Elanna. I just
wanted to talk to you...just talk....honest."
"Talk?" She relaxed slightly, wary of his intentions.
"Yeah, is that so hard to believe?" Actually considering what he
had been looking for when he had first selected this tavern, it
was, he admitted to himself.
"Why me?" she asked. B'Elanna was born suspicious and moved away
from Paris, retreating back to her original position.
Tom shrugged. "Why not?" He took a slow sip of his beer.
"No one has ever come in here and wanted to talk with me."
Tom looked puzzled. "No one?"
B'Elanna noticed his look of confusion. "It's these." She
slapped her forehead. "They think I'm cursed or something."
"That's ridiculous."
"The Palmat citizens don't think so. Most of them are very
superstitious," B'Elanna explained. Picking up the tool she had
thrown down, she focused her attention on the device embarrassed
by the admission. She had often admitted to herself that perhaps
she was cursed. It seemed that ever since she could remember her
dual-heritage had gotten her into trouble.
"That's their loss."
B'Elanna looked up. He sounded sincere. "Thanks," she mumbled.
"So if I pay this *fine establishment* for your time will you
join me?" he asked. "I promise, just to talk."
"Talk?" she questioned confirming his intentions.
"Promise. Will you talk with a wayward traveler, if that
traveler was willing to pay for your time? Would your boss allow
that?"
Damn it was tempting. Usually the only one that spoke to her was
Mroki but it was usually just about business. Sometimes Trini,
the nicest prostitute, would talk to her if she had the time and
their off-schedules coincided but that didn't happen often. "If
you let me finish this repair, then I'll join you over at that
side table for my break--no charge," B'Elanna assured him and
pointed to a table that was the most secluded in the room.
"Of course. Take your time."
Taking his half-empty (or maybe it was half-filled?) mug with
him, Tom moved to the side table. From there he watched B'Elanna
finish her repair. When the bartender returned, B'Elanna spke
with him briefly, and taking two mugs of beer with her, she
joined the pilot.
"Thought you could use another. Takes at least two mugs to wash
the dust from your throat," she stated setting one of the mugs
down beside his now empty (or was it just a temporarily not-
filled?) mug. "I can't stay for long, I only get fifteen
minutes."
Once an officer, and having been raised a gentleman, Tom
instinctively got out of his seat and pulled out the chair on the
other side of the table. He then motioned for B'Elanna to sit.
B'Elanna looked embarrassed at first. Looking up at the women,
Trini motioned with a flick of her hand for her to sit down, so
she did. Tom pushed her chair in and then joined her. "Thanks
for the beer. What do I owe you?"
B'Elanna pulled her own mug towards her and sipped at it,
relishing the coolness as it slid down her throat.
"Nothing...*they* owe me." {Boy did they owe me!}
"I appreciate it." Tom smiled. He still felt nervous. Maybe
because he knew he had never met a woman quite like B'Elanna.
Carefully studying the man before her, she took a longer draw on
her beer. The man's blue eyes seemed to draw her in...willingly
in. She could easily drown herself in their blue depths she
realized...and that frightened her. Admitting this came as a
shock, as not much ever scared her. Covering up her nervousness,
she took another sip of the beer before she spoke. "So what
brings you here to Malac?" she asked.
Tom laughed lightly. "To tell you the whole story would take a
long time. The short version is that my ship is in port for
repairs."
"Are you from that Maquis ship that docked this morning?"
Tom's laughter ceased. "How do you know about that?"
"Almost everything on Palmat may stink, but its communications
system doesn't. The news that the Maquis brought a ship in for
repair has spread all over Malac, and by this time tomorrow, most
of the planet will know about it."
"Palmat has an impressive grapevine," Tom admitted. "What else
is being said?"
B'Elanna shrugged nonchalantly. "Just that the ship has been
involved in several battles with both the Cardies and the Feds."
She looked up into the man's blue eyes gauging his reaction. He
appeared to be unaffected by the news so she continued. "We've
been told that the captain of your ship is very bold, and that
the ship and the crew might not even have made it to Palmat if he
hadn't been for some flashy pilot they have at the helm."
Tom covered his reaction to this piece of news with another sip
of beer before he spoke. "The pilot wasn't the only one
responsible for our success. Everyone on the crew has a job to
do."
"But I heard that it was your pilot that was primarily
responsible," B'Elanna pressed.
"Mere rumor." Last thing he wanted, though he couldn't figure out
exactly why it was so important to him, was for her to find out
about his past.
B'Elanna looked disappointed. Since news of the Liberty had
reached Palmat, she had made a special effort to learn all she
could about the noble Maquis and, in particular, the ship's
talented helmsman. Rumor had it that he was a hot shot pilot,
the son of some type of Federation nobility, who had been kicked
out of Starfleet before having joined up with the Maquis rebels.
He sounded like someone B'Elanna could relate to--someone who she
might have something in common, seeing how she had also left the
Academy and her family under less than ideal circumstances.
Noticing her disappointment, Tom sought out a new subject that
didn't include him. "Tell me about you, B'Elanna. Why do you
make your home on Palmat?"
"I'm not," B'Elanna replied. "My stay here is only temporary.
I'm here only long enough to get my own ship operational. Then
I'm leaving. I thought maybe I'd go to Ephitma, a little planet
near Vulcan, I hear are in need of engineers."
"Is that your trade? You're an engineer?"
"Yeah, though fat lot of good that does me around here. Because
of these," she motioned once again to her ridges, "Mroki was the
only one who would hire me. She isn't as superstitious as most
of the people around here."
"How long have you been on Palmat?"
"Almost five months in Earth time." B'Elanna explained.
"Long time."
"A lot longer than I had intended," she admitted.
"How's your ship coming along? Tell me about her."
"She isn't much. Just an old run-about that can barely achieve
Warp 6, but I got her for a song. Actually, I won her in a bet."
"What kinda of bet?" This news piqued Tom's interest. It
sounded like something he would do.
B'Elanna shrugged. "Some over-confident Ferengi bet that I
couldn't drink a Bolian under the table. I did it and won, and
wound up with a ship and one hell of a hangover in the morning,"
she recalled with a sly smile. "Of course, there was a lot of
incentive considering if I lost, I would have had to scour out
the Ferengi's bar for six months."
Tom roared with laughter. "I would have liked to have seen that
Ferengi's face when he lost the bet."
B'Elanna chuckled. "It was a sight that I'll treasure always."
Her smile suddenly faded. "That is if I can get the piece of
junk flight-worthy again."
Tom took a sip of his cold beer before he replied. "Is there
anything I can do?"
"Thanks, but I can't do much until I get some new parts. Seems
like I fix one thing and two more screw up. I'm determined to
get it working though. I did it before, and I'll do it again,"
she avowed. "Right now I'm saving up for a radiometric
converter. Then I can start working on saving enough money to
get some dilithium crystals for the ship's warp core.
"Sounds like you have it all planned out?"
"I hope so, but my original plan didn't involve being stuck on
Palmat this long. Talk about depressing!. Not that the Klingon
Homeworld was full of laughs!"
Tom chuckled. B'Elanna was intriguing, like a fresh breeze on a
hot dry day...much like it was outside right now he remembered.
She seemed to have a habit of saying what she thought, not what
she thought he wanted to hear.
"I've never been to Qo'noS, is it that bad?" he asked taking
another sip.
"Bad enough when you're five. Everything seemed so loud and
boisterous compared to where I lived on Kessik IV. For a while I
thought my mother had planned on moving back to the Homeworld to
be near her family. I was very relieved to find out that we had
just come for a visit." B'Elanna stopped, her tongue was getting
carried away and she was telling this stranger far more than she
had intended to. Hell, she didn't even know him yet and she was
telling him things she typically kept to herself! But he was so
easy to talk to, like she knew him for a long time. "I'm sorry,
I guess I got to talking and didn't know when to stop." She cast
her eyes to the worn table.
Tom reached across the table and placed his hand on her forearm
and squeezed lightly. "Don't be sorry, I like hearing about you
and your experiences as a child," he insisted.
"I really don't think you came in here with the purpose of
talking about someone's childhood."
Tom laughed. "That's true. This wasn't what I originally had in
mind."
B'Elanna's heart sunk--she should have known this man would be
like all the rest. He was just trying to placate her. He was
just passing the time until something or someone more interesting
caught his eye.
"They go for thirty-three lumas an evening. I understand you
won't regret it," she informed him, her voice devoid of all
emotion. Raising her mug to her lips, she drained the contents
and then slammed the empty mug back down on the table. "I'm told
that they know all the tricks."
"Excuse me?" Tom was puzzled at the change in topic.
"Mroki's girls." B'Elanna tossed her head towards the back of the
room. "I'm told that Alini--the blonde with the long hair--is
best. All the men..."
"B'ELANNA!" It's acting up again!" the bartender yelled
interrupting her.
If looks could kill, the bartender would have been dead--twice
over--once by B'Elanna, the other by Tom. "I've got to go,"
B'Elanna apologized. "My break ended ten minutes ago." She
quickly collected the now empty mugs, and in a flash she was
gone.
"Strange woman," Tom murmured to himself. "I think I like her."
* * * * * *
B'Elanna returned to the third-floor room Mroki provided her as
part of her wages. The room was very small with only enough
space for a small bed and a trunk that was pushed up against one
wall. A small, narrow vertical window provided the only source
of outside light.
Entering the room, the young half-Klingon first paused by the
window to look down on the people below. She noted the street,
which was so busy during the daytime, was quieting. The lights
from the various businesses which hat lined the street were
starting to wink out as the owners closed their establishments
until the next day. With a heavy sigh she turned from the window
and activated the overhead light. It illuminated a garishly
colored room. Three walls were painted bright pink and the other
wall and the ceiling were covered with mirrors--testament that
this room wasn't always intended solely for employee habitation.
B'Elanna hated the room, but it served the purpose.
Kneeling in front of the trunk, she unlocked it and pushed opened
the heavy lid. Inside B'Elanna had placed her personal
possessions, which consisted of a few changes of clothes,
toiletries, several technical data PADDs, and the last thing her
father had given her before he had left--a gray and pink mottled
stuffed targ, she had had named Tobey.
She wasn't sure why she kept the toy when, even now, she was
furious with Eduardo Torres for leaving her mother and herself
when B'Elanna was just a little girl. Perhaps it was a
connection to home? Perhaps it was a reminder that despite
everything she still loved her papa? She never could come up
with a conclusive answer to those questions, and had long since
stopped trying.
Pulling the targ out from the trunk, she embraced the well-loved
toy giving Tobey a kiss on his furry head, and placed him on her
bed. She removed her clothing, hanging the items on a hook
behind the door. Reaching back into the trunk, she withdrew her
thin, white nightshirt and slipped it on before she dimmed the
only light in the room. B'Elanna then kicked off her shoes and
crawled into bed. She adjusted her body instinctively to avoid
the lumps in the bed, pulled Tobey close to her, and reflected on
the day.
"Today, I met a man," she whispered into one of the targ's ears.
Tobey was a fine confidant. He'd patiently listen to all she had
to say but never repeated a word to anyone. "His name is Tom,
and he's so handsome," B'Elanna continued. "Not what I usually
consider handsome, usually I fall for men with dark hair and
eyes," she explained. "This guy though is tall, lean, and has
dark, golden wavy hair and the bluest eyes. Kinda like the shade
of that dress Grandmother Torres bought for me for that birthday
party when I was a little girl. I hated that party dress with
all those ruffles and bows, but oh how I loved the color." Tobey
didn't contradict her.
"I think this guy might be special," B'Elanna continued. "Not
like the other men I've seen come into the bar. I guess you
might call him sensitive. Not that he's some kinda saint or
something, but Tom didn't seem like the rest. He talked to *me*.
He could have spoken to any of the other women there, but he
didn't. You should have seen Alini's face, Tobey. She was so
jealous!" B'Elanna grinned in the darkness remembering the sour
expression on the prostitute's face. Then B'Elanna sighed and
her grin faded. She hugged Tobey tighter to her chest. "Then I
ruined it all. That stupid Klingon side of me couldn't keep
still and I yelled at him. He'll probably never want to see me
again."
Tobey comforted her in his silence.
"Normally I wouldn't care, but this one feels different. I ..."
"A-A-ALINI, Do it again!!! Oh, ALINI!"
B'Elanna's reverie was disturbed by the noise and the thumping on
the wall which followed the shout of satisfaction. Being right
next door to Alini was not conducive to a good night's sleep.
B'Elanna considered going next door and tell Alini to keep quiet,
but knew that the request would fall on deaf ears, and that Mroki
would rule on the side of her money-maker. So B'Elanna settled
for the next best thing. She covered her head with her pillow.
Her thoughts vacillated between smashing Alini's pretty pert nose
in and imagining what it would be like for Tom to hold her in his
arms.
* * * * * *
"Computer, begin personal log."
The computer beeped acknowledging that the pilot could begin his
transmission.
"It's been a while since I've made an entry, not that I've had
much to say. The last four months or so things didn't change on
the ship--not that I expected them to. I almost made an entry
after we had that last battle with the Cardassians--I don't
really know why I'm making an entry today--other than If I don't
confide in someone I just might burst out of my skin. Since
there's no one on this ship that I consider a friend, I'll just
have to resort to a 'Dear Diary' entry--so here it goes.
"I feel like I got kicked in the gut today. I met a woman that
almost literally knocked me for a loop--what a temper! And what
a surprise! I never thought I could be affected like a lovesick
schoolboy again--especially after all that's happened over the
past few years. Her name is B'Elanna and she's half-Klingon.
She's beautiful in an untamed sort of way. She says what she
thinks, not what she thinks I want to hear. I can tell she's the
kind of girl...strike that woman...I don't think she'd want to be
called a girl. Anyway she's the type of woman to keep you on
your toes.
"I originally went to the bar--oh that's right I didn't tell you
I found her in a bar, but I did. So I went in there at first for
two things--a drink and to get laid. Well I did get the drink--
but not the sex. What's funny is that after I left, I didn't
mind not getting it...not after I met B'Elanna. For some reason
I feel like I should know her, but I can't quite place it. Maybe
I'll remember the next time I see her. In the meantime, I've got
to get a job and make some money while we are stuck here on
Palmat. B'Elanna needs a radiometric converter. Can't let her
down."
End Chapter 1
Click Here to transport to Chapter 2 - Realization
~~~~He came on a summer's day
~~~~Bringing gifts from far away
~~~~But he made it clear he couldn't stay
~~~~No harbor was his home
Before the Delta Quadrant...
Surveying his surroundings, the tall, lanky pilot brushed back
the dark blond hair from his forehead. Damn, it was hot but he
would have gone insane if he stayed in that sardine can the
Maquis called a ship much longer. Even if the ship had been of a
superior design with a spacious interior like Picard's
Enterprise, just being cooped up with other people on it for the
last several weeks was reason enough to split for a while. He
knew, at best, his crewmates tolerated his presence. If he
wasn't such a damn good pilot, he would have been dropped off on
the nearest space station or planet weeks ago--that is if someone
didn't slit his throat before then.
Shielding his eyes from the perpetual glare of Palmat's twin
suns, Tom Paris looked cynically around this port of call that
would be he and his crewmates' new home for the next few weeks.
The planet of Palmat, or its port city of Malac, would hardly be
what anyone's idea of a prime tourist attraction--or any type of
attraction at all--Tom concluded, unless they were looking for
the seedy side of space. It served a dual purpose though,
providing them what they needed--a safe haven until the ship was
space-worthy again and rest for her weary crew.
The last few weeks had consisted of numerous skirmishes with the
Cardassians and even a few run-ins with Starfleet. The Maquis
ship "Liberty" had taken several hits, and was in desperate need
of repair.
Strolling down one of Malac's streets, Paris made note of the
people that inhabited this hell hole. The citizens of the city
looked like all the dregs of the universe had decided to make
this their home. Even the dirty children that scampered through
the even dirtier streets, looked any innocence they might have
possessed had been ripped away. That was a shame, Tom thought,
children shouldn't be subjected to the squalor that he saw.
He followed a pair of ragamuffins with his eyes as they played a
curious game of touched-you-last. They darted back and forth
across the street, heedless of any traffic or people that might
collide with them.
Finally, outside one of the many dreary bars that lined the
streets of the town, the children crashed into a trio of rough
hewn men who had stopped to talk. The men yelled at them and
then pushed the youngsters away so they could continue their
conversation. Shortly afterwards, the men, looking startled,
took off down the road in the same direction that children had
traveled, and Tom laughed. Those children were obviously expert
pickpockets and had plucked their elders dry, Tom realized.
Licking his parched lips, Paris realized that he too was in need
of some liquid refreshment, but not here he decided. It was too
close to the ship--too much of a chance to run into one of the
other members of the *noble* Maquis. He'd wait, until he found
just the right bar, something a little out of the way, some place
that sported the right kind of clientele--women--and if he was
lucky, good looking and willing women.
* * * * *
Turning a corner in what passed for a street, Tom again licked
his dry lips. A short stone's throw from his position, he saw
what he was looking for. A small establishment, nestled beside a
large pillar of stone approximately two kilometers from the
Liberty. The building itself was made of some type of masonry.
White paint had been splashed on the exterior in a haphazard
fashion, what looked like years ago, and the metal roof was
thoroughly rusted. But what intrigued the pilot the most, was
the pair of women that he saw enter the bar. Both, while not
what he would consider beautiful, had all their curves in *all*
the right places. They'd do, he decided. It had been a while
since he had been in intimate contact with a member of the female
gender, and if the hardening below his belt was any indication,
it had been much too long.
Trying to maintain his cool, even though he was sweltering, he
entered the bar.
When he stepped through the entryway, Tom was temporarily blinded
by the abrupt change from the brightness outside to the darkness
within. His sense of smell was assaulted by the aroma of alcohol
and cheap perfume intermingled with spicy incense. It was just
like most bars he had frequented since he had been cashiered out
of Starfleet, he thought. Dark, dank, and a good place to go to
forget your problems--at least for a while. In other words, just
what he was looking for.
After his eyes adjusted, he saw that most of the bar was
illuminated by a pale blue light that emanated from several
vertical glowing tubes of varying heights that were placed
randomly around the main seating area. The patrons--what few
there were--were clustered in groups of twos or threes around
small oval tables. The two women that Tom had followed in wasted
no time and had already selected a pair of men...or perhaps the
men selected them. Even in the dim light, Tom Paris could tell
that the ladies weren't as young as he had originally thought.
If it wasn't for the raging thirst tearing at his throat, he
would have left in search of a more attractive tavern, instead he
made his way around several tables toward the back of the room
where the bar itself was situated. He neared the bar, which was
constructed of a long, thick plank of gray stone supported by a
heavy, black metal base. Two men who were already there, perched
on a pair of stools like vultures, looked up at Tom.
The older of the two sneered at Paris through acrid pulls of
smoke that spewed out of a pipe clenched between his yellowing
teeth. Not about to trespass on their territory, the pilot chose
a stool at the other end of the bar.
Satisfied that they would not be bothered by the stranger, the
men turned their attention away from him and resumed their
conversation.
Tom shrugged. It would have been a pleasure to strike up a
conversation with someone outside of the Liberty's crew--even
those men. It would be a nice change of pace to talk to someone
who would not prejudge him and think that they knew him based
solely on a few well-publicized facts. Not that the facts
necessarily lied--the crash *was* due to pilot error. *His*
pilot error had caused the crash of that shuttle on Caldik
Prime--but it would have been nice to put it behind him for a
little while, to forget but for a moment he his actions had
killed three people.
Turning towards the bar itself, Tom noticed a dark head just
below the top of the counter--the person seemed to be crouching
and mumbling to himself. Paris waited a little while, then
cleared his parched throat trying to attract some attention, but
it didn't work. Whoever it was behind the bar seemed to be very
absorbed with his task. Finally, the pilot leaned over the bar
and tapped the person on the head.
"Do you think I could get some service?" he asked.
The two men that were seated at the end of the bar quickly
abandoned their posts fleeing toward the back of the room just
before the dark head snapped upward and Tom fell back almost
toppling off his seat. It wasn't a man, he discovered, but a
woman--a vibrant but enraged woman. Her dark mahogany-colored
hair hung to her shoulders and even in the dim light he could
make out the ripples that adorned her forehead. Instantly she
intrigued him.
"Do I *look* like a barkeep?" she snarled.
"I--I--don't know," Tom Paris stammered. "I guess not?"
"Damned right, I'm not!"
"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."
The woman slowly expelled a breath she wasn't aware she was
holding.
Then she looked into the sky blue eyes of the man and made note
of his aristocratic features and blondish hair. Not bad, she
thought. {What is someone like you doing here in this arm pit of
the universe?} She also noticed that the redness of the man's
skin was not a natural state--the twin sun's of Palmat had
toasted another person.
"Look, I'm trying to repair the refrigerant coils, but I'm not
having much success. Sorry if I snapped," she admitted. She
pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. Tom
could tell that her anger was barely contained. "What is it
you're looking for, drink or company?"
Paris was mesmerized by her raw beauty, tawny skin, full lips,
and her refreshing bluntness. He had the nagging feeling that
somewhere, somehow, they had met before.
"Make up your mind!" she snarled when Tom didn't reply
immediately. "I'm not the bartender--I have work of my own to
do. Do you want booze or someone to warm your bed?" She jerked
her head in the direction of the women Tom had followed in.
"Hurry up, I don't have all day."
"Um...I'll have a Bolian beer, if you have it." Tom replied. He
fished out a few credits from his money pouch that hung around
his neck and tossed it on the bar.
She nodded once and reached under the counter selecting a mug.
Topping the mug off from one of the taps, she slid the mug across
the bar toward the man.
"Thanks...keep the change." Tom gratefully picked up the mug and
drained half of its cool contents. Placing the mug again back on
the bar, he wiped his mouth unceremoniously with his sleeve. "I
can't believe how thirsty I am," he remarked.
"It's the Twin Terrors," she noted.
Tom looked at her perplexedly.
"The pair of suns," she explained. "Makes this place one hot
sonofabitch. I can see that you're already showing their
effects." She paused a beat and then continued when he didn't
seem to understand. "Your skin is all pink and red. You've
developed one nasty sunburn."
{Could brown eyes look any richer?} "Oh, yeah...my skin. I was
in such a hurry to leave the ship that I didn't get a dermal
protectorant. When I get back I'll have to have this taken care
of...one of the curses of being fair skinned," he chuckled
nervously. Tom couldn't remember the last time he felt this
unsure of himself around a woman. "Got it from my father's side
of the family. I guess you don't have that problem."
"Ah...no. Along with this..." She touched her rippled forehead.
"I got the complexion too."
"Klingon?" Tom guessed.
"Half."
"The other half Human?"
She nodded, but didn't seem too pleased. Paris couldn't tell if
she wasn't pleased with the Human half or the Klingon half, or
the fact that she was half and half period. It would be
something for him to find out later. Later? Interesting. Would
there even be a later?
"Hey, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself before, the name's
Tom." Why risk mentioning the last name? Even out here the
famous disgrace of the mighty Paris family might be known. He
held out his hand to her in a gesture of friendship.
She looked at it for a little while then wiped her right hand on
her pants leg before she placed her hand in his and shook it
firmly. "B'Elanna," she replied. She then released her grip and
picked up one of the tools she'd been working with and adjusted a
setting on it.
{No pretense...no flattery...just a woman being herself...how
rare.} "B'Elanna is a lovely name," Paris remarked. It was an
old line he realized, but it was the truth.
She ignored him; she had heard the same compliment before used in
here when a man tried to pick up a woman for the evening.
"How about forgetting the repair for a moment, and..." he pushed
on and patted the seat next to him. "...join me for a little
refreshment and some talk."
"Can't, I promised Mroki that when she returned I'd have this
pile of refuse repaired. She doesn't keep me around to small
talk with the customers. That's their job." B'Elanna motioned
with a flip of her hand toward the women in the back of the room.
Tom turned to see not only the two women he had followed into the
bar, but three more who had joined them--two brunettes and one
striking blonde.
"The 'company'?" Tom surmised.
B'Elanna's head bobbed. "Mroki provides the 'best drink and
company to ease the minds and souls of wayward travelers'." She
had heard that line so many times, it nauseated her.
"Mroki's slogan?"
"Yeah, something like that. Makes her feel more like an
entrepreneur, than just the owner of a bar with a few rooms for
rent by the hour upstairs."
"So one can purchase this company, if one has the money?" Of
course one could, Tom wasn't stupid.
"You got it." Damn, this man seemed interested in more than the
drink. She, for reasons unknown, had hoped that he wasn't like
all the rest that came in here. But she couldn't blame him if he
found Mroki's girls of more interest than her.
He turned his attentionfrom watching the other women back to
B'Elanna. "What if I wanted to purchase *your* company?"
Lightning quick, B'Elanna threw her tool down on the bartop and
launched herself over the bar. Her intent was to choke the life
out of the handsome man on the other side. Nothing he could have
said could have surprised her or angered her more. Since she had
arrived on Malac, no one had wanted to spend time in her company
for very long, and she'd be damned if she'd ever sell her body
like Mroki's other female employees did!
"Pp'taQ! I'm NOT a whore! You think I'd lower myself to sleep
with some..."
Tom raised his hands in self defense, trying hard not to notice
the sounds of giggling that had arisen from the back on the room.
"Hey, I didn't mean *that* kind of company, B'Elanna. I just
wanted to talk to you...just talk....honest."
"Talk?" She relaxed slightly, wary of his intentions.
"Yeah, is that so hard to believe?" Actually considering what he
had been looking for when he had first selected this tavern, it
was, he admitted to himself.
"Why me?" she asked. B'Elanna was born suspicious and moved away
from Paris, retreating back to her original position.
Tom shrugged. "Why not?" He took a slow sip of his beer.
"No one has ever come in here and wanted to talk with me."
Tom looked puzzled. "No one?"
B'Elanna noticed his look of confusion. "It's these." She
slapped her forehead. "They think I'm cursed or something."
"That's ridiculous."
"The Palmat citizens don't think so. Most of them are very
superstitious," B'Elanna explained. Picking up the tool she had
thrown down, she focused her attention on the device embarrassed
by the admission. She had often admitted to herself that perhaps
she was cursed. It seemed that ever since she could remember her
dual-heritage had gotten her into trouble.
"That's their loss."
B'Elanna looked up. He sounded sincere. "Thanks," she mumbled.
"So if I pay this *fine establishment* for your time will you
join me?" he asked. "I promise, just to talk."
"Talk?" she questioned confirming his intentions.
"Promise. Will you talk with a wayward traveler, if that
traveler was willing to pay for your time? Would your boss allow
that?"
Damn it was tempting. Usually the only one that spoke to her was
Mroki but it was usually just about business. Sometimes Trini,
the nicest prostitute, would talk to her if she had the time and
their off-schedules coincided but that didn't happen often. "If
you let me finish this repair, then I'll join you over at that
side table for my break--no charge," B'Elanna assured him and
pointed to a table that was the most secluded in the room.
"Of course. Take your time."
Taking his half-empty (or maybe it was half-filled?) mug with
him, Tom moved to the side table. From there he watched B'Elanna
finish her repair. When the bartender returned, B'Elanna spke
with him briefly, and taking two mugs of beer with her, she
joined the pilot.
"Thought you could use another. Takes at least two mugs to wash
the dust from your throat," she stated setting one of the mugs
down beside his now empty (or was it just a temporarily not-
filled?) mug. "I can't stay for long, I only get fifteen
minutes."
Once an officer, and having been raised a gentleman, Tom
instinctively got out of his seat and pulled out the chair on the
other side of the table. He then motioned for B'Elanna to sit.
B'Elanna looked embarrassed at first. Looking up at the women,
Trini motioned with a flick of her hand for her to sit down, so
she did. Tom pushed her chair in and then joined her. "Thanks
for the beer. What do I owe you?"
B'Elanna pulled her own mug towards her and sipped at it,
relishing the coolness as it slid down her throat.
"Nothing...*they* owe me." {Boy did they owe me!}
"I appreciate it." Tom smiled. He still felt nervous. Maybe
because he knew he had never met a woman quite like B'Elanna.
Carefully studying the man before her, she took a longer draw on
her beer. The man's blue eyes seemed to draw her in...willingly
in. She could easily drown herself in their blue depths she
realized...and that frightened her. Admitting this came as a
shock, as not much ever scared her. Covering up her nervousness,
she took another sip of the beer before she spoke. "So what
brings you here to Malac?" she asked.
Tom laughed lightly. "To tell you the whole story would take a
long time. The short version is that my ship is in port for
repairs."
"Are you from that Maquis ship that docked this morning?"
Tom's laughter ceased. "How do you know about that?"
"Almost everything on Palmat may stink, but its communications
system doesn't. The news that the Maquis brought a ship in for
repair has spread all over Malac, and by this time tomorrow, most
of the planet will know about it."
"Palmat has an impressive grapevine," Tom admitted. "What else
is being said?"
B'Elanna shrugged nonchalantly. "Just that the ship has been
involved in several battles with both the Cardies and the Feds."
She looked up into the man's blue eyes gauging his reaction. He
appeared to be unaffected by the news so she continued. "We've
been told that the captain of your ship is very bold, and that
the ship and the crew might not even have made it to Palmat if he
hadn't been for some flashy pilot they have at the helm."
Tom covered his reaction to this piece of news with another sip
of beer before he spoke. "The pilot wasn't the only one
responsible for our success. Everyone on the crew has a job to
do."
"But I heard that it was your pilot that was primarily
responsible," B'Elanna pressed.
"Mere rumor." Last thing he wanted, though he couldn't figure out
exactly why it was so important to him, was for her to find out
about his past.
B'Elanna looked disappointed. Since news of the Liberty had
reached Palmat, she had made a special effort to learn all she
could about the noble Maquis and, in particular, the ship's
talented helmsman. Rumor had it that he was a hot shot pilot,
the son of some type of Federation nobility, who had been kicked
out of Starfleet before having joined up with the Maquis rebels.
He sounded like someone B'Elanna could relate to--someone who she
might have something in common, seeing how she had also left the
Academy and her family under less than ideal circumstances.
Noticing her disappointment, Tom sought out a new subject that
didn't include him. "Tell me about you, B'Elanna. Why do you
make your home on Palmat?"
"I'm not," B'Elanna replied. "My stay here is only temporary.
I'm here only long enough to get my own ship operational. Then
I'm leaving. I thought maybe I'd go to Ephitma, a little planet
near Vulcan, I hear are in need of engineers."
"Is that your trade? You're an engineer?"
"Yeah, though fat lot of good that does me around here. Because
of these," she motioned once again to her ridges, "Mroki was the
only one who would hire me. She isn't as superstitious as most
of the people around here."
"How long have you been on Palmat?"
"Almost five months in Earth time." B'Elanna explained.
"Long time."
"A lot longer than I had intended," she admitted.
"How's your ship coming along? Tell me about her."
"She isn't much. Just an old run-about that can barely achieve
Warp 6, but I got her for a song. Actually, I won her in a bet."
"What kinda of bet?" This news piqued Tom's interest. It
sounded like something he would do.
B'Elanna shrugged. "Some over-confident Ferengi bet that I
couldn't drink a Bolian under the table. I did it and won, and
wound up with a ship and one hell of a hangover in the morning,"
she recalled with a sly smile. "Of course, there was a lot of
incentive considering if I lost, I would have had to scour out
the Ferengi's bar for six months."
Tom roared with laughter. "I would have liked to have seen that
Ferengi's face when he lost the bet."
B'Elanna chuckled. "It was a sight that I'll treasure always."
Her smile suddenly faded. "That is if I can get the piece of
junk flight-worthy again."
Tom took a sip of his cold beer before he replied. "Is there
anything I can do?"
"Thanks, but I can't do much until I get some new parts. Seems
like I fix one thing and two more screw up. I'm determined to
get it working though. I did it before, and I'll do it again,"
she avowed. "Right now I'm saving up for a radiometric
converter. Then I can start working on saving enough money to
get some dilithium crystals for the ship's warp core.
"Sounds like you have it all planned out?"
"I hope so, but my original plan didn't involve being stuck on
Palmat this long. Talk about depressing!. Not that the Klingon
Homeworld was full of laughs!"
Tom chuckled. B'Elanna was intriguing, like a fresh breeze on a
hot dry day...much like it was outside right now he remembered.
She seemed to have a habit of saying what she thought, not what
she thought he wanted to hear.
"I've never been to Qo'noS, is it that bad?" he asked taking
another sip.
"Bad enough when you're five. Everything seemed so loud and
boisterous compared to where I lived on Kessik IV. For a while I
thought my mother had planned on moving back to the Homeworld to
be near her family. I was very relieved to find out that we had
just come for a visit." B'Elanna stopped, her tongue was getting
carried away and she was telling this stranger far more than she
had intended to. Hell, she didn't even know him yet and she was
telling him things she typically kept to herself! But he was so
easy to talk to, like she knew him for a long time. "I'm sorry,
I guess I got to talking and didn't know when to stop." She cast
her eyes to the worn table.
Tom reached across the table and placed his hand on her forearm
and squeezed lightly. "Don't be sorry, I like hearing about you
and your experiences as a child," he insisted.
"I really don't think you came in here with the purpose of
talking about someone's childhood."
Tom laughed. "That's true. This wasn't what I originally had in
mind."
B'Elanna's heart sunk--she should have known this man would be
like all the rest. He was just trying to placate her. He was
just passing the time until something or someone more interesting
caught his eye.
"They go for thirty-three lumas an evening. I understand you
won't regret it," she informed him, her voice devoid of all
emotion. Raising her mug to her lips, she drained the contents
and then slammed the empty mug back down on the table. "I'm told
that they know all the tricks."
"Excuse me?" Tom was puzzled at the change in topic.
"Mroki's girls." B'Elanna tossed her head towards the back of the
room. "I'm told that Alini--the blonde with the long hair--is
best. All the men..."
"B'ELANNA!" It's acting up again!" the bartender yelled
interrupting her.
If looks could kill, the bartender would have been dead--twice
over--once by B'Elanna, the other by Tom. "I've got to go,"
B'Elanna apologized. "My break ended ten minutes ago." She
quickly collected the now empty mugs, and in a flash she was
gone.
"Strange woman," Tom murmured to himself. "I think I like her."
* * * * * *
B'Elanna returned to the third-floor room Mroki provided her as
part of her wages. The room was very small with only enough
space for a small bed and a trunk that was pushed up against one
wall. A small, narrow vertical window provided the only source
of outside light.
Entering the room, the young half-Klingon first paused by the
window to look down on the people below. She noted the street,
which was so busy during the daytime, was quieting. The lights
from the various businesses which hat lined the street were
starting to wink out as the owners closed their establishments
until the next day. With a heavy sigh she turned from the window
and activated the overhead light. It illuminated a garishly
colored room. Three walls were painted bright pink and the other
wall and the ceiling were covered with mirrors--testament that
this room wasn't always intended solely for employee habitation.
B'Elanna hated the room, but it served the purpose.
Kneeling in front of the trunk, she unlocked it and pushed opened
the heavy lid. Inside B'Elanna had placed her personal
possessions, which consisted of a few changes of clothes,
toiletries, several technical data PADDs, and the last thing her
father had given her before he had left--a gray and pink mottled
stuffed targ, she had had named Tobey.
She wasn't sure why she kept the toy when, even now, she was
furious with Eduardo Torres for leaving her mother and herself
when B'Elanna was just a little girl. Perhaps it was a
connection to home? Perhaps it was a reminder that despite
everything she still loved her papa? She never could come up
with a conclusive answer to those questions, and had long since
stopped trying.
Pulling the targ out from the trunk, she embraced the well-loved
toy giving Tobey a kiss on his furry head, and placed him on her
bed. She removed her clothing, hanging the items on a hook
behind the door. Reaching back into the trunk, she withdrew her
thin, white nightshirt and slipped it on before she dimmed the
only light in the room. B'Elanna then kicked off her shoes and
crawled into bed. She adjusted her body instinctively to avoid
the lumps in the bed, pulled Tobey close to her, and reflected on
the day.
"Today, I met a man," she whispered into one of the targ's ears.
Tobey was a fine confidant. He'd patiently listen to all she had
to say but never repeated a word to anyone. "His name is Tom,
and he's so handsome," B'Elanna continued. "Not what I usually
consider handsome, usually I fall for men with dark hair and
eyes," she explained. "This guy though is tall, lean, and has
dark, golden wavy hair and the bluest eyes. Kinda like the shade
of that dress Grandmother Torres bought for me for that birthday
party when I was a little girl. I hated that party dress with
all those ruffles and bows, but oh how I loved the color." Tobey
didn't contradict her.
"I think this guy might be special," B'Elanna continued. "Not
like the other men I've seen come into the bar. I guess you
might call him sensitive. Not that he's some kinda saint or
something, but Tom didn't seem like the rest. He talked to *me*.
He could have spoken to any of the other women there, but he
didn't. You should have seen Alini's face, Tobey. She was so
jealous!" B'Elanna grinned in the darkness remembering the sour
expression on the prostitute's face. Then B'Elanna sighed and
her grin faded. She hugged Tobey tighter to her chest. "Then I
ruined it all. That stupid Klingon side of me couldn't keep
still and I yelled at him. He'll probably never want to see me
again."
Tobey comforted her in his silence.
"Normally I wouldn't care, but this one feels different. I ..."
"A-A-ALINI, Do it again!!! Oh, ALINI!"
B'Elanna's reverie was disturbed by the noise and the thumping on
the wall which followed the shout of satisfaction. Being right
next door to Alini was not conducive to a good night's sleep.
B'Elanna considered going next door and tell Alini to keep quiet,
but knew that the request would fall on deaf ears, and that Mroki
would rule on the side of her money-maker. So B'Elanna settled
for the next best thing. She covered her head with her pillow.
Her thoughts vacillated between smashing Alini's pretty pert nose
in and imagining what it would be like for Tom to hold her in his
arms.
* * * * * *
"Computer, begin personal log."
The computer beeped acknowledging that the pilot could begin his
transmission.
"It's been a while since I've made an entry, not that I've had
much to say. The last four months or so things didn't change on
the ship--not that I expected them to. I almost made an entry
after we had that last battle with the Cardassians--I don't
really know why I'm making an entry today--other than If I don't
confide in someone I just might burst out of my skin. Since
there's no one on this ship that I consider a friend, I'll just
have to resort to a 'Dear Diary' entry--so here it goes.
"I feel like I got kicked in the gut today. I met a woman that
almost literally knocked me for a loop--what a temper! And what
a surprise! I never thought I could be affected like a lovesick
schoolboy again--especially after all that's happened over the
past few years. Her name is B'Elanna and she's half-Klingon.
She's beautiful in an untamed sort of way. She says what she
thinks, not what she thinks I want to hear. I can tell she's the
kind of girl...strike that woman...I don't think she'd want to be
called a girl. Anyway she's the type of woman to keep you on
your toes.
"I originally went to the bar--oh that's right I didn't tell you
I found her in a bar, but I did. So I went in there at first for
two things--a drink and to get laid. Well I did get the drink--
but not the sex. What's funny is that after I left, I didn't
mind not getting it...not after I met B'Elanna. For some reason
I feel like I should know her, but I can't quite place it. Maybe
I'll remember the next time I see her. In the meantime, I've got
to get a job and make some money while we are stuck here on
Palmat. B'Elanna needs a radiometric converter. Can't let her
down."
End Chapter 1
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