Kes heard the soft crackle of footfalls on the dry leaves littering the ground, and resisted the urge to turn around, concentrating instead on the readings she was taking, pretending her heart did not lurch each time he came close. She did not want him to see how upset she had been by the encounter with Melchor. Paris had brushed off the incident, but she knew it had bothered him more than his casual manner belied. Although she could not read his thoughts, she sensed his emotions with uncanny accuracy, an ability she had acquired as their relationship developed, and which had intensified when she had realized how deeply he cared for her. The same emotional affinity existed between her and Neelix, and also, to some extent, with Captain Janeway.
But it was Melchor, more than Paris, who had disturbed her. His animosity was almost palpable, focused directly at Tom, and so intense, the emotion was painful even to her immature senses. Mixed with the anger was a great sense of loss and pain that twisted the anger into a smoldering rage. Paris did not appear to feel threatened, in fact he seemed resigned to Melchor's attitude, yet it made her strangely uneasy, even fearful. It was the fear she wished to hide from Paris. He had dealt with the reactions of his fellow crewmen far longer than she had, and she knew she must trust his judgment in this case. If he felt there was no danger, that the anger would eventually fade, then she must calm her own inner misgivings.
Carefully schooling her features so that none of her apprehension showed in her expression, she turned to Paris. He stood quietly behind her, hands behind his back, the rate of his breathing slightly elevated, his demeanor relaying a patient, yet expectant boredom.
"Just a few more feet," she said brightly continuing to monitor the read-out from her tricorder. "The readings are very encouraging. I'm already detecting high levels of a chematotrophin very similar to the one Melchor has isolated. This particular organic chemical actually seems to increase the flow of electrons through the gel packs by reducing resistance, thereby prolonging the viability of the packs, by eliminating some of the wear."
She looked up from her tricorder just as Paris stifled another yawn. Looking rather sheepish, he cocked his head with a 'can't help it' expression on his face.
Kes laughed. "I'm sorry, Tom. This probably makes no sense to you at all."
"Actually, it makes perfect sense. It just isn't very interesting."
"Why do they make you come on these away teams anyway, Tom? Your talents could be put to better use. I could have flown this mission myself. It was completely routine and would have been good experience for me."
"You know we all have to take our turn as part of the foraging missions." Paris appeared to be forcing his best innocent look.
"But I've noticed you have a way of always being absent when your duty rotation comes around, and your place is taken by another crewman." Kes thought of trying to look stern, but doubted she could keep a straight face long enough.
"Really?" he asked, eyebrows arching upward in mock surprise.
"Really," Kes answered. "So what's your secret. Replicator rations for bribes. Holodeck programs in exchange for taking your place. Hmm? And why didn't it work this time?"
Paris cleared his throat, neither acknowledging nor denying her allegation.
Kes shook her head and smiled with exasperation. "Tom, when will you ever learn. So who caught you? Chakotay?"
"Caught? Me? Never." Paris grinned.
"Tom." Kes found his grin both charming and disarming. "Obviously that tactic doesn't work with Chakotay," she said, sensing she had guessed correctly. Paris was apparently doing penance for his past avoidance of this particular task. She felt the urge to verbally chastise him. It was one thing to earn Chakotay's anger with his antics when he was working under direct orders of the Captain, but continuing to do so after he had apparently been vindicated was tempting fate.
As though aware of her thoughts, Paris brought his hand out from behind his back. In it he held a tiny red flower plucked from the forest undergrowth. "Don't worry, Kes. Believe it or not, I volunteered for this one. Figured I would get to spend the day in your company."
Before Kes could react, Paris stepped closer and tucked the blossom behind her ear. "There, see, I do know something about the proper use of the local flora. Makes being part of the Nut and Berry Brigade worth the boredom."
"Nut and Berry Brigade?" Kes asked, laughter creeping into her voice once more.
Paris held out his empty hands, palms upward in a gesture of futile resignation. "That's what some of our crewmen have dubbed the away teams that go on these foraging expeditions."
Kes smiled and was about to ask which crewman, though she suspected she knew the answer to that question, when a shudder passed through her.
Frowning with concern Paris, stepped closer, "Kes, is something wrong. You look like someone just walked over your grave."
Kes nodded, puzzled by the unfamiliar expression. "Just a cold draft. Very sudden. I was chilled." Kes felt herself shiver again. The rapid drop in temperature, seemed particularly sharp as the cool air wrapped its chilling fingers around skin still warm from the sun. "Didn't you notice?"
Paris shook his head. "No."
Of course he wouldn't, Kes admonished herself. His uniform was far warmer than the short sleeved tunic she wore, and she had felt the cold caress of wind on the bare skin of her arms. "It took me by surprise," she said. "There it is again. Is there supposed to be a change in the weather?"
"Voyager would have alerted us of any major changes--" Paris stopped in mid sentence.
"But communications--" Kes continued his statement.
"Have you been monitoring atmospheric conditions at all?"
Kes shook her head. "No. There was no need. My tricorder was set for bio scan."
****
Paris noticed the change around them, not as a drop in temperature, but a shift in the feel and scent of the air. The warm, musty fragrance of the dropped leaves and rich earth beneath their feet, the soft fragrance of flowers and spicy scent of living foliage, gave way to the sharp, metallic tang of the wind before a summer storm. The atmosphere seemed charged, on the verge of exploding, and now he, too, felt the cooling.
He looked at Kes, her face suddenly pale in the golden light that still filtered through the broken canopy overhead. Her eyes had widened with concern, and she passed her tricorder to him. Scanning the area in a three hundred and sixty degree arc around their current position, he stopped, facing north, unwilling to trust the instrument reading.
"Paris to Voyager," he snapped, as his hand slapped the communicator badge on his chest. There was no answer, just the steady hiss of static from the open comm line, occasionally punctuated by a crack of stronger interference. "Paris to Melchor." Again, no response. "Maybe if we get clear of this overgrowth," he said briefly, then without further explanation, he headed toward the rocky outcrop that rose from the forest floor ahead of them. Scrambling up its surface, aware that Kes was matching him step for step, he reached the top, faced north, and felt as though he faced the furies themselves.
The northern sky churned black with heavy clouds, roiling towards them with unstoppable energy. He could taste the ionized sharpness in the air, feel the rapid cooling around him. In the distance rain sheeted downward, cascading across the land in shimmering curtains.
"Paris to Melchor," he repeated. And this time there was a response, an inaudibly garbled message, but definitely a voice. Paris could only make out two words, words he didn't need to be told. 'ice storm.'
"Melchor," Paris spoke as distinctly as he could, knowing his attempt was futile even as he spoke. "Warn the other away teams. Clear the planet's surface before the storm endangers the shuttles. Kes and I will attempt to reach your position, but don't wait. We'll find shelter if necessary. Do you hear."
Again there was a garbled response. Looking once more to the north, gauging with a pilot's senses the speed of the approaching storm, Paris glanced again at his companion. "We gotta move and fast," he said.
She nodded without speaking, and he led a headlong dash down the side of the rock formation, then hit the ground running.
****