Chapter 12
B'Elanna wasn't sure how she had ended up on Kaladan III. She wanted to get away from Starfleet and the Starfleet/Cardassian border was about as far as she could go. Everyone had told her not to go there, but she had gone, she had run.
She had found a job at Patarin's, a little run down café. The harassment didn't stop, but it was more tolerable from a bunch of untrained morons than from the 'civilized' Starfleet.
There was a dark alley behind the café, where B'Elanna would often go back there and sit by herself during her breaks. If she sat there long enough, people would forget about her, and she could forget about other people.
"Torres, get your cute little ass back in here." Patarin growled. He was a crude uncivilized Bajoran man. He was overweight and constantly looked like he needed a good shower. When B'Elanna first saw Patarin, he looked like a complete pervert. He had done nothing but prove her right during the two months she had worked for him.
Walking towards the door, she tried to pull down the immensely short skirt that Patarin required his waitresses to wear. "Come on Torres, get the lead out of it, people are asking for you." Patarin called to her. B'Elanna hated her job, but it paid her rent (barely). Grabbing some menu padds, she headed back to work. She was greeted by a wave of whispers and whistles.
It had been a long day. Patarin had told her off because some customer had complained she wasn't 'friendly' enough. All she wanted to do now was get drunk. Quickly, she counted up her tips to see if she had enough for a few strong drinks. After she took out the money for groceries, she had just enough.
As she headed out the door, something startled her. It sounded like the cry of a young girl. It frightened B'Elanna, but something compelled her to travel farther into the darkened alley.
Her Starfleet training kicked in without thought as she crept down the road. Adrenaline was pulsing through her body and her heart was beating so loudly that was sure people could hear it all the way back on earth. Ducking behind some transport containers, she spied a Cardassian man kicking what looked to be pile of clothing. After a moment, B'Elanna realized it wasn't a pile of clothing at all, but a young girl, the source of the cry. B'Elanna's Klingon side urged her to run to the girl, but her reasonable human half convinced herself to wait the man (if he could be called that) out. Cardassians, on the whole, were fickle people.
True to his species, the Cardassian got fed up after a few minutes. As soon as she was sure the Cardassian was gone, B'Elanna rushed to the girl. When she reached the girl she wished she had taken a field medic class.
The girl was badly beaten, but when B'Elanna looked closely, she could see that the girl must have been absolutely beautiful. Her hair that once must have been a brilliant auburn was now thickly coated in blood and sweat. Her face that was now enveloped in a dark layer of purplish bruises and bloody cuts looked as though once it would have been the color of pale cream. Her lips would have been not quite thin but not overly thick if for the enormously swollen spots. Her earring was lying on the ground next to her. The girl looked maybe 15 or 16, but small for her age and very under nourished. Her clothing was torn and B'Elanna was pretty sure she been raped. The worst thing of all was the girl was still conscious. B'Elanna had once heard Cardassians used stimulants to keep their victims awake while they tortured them, but she didn't believe it, until now, that is.
"Where are the profits now?" The girl mumbled over and over again. When B'Elanna reached down to touch the girl, she shrunk away from her hand.
B'Elanna had never been very good at offering maternal type comfort but she tried her hardest now.
When the girl seemed to calm down somewhat B'Elanna carefully picked her up and began to run. For once B'Elanna was grateful for the Klingon in her which provided her with the strength to carry the girl to the emergency medical care facility up the street a ways.
The facility reminded B'Elanna of the many she had visited on the Q'Nos for birth control and minor bone mending. Upon her entrance, a Bajoran Doctor greeted her and helped her get the girl onto a bio-bed.
"OK, we are going to need payment now before we can begin." The Doctor told B'Elanna.
"What?" B'Elanna asked, confused.
"You're a friend of hers right? We get so many of these 'types' in here everyday. We can't afford to treat them unless we get payment up front." The Doctor explained.
"No, I just found her in an alley."
"Nurse, prepare one dose NZ3." He sighed.
B'Elanna had heard of NZ3 at the Academy. It was a drug issued to anyone entering a situation where they might be tortured for information. After the drug entered the body, all brain function ceased in less than one second. The patient would be dead in less than 2 minutes.
"Wait." B'Elanna cried, grabbing the padd the Doctor held out for her. Pressing her thumb to it she initiated the transfer of her entire account over to the hospital. Then from her jacket she pulled out her tips. She handed the money over the doctor, reserving enough for a meal and shuttle ticket. Where she was going she didn't need money. Rumor had it there was a large Maquis resistance group right here on Kaladan III. The Maquis were always desperate for help with their cause, maybe they could use another hand.
***
Father of mine
Tell me where have you been
You know I just closed my eyes
My whole world disappeared
Father of mine
Take me back to the day
When I was still your golden boy
Back before you went away
-Father of Mine
-Everclear
***
Caldick Prime. Your basic M-Class Federation Planet. It was, however, also where they sent Academy students to perform fight tactics for the fighter squadrons.
It was also where Tom and Darren were stationed for such a mission. Tom was the leader in the maneuvers, and would have to make sure everything went smoothly. Each ship held two people in it, a pilot and a com officer/recorder.
The training began at 08:00 hours in the morning, standard earth time.
Tom boarded his shuttle, the Avenger, and took his spot behind the helm. The Avenger wasn't the name the ship came with, which had been the Orca, so Tom had changed it to fit his taste. It was your standard two person Academy fighter, shaped, in Tom's mind, like the head of a vacuum cleaner. There was one small window in the front so that the cadets could see out and its fastest speed was warp 2.
"Caldick Prime reports we're clear for departure." The acting com officer/reporter, 2nd Class Cadet Brian Robinson, spoke up, sounding acting jumpy.
Tom rolled his eyes. He had begged and pleaded with the fighter squadron leader not to allow 1 and 2nd class cadets under command. They were just so damn annoying and jumpy all the time. But the General insisted on having at least one capable 2nd year cadet on the shuttle. Tom had agreed reluctantly, as long as it was only one. Now he wished he had fought it harder.
Tom acknowledged that he heard Brian and fired thrusters, and felt the Avenger raise into the air, the other shuttles following.
They broke through the atmosphere and into the vast darkness of space. Tom checked sensors and propulsion, making sure everything was working correctly.
"All shuttles, prepare for the Diamond Slot Formation." He told the other shuttles.
The ships responded and Tom turned back to Brian. "I need the calculations for the Orion Fire."
Brian's eyes widened. "But-"
"Don't argue, just do it!" Tom snapped.
The Orion Fire was a very sophisticated maneuver only preformed by the best fighter squadrons in Starfleet. It consisted of the squadron taking some very serious diving maneuvers, then pulling up and forming in a complete circle, all the while, criss-crossing between the other ships. If the maneuver were done correctly, the whole team would survive, but if there was even the slightest mistake, the whole team could be killed. It wasn't exactly forbidden from the Academy because no Academy squadron had ever tried it, but Tom had confidence in his squadron, and was sure they could pull it off, being the first squadron in the history of the Academy to actually achieve the Orion Fire.
After about 15 minutes, Tom and other two ships that flew with him, finished their routine patterns, and began to show off before they headed back to base. Tom quickly informed them what he wanted to do and they agreed.
"Cadet Robinson! Are you done with the calculations?"
"Uh, well, um, here." A padd appeared on the console next to Tom. Tom glanced down at it.
"That's not right." He snapped. "You didn't calculate for the shuttle speed."
Brian blushed and grabbed the padd. "There." He handed it back.
Tom frowned. Was this kid a complete idiot? He moved his hand and tapped a few more commands. "There. Send the calculations to the other shuttles."
Brian quickly went back to his console and sent it out.
"You guys receive that?" Tom asked.
There was a positive response from the other 2 ships and they were ready to go.
What happened next never quite made sense to Tom.
Everything was going fine, until Tom looked out the window. The two ships were on a direct course for each other.
"Darren!" Tom yelled into the com-system to Darren's ship. "Pull up!"
"I can't!" Darren's frightened voice rang out. "The calculations are already filtered into the computer system-propulsion just went off line! I'm leaking antimatter!"
Tom felt something in his throat. "Prepare for emergency beam-out!" He turned to Brian. "I don't care how you do it, get them out of those shuttles!"
Brian's hand flew over the console as Tom sent out a distress signal to Caldick's Prime squadron base. "I only have enough power-"
"Reroute anything you can to transporters except helm control, thrusters…and tractor beam." Tom's hands flew over the console, rerouting the tractor beam to helm control. He activated it and moved closer to the two on-coming shuttles.
Frantic voices filtered through the com-system. They were coming in awfully fast…
Before Tom knew what happened, there was a huge explosion.
Tom was on his feet, mouth open. "Did we…"
"I managed to retrieve an operation officer from Cadet Jalack's shuttle." Brain gasped.
Tom stared at the floating debris outside his window.
His best friend…had been killed. By a 2nd year student. Tom felt tears well up in his eyes as an emergency vessel approached the Avenger. Nothing could stop the boiling anger towards Brian that Tom felt at that very minute.
Tom realized he was clutching something. It was the padd with the calculations on it.
Through blurry eyes, Tom noticed something that chilled him to the bone.
He, Thomas Eugene Paris, had killed Darren. The calculation he had added to Brian's had caused the ships to collide. He had added a little altitude calculation that caused his best friend and two other cadets to hadn't done anything, to die.
The calculation Brian had made before Tom 'corrected' it had been right.
Tom heard Brian crying and the emergency vessel hailing them. But Brian made no move to respond. Tom knew why. Brian thought he was the cause of the accident.
For a split second, Tom considered comforting Brian and telling the kid it had been Tom's fault.
Instead, Tom reached his finger up and pressed the erase button. The two calculations Tom had made Brian change disappeared. No one would ever know.
Tom graduated the Academy a few months later. His parents had been overjoyed.
Tom felt miserable.
A lot had happened since the accident. Brian Robinson had been suspended for a semester for causing homicide. Tom stood by and let the poor kid get the punishment, something Tom should have gotten. He felt so guilty, but didn't speak up.
Tom made a full report, keeping out the calculation parts. The Academy saw him as a hero. So did the other 4th year cadets. He scored with his girlfriend, Jessica Parks. He even got a position as a helm officer on the Federation ship U.S.S. Exter because the captain liked 'an honest man'. That didn't make Tom feel any better.
But none of that made Tom happy (except for Jessica). He felt guilty and would spend a lot of time in his quarters on the Exter, rethinking everything about that day.
Nights were terrible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Darren, as if he were actually on board Darren's shuttle at the moment of impact. Or he would see Darren and the other two that had died as corpses, angry and yelling at him.
Those nightmares lasted for a month. Finally, Tom had had enough. He left the Exter and went back to earth. There, he marched into Starfleet Headquarters and turned himself in.
Starfleet was shocked. It was in the papers for weeks, and a trial was issued right away.
But Tom really didn't care at that point. He felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He knew he was doing the right thing, and if Darren were alive, he probably would have been very proud of his friend.
But something was nagging at Tom. If he hadn't turned himself in, he would have gotten off scott free and enjoyed a great career in Starfleet. But who knew what would happen now?
"Guilty."
Tom's head shot up to look at the judge. He was staring down at Tom, eyes hard and uncaring.
"The jury has decided that Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris be striped of rank and cashiered out of Starfleet for the degree of homicide, falsifying reports, and lying to your superior officer. Effective…immediately."
Tom felt the earth disappear. Cashiered out of Starfleet? He wanted to cry, but stayed standing, gradually accepting the verdict.
He turned around, only to see his parents. His mom was crying softly, her turning gray with old age.
Tom's eyes wandered from his mom to his dad, who stood in the back of the courtroom. Their eyes met and Tom suddenly saw his entire life flash before his eyes, mostly about his dad. Yet none of them were very happy times.
His dad never looked so old as he did now, standing by that wall. He looked liked he had gained some weight since the last time Tom saw him. He also looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep since the trial began. But Tom could understand, neither had he.
Tom took a deep breath and walked outside. The Headquarters also had a fountain, and Tom thought oddly about how it must have been some sort of symbol for all Starfleet buildings.
He stared at the water, and felt tears rise up again. He was no longer a Starfleet officer. He'd been stripped of rank, even if it was just the rank of Ensign. He'd been stripped of his dream.
"Tom."
He recognized the voice before he saw his father hurling towards him. Tom wanted to break into a run and never stop, but simply waited until his father was face to face with his son.
"Can I help you?" Tom asked, not really meaning for the question to come out sounding sarcastic, but if did anyway.
"Don't get that kind of attitude with me, young man." Admiral Paris snapped.
"You've disgraced out family name. From the moment you turned yourself in you disgraced us. You mother, your sisters…me."
Tom remained quiet. He knew his father was angry, but didn't want to encourage his anger by speaking.
"By doing that," Paris continued. "You've ceased to be a Paris."
That was it. Tom glared at his father, anger boiling. "I thought I would care." He said. To his surprise, he actually said it gently. "But I don't. Maybe you should have told me that a few years ago, when I really did cease to be your son." And Tom struck gold. His father turned bright red. Tom knew it. He had always known it. His father was only happy with him because he was a Starfleet officer, like his father. Because his father thought Tom would follow in his footsteps. His sisters weren't any help to the Admiral-they'd gone off and did their own thing, not joined Starfleet.
But now I'm not in Starfleet either. He thought, and he smiled inwardly. He was free to do whatever he wanted.
Then Admiral Owen Paris opened his mouth. "I'm ashamed of myself, Tom. Ashamed that I've somehow managed to raise a so little sense of morality or basic judgment." He said it so calmly, so cultured, that Tom shuddered. Admiral Paris nodded once and walked away to Mrs. Paris.
"Yeah." Tom whispered, nodding his head. "Yeah."
