Working with quick efficiency, the Kazon youth stripped Kes of her medical kit, tricorder, phaser and comm badge. She stood for several moments, stunned by this sudden turn of events. She felt her hands ball into fists, clenched rigidly at her sides. How could she have been so foolish to believe Melchor? Why should she have had any reason not to? She was not sure which hurt more, that Melchor had betrayed them both, or that she had fallen for his duplicity and placed herself and Paris in greater danger. That they were in danger, was not in doubt. Melchor, who in one moment had been a welcome ally, had transformed suddenly into the guise of a demon. The change in his demeanor and facial expression, rattled her, deeply and thoroughly. More unsettling was the knowledge that she had suspected nothing since meeting with him at the shuttle hours before. Completely focused on rescuing Paris, she had never sensed anything but compliance from her comrade. Now all her confidence lay shattered at her feet. She had completely misread Melchor and his motives. Yes, he had wanted to help her gain access to the Kazon camp, but not to rescue Paris. He had betrayed them both and her foolishness blinded her to his true intentions.
"Why?" she asked quietly.
"Why?" Melchor laughed, a twittering cackle. "Ask Paris. He knows."
Kes glanced toward Paris. Voyager's helmsman had said nothing since Melchor had stepped into the cave. His face now wore a familiar mask, his eyes dark, his mouth a cynical grin, challenge written in every ounce of his rigidly held body. "Ask Paris," Paris mimicked, his voice low, "and he'll tell you Melchor has finally slipped over the edge."
Melchor laughed again, loudly, a raucous belly laugh that hinted of madness.
"Over the edge. Round the bend. Fruitier than a fruitcake. Quaint phrases, but not quite true. I know exactly what I'm doing, Paris. We've all been dragged along on this joyride to the Delta Quadrant, but none of us really wants to be here. Except perhaps you. We'll never get home. Not like this. Tippy toeing from one planet to the next. Always mindful of Starfleet's rules and regulations."
"Rules and regs you've always been glad to follow," Paris cut in.
"You're a poor one to talk rules, Paris. You've always gotten away with breaking the rules."
"Not always." Paris amended quietly, but Melchor didn't appear to hear or respond.
"Rules. Starfleet rules. What have they gotten us? Trapped here by Janeway's' misguided loyalty to the prime directive. We could have been home. We didn't need to protect the Ocampa homeworld. They were doomed one way or the other. " Melchor's voice had risen as he spoke, tinged with twisted rage, and pompous sense of self-righteousness. He took a deep breath and when he continued his voice was steadier, his words more frightening in their calmness than in hysteria. "What did it get us?" he asked again. "So many dead. My good friend, Cavit. Doctor Fitzgerald. All the ones who knew the truth about you, Paris. They knew what you really were. If they'd lived, you would be spending this voyage in the brig. They knew. They might be alive if it weren't for you."
Kes knew there was little truth in Melchor's words. His thoughts were disjointed, wandering randomly from accusation to accusation. She knew quite well the power of the Caretaker and knew that he, not Paris, had caused the deaths of Melchor's friends, but that bit of knowledge would never sway Melchor. No bit of logic could sway him. He had drawn his own conclusions, created his own reality, and through the Kazon, found the power to back his madness, to give him strength.
"I always thought of myself as a loyal Starfleet officer," Melchor went on, "but after a while I began to question if my loyalty was misplaced. All I had to do was look around me, and ask who I could find on the bridge of this 'Starfleet' ship. Janeway, who trapped us here. Maquis traitors. And you. Tom Paris, loyal to none. Trusted by none. YOU had the nerve to accept a position that placed you above the rest of us. None of it made sense. Until I met Michael."
"Jonas." Kes said flatly, glancing from Melchor to Paris. There was nothing else she could do but watch as the drama played itself out. Melchor swung from livid rage to matter of fact calmness with alarming sharpness, his words logical in their twisted way. And Paris said nothing.
"Yes, Jonas. My good friend Michael. He knew. He knew the only way to regain our rightful place was to place his loyalty and trust with Seska. He knew. But he was afraid to act."
"We know he sent transmissions to Seska on several occasions," Kes edged closer to Melchor as she spoke.
"Yes. But he wasn't working alone."
Kes stopped. "You?"
"Yes," Melchor burst. "Yes. Jonas was too timid. He had the dream, I had the will. We worked together. We were inseparable. You ended that union, Paris. Because of you and that spotted hyena, she calls a lover, Jonas is dead. But the dream is not crushed."
"Tom didn't kill Jonas." Kes said quietly, attempting to draw Melchor's attention away from Paris.
He spun on her, addressing her as though noticing her presence for the first time. "Yes. Paris and Neelix, working together, accomplished that. What an unlikely pair. Who would have thought they would have ruined so neat a scheme. But now I can avenge my friends, quite possibly repair the damage you've done and achieve my original goal. Because I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Isn't it ironic how fate sometimes hands us the means to an end when we least expect it or plan for it. Paris thinks I'm mad. But I'm just playing with the hand fate dealt me. Taking advantage of the circumstances. The storm, the Kazon, being on this away team with you, and him. None of this was planned, but it all fits so well into my needs. I'm playing this by ear, as they say. But I do play so well."
"What are you going to do with us?" Kes asked, trying very hard to sound blandly disinterested, though her heart pounded with fear. She dared not show Melchor the slightest anxiety. Dared not reinforce his superior air.
Melchor shrugged, smiling. "At first I thought I would simply kill you. I certainly don't need you to bargain with Seska. The technology I'll be handing her and the Kazon when I hand over the shuttle, should be enough to buy me a seat on their ruling council."
"Or to get you shot." The same taunting smirk Kes had seen in the glade more than a day ago, quirked the corners of Paris' mouth. He was baiting Melchor intentionally.
And Melchor didn't take the bait. Instead he nodded. "Probably," he agreed unexpectedly, foiling Paris' attempt to goad him. "I'm not as valuable as Federation technology. Not to Seska. But to this little gathering of Kazon, I'm so much more. You see, this is a splinter group. Belonging to no particular Maj. They have left their own kind to seek out Seska, to join her, to master Federation technology. To them, I am indispensable, because, through me, they will give Seska the one thing she craves most besides Voyager herself, and that is the Alpha quadrant's most advanced technological wizardry."
"There's still no guarantee you won't be killed," Kes persisted.
"True. And these Kazon have the same thought, but they are convinced you and Paris, are the extra they need to win Seska over."
"Convinced, by you I'm sure. Perhaps we should convince them that we would be of more value to Seska whole. Give me back my medical kit. Let me treat the Lieutenant's injuries."
"Oh," cooed Melchor, "is it 'The Lieutenant' now. What happened to 'Tom'? You think I'm foolish enough to release him, much less let you treat him. I'm no more stupid than I am insane, Kes. Besides, a little pain never hurt anyone. Paris has caused enough others pain. In fact, I have something different in mind, Paris. Just causing pain isn't enough. The Kazon need to be confident that they have completely subdued you, and The Golden Boy needs to be brought down a few notches."
Kes was startled to hear Paris chuckle, softly, as though in disbelief, or, she thought, as though the threat was not new to him.
"You know, Tom." Melchor placed a snide emphasis on Paris' first name. "I haven't been with these Kazon much more than a day, but in that short time I've realized they are a one dimensional race. Even more so than the Klingons. The Kazon are limited by their struggle for existence and everything about them is unimaginative, including their attitudes about dominance. They dominate their females, and they try to dominate one another, but they haven't truly begun to understand how thoroughly one male can subjugate another."
"What are you getting at Melchor?"
Beneath the outward belligerence of his tone, Kes could hear the tiredness in Paris' voice, see it in the drawn whiteness of his face, and in the slump of his shoulders. He was not beaten, but he was loosing the need to resist, slipping into the passivity of simply not caring, as though he were anxious to get on with whatever Melchor had planned and be done with it.
"To put it simply, I've convinced them that, in order to impress Seska, they must be more Cardassian than she is and that a truly powerful Cardassian male must dominate, totally, all other males. That controlling a male is the ultimate authority. I've also convinced them that you are a very well ranked Human, in the Cardassian sense. Possessing you, forcing you to submit totally to their will, then offering you to her, will in turn, give them great power and credence in any dealings with Seska." Melchor seemed to come alive as he spoke, pacing the confines of the small cave, his hands a manic comedy of gestures manipulating the air to emphasize his words. In the soft light of the torch, his hands sent grotesque shadows dancing across the darkness in a macabre waltz as threatening as his words. He laughed softly, an eerie cackle, and Kes began to believe, for the first time, that he was truly deranged. He believed what he was saying even though the reasoning was hopelessly flawed. "I've even made up a ritual of sorts. A rite of passage. Its funny how easily they can be convinced, how eagerly they accept this fantasy, how desperate they are to have an 'in' with Seska. They've decided that tomorrow, they will each force you to submit to them. It seems to have become quite the challenge."
"Submit?" Kes said. She knew how naive the question sounded. She also knew full well what Melchor was threatening. "Merritt, you can't do that. Tom has done nothing to harm you. You know none of this will mean anything to Seska."
Melchor laughed, louder, a frightening sound that twisted like a claw in Kes' heart. "You're right. It won't mean a damn thing to her. But they don't know that, and, maybe, it will mean something to me." His eyes glittered from the shadows, and she could hear the rasp of his breathing, elevated by anticipation.
"Kes, don't." Paris voice was low, but the command was undeniable.
"Yes, Kes, don't interfere," Melchor mimicked Paris voice. "Your turn will come. But for tomorrow, Tom Paris will be center stage, and I will watch, as will you. And if he doesn't perform to my satisfaction, you will take his place."
"No, Melchor." Paris' shoulders straightened and he rose up on his knees despite the restraints binding his arms. "No way in hell. You'll get your show tomorrow. Perhaps more than you bargained for. But only as long as Kes stays here."
"Oh, Paris, have we found your weakness?" Sarcasm dripped from Melchor's quietly spoken words as he stepped closer to Kes, his hand stroking the tousled blondeness of her hair. "Have we found the one thing that gets under that seemingly impenetrable hide of yours? Is it possible that devil-may-care, Tom Paris, who cares for no one but himself, has an 'Achilles heel'? I thought it was just a rumor, a passing fancy, but maybe all that shipboard chatter about you and Kes was true. It did amaze me that Neelix would allow his lady love to accompany you to such a lovely place as this. This makes things much more interesting. Maybe," Melchor stopped as though savoring a forbidden thought, then continued, "Maybe, tomorrow, if Kes feels the same for you, she'll find a way to bargain for you, to save you from certain humiliation."
Melchor said nothing more. There was no need to. Kes knew full well what he wanted in return for Paris.
"But you have the night to think of that don't you." Melchor nodded, false congeniality in his smile and his tone. "Until then, I will leave you 'lovebirds' alone. Think about what I've suggested, Kes. Think well."
With that Melchor turned and strode out of the cave, taking the Kazon warrior with him.
****
Turning slowly to where Paris still knelt, Kes got down on her knees beside him, embarrassed by her failure. "I'm sorry," she said softly, not wanting to look him directly in the eyes.
"Nothing to be sorry about," he answered gently.
She looked up to find him watching her intently.
Alarmed by the strain she heard hidden in his voice and words, she quickly forgot her own discomfort, as concern for him swept through her. Melchor had left her with little more than a light, but she could at least determine how badly Paris was injured. Recovering her lantern, she placed it on the ground beside him. "Let me untie your hands."
"That's okay," Paris said quickly.
Too quickly, Kes decided. "Yes, I will. Don't argue."
"Kes, don't--"
Paris grunted softly, under his breath, when she bumped him again. He was hurt, she didn't need a tricorder to know that, and it went beyond the darkening bruise on his cheek. Carefully, using her hands, eyes and senses, she examined him as the Doctor had shown her. His face was cool, but far too pale, breathing and pulse elevated, perhaps from anger, and he was in pain. She soon determined why.
"Your hands."
Paris looked away, jaw clenched. "It's nothing."
"It's more than nothing, Tom Paris."
"But there's nothing you can do right now, Kes."
Cautiously, making sure she did not jostle his arms or hands, she studied the ropes he was bound with. Woven of a tough, metallic fiber, they were more like heavy cable than rope, the intricate knot sealed, with a melted substance that made untying impossible, and she had nothing with which to cut the bindings.
"What did they do?" she asked softly, although she did not need to ask. His hands were swollen, the fingers twisted and discolored. It was all too obvious what had occurred.
Paris said nothing.
"Melchor?" Kes asked. "Did he---"
"No." Paris swallowed hard, steadying himself before he continued. "It was the Kazon. Melchor just made a few suggestions. He's good you know. Better than I ever expected. Good at finding the best ways..." Paris' voice faded, his eyes closed against the memory.
"The best ways to hurt."
Paris nodded. "He told them I was a pilot. Asked them to think of something 'appropriate'." He was silent for a long moment, the he looked at Kes. "I guess he wanted to make sure I didn't fly out of here in the shuttle he's got hidden in the woods."
"So they broke your hands."
A shudder went through the young helmsman, and he nodded.
"Oh, Tom, I had a hypospray. If I'd known, I would have had time to take care of the pain."
"It's okay, Kes. Everything is pretty well numb from my shoulders down right now." Paris looked at her, his steady blue eyes, troubled. "I'd hoped you had gotten away."
Caressing his face with a gentle, soothing touch, Kes brushed the sweat soaked hair from his forehead. She could feel the exhaustion, desperation and fear radiating from him, even though he appeared outwardly calm. It startled her to realize that the weaker he became the more intensely she was able to read his unspoken emotions. It made her decision that much easier.
"When he comes back in the morning ," Kes said, firmly, "I'll do whatever he wants."
"No." Paris choked the word in a voice worn to harshness. "No, Kes. You can't."
"Tom," Kes laid a tiny hand on each side of his face, her fingers gentle, lifting his face to hers. "I have to. It's the only chance you have."
"No," emotion cracked in Paris voice. "It won't do any good. He'll use you, and nothing will change for me." His voice dropped to a rasping whisper. "I won't let you."
The naked hurt in Paris voice, brought tears to Kes' eyes. She hoped he could not see them, and she fought to keep them from her voice. "Ever since the storm, you've struggled to protect me," Kes said simply, "Now it is my turn to protect you. I can stop him from hurting you any more."
"That's just the point, Kes." Paris words were edged with exhaustion and pain. "It no longer matters what either of us do."
"Don't say that." .
"But its true, Kes. Degrading yourself won't stop him from hurting me. In his mind, I'm getting exactly what I deserve. Maybe he's right" There was a moment of hesitation. "Besides, he can't do a damned thing to me, that hasn't already been done, by someone else." Shame burned in Paris eyes, in the rigidly clenched jaw. "Can't you understand. You can't give in to him. Not for me."
Kes was startled and frightened as she watched the last remnants of his spirit crumble. Despite her embracing fingers, he looked down. Paris' voice was barely audible and she leaned forward to catch his words. "I'm not worth it."
Kes lifted his face to hers once more, shocked by the sadness she saw there, the years of self doubt, of hiding pain the pitiless words of others caused, of always being made to feel less than he was. She had suspected, but until now, had not fully understood, his private demons.
"Promise me," he whispered. "When he comes back in the morning, you'll refuse to co-operate with him. Promise."
"Oh, Tom--"
"Promise."
Kes nodded, silently.
With that, some of the tension drained from Paris rigidly held shoulders. His body slumped against the pole at his back, his head tilted backwards, and his eyes closed, calm resignation settling his features in a sleeplike peace. Her senses told her, he was far from being at peace, but some of the worry had evaporated. Opening his eyes, he looked at her.
"You should try to get some rest," he said.
"Everyone keeps telling me that," Kes snapped more harshly than she intended, frustration and anger filling her. "I hardly feel like resting."
"But you need to. You'll need your strength tomorrow." He swallowed hard. "We both will."
Kes knew arguing would be futile, though her mind churned with silent fury, at Melchor, at the Kazon. She felt an anger she had never known when she was a captive herself, yet now the simmering passion that had been building in her threatened to spill out. How could Melchor treat a fellow human in such a fashion? She could almost understand the Kazon, but Melchor?
Paris read the distress in her features because his mouth quirked into a small sarcastic grin, "Makes you want to scream doesn't it."
Kes nodded not trusting herself to speak.
"I had a friend, when I was a kid. She used to always say, 'if you feel like screaming, and don't scream, you'll get fat.'"
Kes looked at him, puzzled by the non sequitor.
Then Paris forced a subdued laugh. "She used to go out into the woods and rant and rave and kick trees until she got it out of her system."
"Did it work?"
"Seemed to work for her. She never got fat. Broke her toe once, but she never got fat."
Kes was about to protest the absurdity of the story, then realized its purpose. He was trying to distract her, put her at ease and she was grateful for his efforts, for the comfort his words brought, however slight, and for his selfless strength.
"Try to get some rest, Kes. There really is nothing else you can do. We'll have to wait 'til morning, then play it by ear."
She hesitated a moment longer, not wanting to admit to the tiredness she suddenly felt, but it must have shown in her face.
"Lie down. Use my knees for a pillow if you like."
Kes paused, then lowered herself to the hard packed dirt of the cave floor. Settling with her back toward him, being careful not to jostle his arms, she rested her head against his knees so that he could not read her expression. When morning came, she would find a way to shield him from further harm. She had the means. Slowly, the anger drained from her, and in its place was left unsettling fear and deep sorrow. Unbidden tears formed, slipping silently from her eyes, wetting the fabric of his uniform, until she cried herself to sleep.
****