The ring was surrounded by a glass dome thick enough to withstand heavy
impacts but thin enough to see through. Thankfully the floor wasn't glass
like the last one; it had thrown Tom's balance off and led to an almost
fatal mistake.
He stood off against one translucent wall, staring at a place on the glass that gleamed from the overhead and surrounding lights. His blue eyes imperturbable to the crowd of aliens swarming outside the glass walls. These beings, cheering and screaming for the match to begin, were the wealthiest in this area. You had to be wealthy to afford seats at this fight, or so Tom had been told. But that was the demand for all of his fights nowadays, he didn't care about it. He kept staring at the wall, gathering his thoughts and wits.
The pale-skinned being with whom he was about to contest against was standing with his arms, feet pointed straight into the air. It was his show of strength and skill, a crowd-pleaser, an easy skill that was supposed to make Tom nervous. Instead Tom stood there and tuned everything around him out. He hated everything about this, this disgusting form of entertainment. The part he hated most was the fact that he was forced to participate on a weekly basis. Oh he'd refused and had nearly been killed, several times. Now he just fought to survive, no more. Today was going to be different though, today wasn't another 'slap 'em around and win' fight. Today was a battle to the death, the most popular crowd drawer. Someone was going to die in this ring.
Imod had been controlling Tom's life down to the drops of water he drank for the last six months. It had been constant training and punishment. Fight after fight after fight. His arrival on Imod's ship had been rather unwelcome: complete strip search, personal belongings burned in front of his Tom's eyes, five day starvation and ritual beatings to introduce his place within their 'business.' Then the fights started and Tom had not lost one. He wouldn't allow himself to lose because as long as he won Imod promised not to use his technology to pull Voyager or any other Federation ship back to the Delta quadrant. He kept fighting because he was a survivor. His sole comfort was that he had been able to send his family home, for once he had helped them. To bad it hurt so much.
An insipid drumbeat began to echo through the ring and the audience began to quiet down and stare with greedy eyes through the glass. Tom finally pulled his gaze away and watched in secret fascination as the pale skinned man flipped onto his feet and performed an odd little dance involving difficult kicks and flips. A seductive voice filtered over top of the drumbeat introducing him as Nickas, the current world champion on his home planet Tillan. It seemed the Tillan culture trained their warriors solely for battles to the death. No mercy there.
Tom breathed in deeply through his nose, focusing on his opponent and tuning out everything else as his own introduction was made by Imod as 'The ElSar of the Delta Quadrant'. In Imod's language 'sar' describes the shifting of one's demeanor in a matter of moments. 'El' is the rapid change of colour. It was deemed the perfect description for the human that everyone knew so little about. Tom's ability to be coma-like one moment, capable of killing with only the use of his hands the next, was the reason for the title, and the only warning that his mood would turn deadly was the colour shift of his eyes from blue to gray.
None of that mattered to Tom as he concentrated on Nickas's moves. The man was graceful, fluid in motion. Very quick, and it seemed he could jump unnaturally high, landing behind his opponent. At least, that was what Tom would do if he could jump like that. He already knew how he would defeat Nickas.
The pilot didn't perform a dance for the crowd. He stood and watched the whole time, wishing vehemently that he was elsewhere. The fight was about to start. Tom reached a hand into the small back pocket on his brown pants. There he guided his fingers across smooth paper, picturing the drawing that was concealed within its folds. It was the picture Naomi had given him; his only connection to Voyager. He was ready to fight.
The drums abruptly ceased, they executed the respective hand signal of the games formally acknowledging that one of them would soon be dead. How civilized. Tom waited for the first attack, searching for fear in his opponent's eyes. He saw none. Finally Nickas used his jumping ability to full advantage, landing silently behind Tom, delivering a painful punch to his spine. For the next few minuets Tom concentrated on defending himself as Nickas attacked him from every angle possible. Kicks were blocked constantly, punches were less frequent but consistent. After a few minuets Tom had his opponent's technique pretty much figured out, now it was time to finish the fight.
He watched as Nickas squared his shoulders slightly, preparing for another jump to attack Tom's back. Voyager's ex-officer was prepared though, and as Nickas was landing behind him he spun and delivered a gut-crunching kick of his own to the pale being's mid section. He dropped like a sack of rocks but was up and bouncing out of reach a moment later, albeit hunched over some. Tom had him. He let his countless years of training and experience guide him as he blocked and delivered blow after blow, anticipating each attack made, and constantly changing his styles. That was the advantage of knowing so many martial arts, his opponents would never know which one he would use. It made Tom unpredictable and nearly impossible to beat. This time was no different.
Nickas fell to his knees when he could fight no more, barely holding on to consciousness. Tom had three or four bruises to show for the fight, a slight burning in his lower back, and now as he stood over his beaten opponent he knew what he had to do, for the sake of his own survival and sanity he had to finish this; it was a fight to the death.
((/\))
Captain Janeway, Chakotay and Tuvok sat in silence as they considered everything that the agitated EMH had just told them. Thoughts ran rampant, horrific images constantly emerging in their minds of situations that Tom could have been put through this last year, situations that they would never know. Tom would probably die before he told them. The thing that upset Tuvok was the fact that he had suspected something was wrong with Tom's departure, but he had never expected something like this to be the result.
He remembered a night he had woken up two years ago. He'd had the dream of his father's death, the dream that all Vulcan's have when a family member dies, no matter how far from home they were. His father had come to him in the dream, a peaceful dream full of certainty and love. The older Vulcan had been lying on the families passing berth, living out his last moments. He was still so young, to young to be dying from the sickness that had suddenly manifested. It was in that dream when Tuvok had shared his moments of farewells with his father as the great Vulcan teacher passed away, and he received a knowledge that he was only now beginning to understand.
His father had passed on a deeply routed sense of guilt for something he had performed, something he had been a part of. He passed on knowledge about Starfleet that had come to Tuvok in bits and pieces over the years. It would no doubt take many more years to figure out what it was his father had been a part of, but ever since that dream Tuvok had not looked at Tom Paris in the same light as he had previously. It was illogical, but perhaps it wasn't. His Father Sul'Ta had always said that logic is only in the mind of the individual who believes it; no other creature could ever understand that individual's beliefs, for they were not their own, regardless of whether they are the same. The EMH, who felt they had sat and thought long enough, pulled Tuvok from his contemplation.
"Well! What are you going to do about Mr. Paris?!"
"There is nothing we can do at the moment Doctor." Janeway slowly informed the hologram, thinking about her answer as she spoke. "Tom obviously doesn't feel that whatever it is he's been involved in is public information. And since he wasn't a member of our crew during that time… whatever it is he has gone through, we don't have the authority to order him to tell us."
"So we aren't going to do anything? We're just going to act as though he means nothing to us, as if we don't even care about what he's been through?
"Doctor." Janeway leveled one of her best 'shut up' glares at him. "By all means he is an important member of our crew and we will not abandon him again…"
"So far I haven't seen anyone make the effort to let him in on that fact." Janeway froze at the interruption, her eyes hardening to an icy glare narrowed at the Doctor. Tuvok realized that the Doctor had overstepped his boundaries with the captain, but he was glad that the situation had finally been brought to full light. Mr. Paris had not been treated in the best of ways upon his return, but that was not solely the captain or the crew's doing. The man had placed himself in the position seemingly unwilling to make an effort to change his current status as the ship's assistant chef. Across the table the doctor continued his pacing, not noticing or not caring for the look the captain was giving him.
"I also don't think that this whole mess is exclusively based around something that happened one year ago. I believe that Mr. Paris has been involved in something for quite some time, even as a member in Starfleet and as a member of this crew." This caused Janeway to raise her eyebrows in question, her anger at the EMH's outburst somewhat dissipated. Chakotay now looked at him with curiosity. Tuvok merely watched and waited to add his own opinions. This was getting interesting.
"What are you getting at?"
The EMH's frustrated eyes once again looked at the occupants of the room. "I don't know exactly." He huffed. "It's just a suspicion really, but ever since Tom became a member of my medical staff and I was given the opportunity to get to know him more personally I began to notice things previously unapparent."
"An example please?" Chakotay pushed the EMH. Tuvok leaned forward slightly, never had he been so interested in something the hologram had to say.
"His appreciation of detail, cleanliness and smooth running. Every instrument he ever uses is placed back where it should be, every medical log is perfect. Now I always thought he came across as a slob, but he seems to have somewhat of an obsession with order. The sickbay was never as well kept as it was when he was working there."
"Given his upbringing that doesn't come as a huge surprise." Chakotay argued, referring to being a fleet brat.
"Well then let's look at some larger examples." The EMH argued right back. "When the Kazon took over Voyager, Mr. Paris and I were the only ones left in space and on ship. While you were all surviving down on that planet, Tom had been stuck on a 'broken' shuttle, which he fixed while under Kazon attack and then he himself destroyed the two Kazon ships with apparently no effort. Then he recruited the Talaxian's help and created a rather difficult plan to retake our Voyager and rescue you. Of course he couldn't have done it without me." The Doctor paused to smugly recall his own efforts in the rescue, before continuing.
"And Tom was the one who made warp ten possible, despite the side affects. Now, I don't know anything about the development of that technology, but I do believe that what he came up with was something that a "pilot", even one with his expertise, would require monumental aid from engineers, designers, and perhaps even other pilots…"
"Lieutenant Torres did aid Mr. Paris on that project." Tuvok pointed out. "But Mr. Paris does tend to know things in areas other than his own expertise.
"Exactly! Look at the Delta flyer, it is a very advanced shuttle which he designed, at least as far as I know. Let's focus on medical facts. When Voyager was pulled into the Delta Quadrant Mr. Paris was aiding me in the sickbay with all the wounded. Now, he wasn't well versed in medicine until he became my pupil, but then he had a basic knowledge that impressed me, though I never told anyone that before…" Janeway and Chakotay smiled. "And every now and then he just knows something that he shouldn't at the level he is at."
"So you're saying that Tom Paris is a doctor in disguise?" The EMH was losing Janeway in his rapid ramblings.
"No, no. But he does have knowledge that should be beyond him."
"A situation which intrigued me was Mr. Paris's ability to remain unharmed while in the Akritirian prison up until the last few hours there. He survived two days alone without any alliances and a brain altering implant. His report never stated how he managed that, and considering Harry's report of his own arrival and attack in the prison, it must not have been easy." Chakotay was beginning to catch on to the Doctors overall meaning.
"Are you men saying that Tom Paris has had some form of training that goes beyond the level of Starfleet?"
"It could be possible Captain." Chakotay answered. "We don't really know much about his past other than what his records say, and his records reveal him being an outstanding Starfleet student, excelling in all his classes."
"He was always classified as a child prodigy."
"Prodigy or not, he came across as a know-it-all paying the least amount of attention possible in his classes. He was also called away on some 'vacation' which was never specifically detailed. That was a few weeks before the Caldik Prime incident." Sets of human, Vulcan, and holographic eyes stared at Chakotay, clearly wondering how he knew all of that information about the man in question. He shrugged his shoulders defensively. "I research my employee's extensively before allowing them to sit at the helm of one of my ships. Paris was no exception."
Tuvok agreed that he would have done the same thing, and he was aware that that was how Chakotay worked, being the recipient of that background check when he had infiltrated the Maquis. Captain Janeway studied her coffee mug a moment before coming to a decision on how she wanted to act on all these speculations.
"In light of recent medical knowledge, and the suspicion that Tom Paris is not exactly who he appears to be we have no solid evidence to act on. Though I don't feel this is a situation that should be ignored, it is not within our immediate power to act; but if anyone happens to come up with anymore information, or perhaps a little solid evidence, it wouldn't hurt to share." She grinned slightly in her 'I'm being devious' habit, though this time it didn't seem to hold its usual humor. Tuvok understood the order to unofficially investigate, so did Chakotay, the Doctor however felt that would take to long.
"Captain, all you need to do is sit him down over a cup of coffee and ask him, then order him to tell you. I have a recipe for a legal mild truth serum I can cook up and perhaps add to that black substance you people are always consuming…"
"Doctor, no. That is a breach of his rights and you know it. You have your orders. Dismissed." Tuvok stood and nodded his approval before turning back to his duties on the bridge. That evening he would find Mr. Paris and offer a game of parises squares, Tom used to always boast about being the best at that particular sport. Perhaps while they were playing Tuvok could get a few questions answered.
((/\))
Tom knew he should have deleted some of the Doctor's memory. Obviously the knowledge of those needles had been spread to the members of the senior staff, and now they were trying to figure out what was going on with their wayward ex-pilot. Tuvok of all people had offered him a game of parises squares. An offer which had dangled seductively. Tom would have loved to play the sport with him, the invitation to do something with someone other than fight with and serve food to was dangerously baiting him. But as much as he wanted to take the Vulcan up on the offer, he knew the sport was being used as a tool to get him to open up about his recent 'ordeals.' If there was anything that this crew and senior staff hated, it was being left in the dark about matters standing right next to them. At the moment, Tom was the 'matter,' and the last thing he wanted was for them to have the light turned on.
He'd turned Tuvok down, thanking him for the offer and spouting off that he had a prior engagement. The Vulcan took the refusal in stride, saying that he would then seek another available partner. For a Vulcan, he lied well, and Tom had always prided himself in knowing when people were lying. He rounded a corner, heading to a holodeck. It was late now so the holographically enhanced room shouldn't be occupied. He didn't make it close enough to the doors to find out.
"Tom!" Harry's persistent voice called, alerting him of who was behind him, though Tom had known someone was approaching from their footfalls. The assistant chef halted and stood stiffly to the side of the corridor, politely waiting for the lieutenant to catch up.
"Tom we need to talk."
Tom looked down into his former friend's deep brown eyes. They held no mirth or companionship right now, remaining carefully guarded, and not revealing any real emotions. His voice however, was the exact opposite. Harry could entertain a blind man for hours when it came to his voice and all the feelings it portrayed. Then again when Tom had still been a somewhat respected member of this crew he had asked some other friends what they thought, and they didn't think Harry was all that expressive. Maybe it just came from knowing the man so well.
"I'm sorry Lieutenant, I'm busy." So maybe that wasn't really true, but Tom had decided he wasn't going to play this ship's game, he was sticking to his own guidelines.
"Bullshit you're busy!" Harry raged, his chocolate eyes now flashing in frustration. "I have been trying to talk to you for the last two weeks, and you have avoided me like the Borg."
No, Tom thought, I wouldn't mind facing off against the Borg right now. "Then talk Lieutenant, while you have my undivided attention."
Harry glared at him, knowing full well how difficult Tom was planning to be. "Let's go somewhere private."
"No, thank you. You have me here and this is as good a place as any. Talk."
He complied.
"Tom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such a jerk when you came back. I'm sorry I was just as much a jerk when you left in the first place. I was your friend, and I seemed to have forgotten that along the way. I was angry and frustrated and didn't know what to do about the entire situation. I mean, hell! It's not everyday someone gets up and just leaves you, but I should have at least been supportive of your decision…"
Tom listened stoutly, carefully controlling his features. Harry was apologizing to him. To him! He was right here telling him how much he had really and truly missed him, his hands flying in the air in their usual nervous and expressive way. He was apologizing for not being there for him, Tom Paris. This was almost like a dream come true, his best friend was still willing to try and patch things up.
But as much as Tom had needed to hear these words from the man, and see the truth in his eyes, he still wasn't sure if he could trust him. After all the years of deceit he had gone through, after all the misplaced trust he had finally been willing to give to the people on this ship, he wasn't fully able to accept this as a sincere apology.
Harry's next words shattered his hopes like a wrecking ball in a glass room.
"I know you left for a reason, and you didn't want us to know, and I don't know what it is you've been doing this last year or what you've gone through, but I was wrong to turn you away. Please, let me try and fix that."
And Tom knew what had changed Harry's mind; it wasn't forgiveness or the sudden realization that Tom had always been a friend to him. It was guilt, and that wasn't what Tom had needed from Harry. His anger finally got the better of him.
"You know, when U brought me back, people instantly started passing judgement, as if they were expecting this all along. Never mind the last few years we've spent together. Do you really think I'd up and leave you all just like that?" He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. In a quieter voice, he said "Harry, this crew, this ship – it's all I have. But no one took the time to find out the real reason I left, not even you and B'Elanna. You all assumed that I was simply lapsing back into my previous habits, that that was the real me. As if Lieutenant Tom Paris was all just a clever ruse. No one ever took the time to see that it was the other way around." His voice caught, and he turned away quickly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. Damn, he must be slipping – he hadn't lost control like this for months.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, but before Harry could say anything, the Captain's voice sounded through the younger man's comm badge. "All senior officers report to my ready room."
That would have been him not so long ago. But not any more. Now he held a token position onboard a ship which he'd sacrificed everything for, everything, and had received nothing in return.
"Tom, I –"
He could feel his tenuous grip on his control slipping. "I believe you're needed, Lieutenant," he interrupted. "If you'll excuse me." Without looking at Kim, he shouldered his way past and headed towards the sanctuary of the holodeck. He silently pressed the code for his 'grease monkey' program, too angry and upset to speak the commands until he was inside and shut away from the rest of the ship, and from Harry.
This was absurd. They obviously knew that Tom hadn't been flying ships this last year, his cover had been blown. While he was slightly relieved he didn't have to pretend anymore, he knew things were only going to become more complicated. Then again, things were always complicated with him – if they weren't, he'd start getting suspicious.
He jogged back to the grassy hill, noticing vaguely that the sun wasn't shining on this particular visit. The dark thunder clouds and rain matched his mood perfectly.
He continued down the hill and into his forest of danger. For now he would fight, release some tension. Then he would decide what to do about Voyager.
((/\))
The next day found Voyager at the hospitality of the planet Rispi. They had tracked down the sensor readings of the spatial disturbance, but once they arrived there was nothing left to study, most traces of it disappearing into the blackness of space around. Voyager had traveled to Rispi to see if their scientists knew anything about it. They had now been there for two days and half of the crew was currently on the planet's surface, enjoying it's mild climate and salty air. The ocean was very close to their main city, where Voyager had been invited to dock. Politely declining the docking offer, choosing to remain in orbit to search for traces of the lost anomaly, Voyager settled for shore leave. With the wound-up attitudes clashing on board it was a refreshing chance for a break.
*breep bop* The chime interrupted the concerned conversation that had been in progress. Chakotay looked up to see who was interrupting his meeting with the captain, and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Seven of Nine to announce the purpose of her visit. What she had to say caught him by surprise.
"I have come in regards to Tom Paris." Her clipped, no nonsense words had him switch positions in his comfortable seat so that he was now leaning forward in his interest.
"Go ahead." Janeway acknowledged her with professional kindness, though it was easy to see that she had a soft spot for the Borg. The two women had become rather close friends over the few years that Seven had been on board Voyager. Seven was something of Janeway's new 'pet project,' like Tom had been the first three years aboard Voyager. The difference that Chakotay had noticed between the two was that Seven did not seem to realize the extent Janeway went to help her and Tom had, or at least appeared to have.
"I walked in on Mr. Paris and the Doctor three days ago and noticed a marking on his arm. It seemed familiar at the time and took a while for me to process, but I believe that the marking is the Tattoo of the Niktarus." Tom has a tattoo? Chakotay thought distractedly. He had never pegged the cocky man as the type to practice body art. It was usually frowned upon in Starfleet if it was not a part of religion or culture. The tattoo had been a popular initiation in the Marquis when the cause first began and had developed into a trend. Most Marquis had one somewhere on their flesh.
"What is the Niktarus?" Janeway prodded, very interested in this new information.
"The Borg were never successful in assimilating a member of the Niktarus, though they tried. Whenever they came close the being would commit suicide, extremely unwilling to become a member of the collective. Through the Borgs limited knowledge the Niktarus are the most highly trained and skilled beings in the art of combat found in the Delta quadrant. They are feared by everyone who knows of them, but they remain in a closed organization. It is a gambling organization, where the members are set against each other in fights. It is a large gathering held for the wealthiest beings in the Delta quadrant." Janeway and Chakotay stared at her a moment, not quite sure if she had developed a new brand of humour and was testing it out on them, but her stoic features told them otherwise. This was far from a joke.
"Captain. I believe we need to speak with Tom Paris, and straighten this out once and for all." Chakotay urged, his gut twisting with of the possibilities and problems this new situation could present. Then again, to have the level of skill that Seven was speaking of would have to be more of an old problem. An image suddenly pushed forward in Chakotay's mind. The sincere voice, the words, and the man saying those words suddenly became crystal clear. Send my crew home and I will fight for you. He breathed in deeply through his nose, finally understanding what those few words implied. It formed a terrifying explanation of the conspiracy that had been happening in this last year. It was mind numbing to think of what everyone hadn't known, and might never have known had U not stepped in to set the situation straight. He looked over at Janeway.
"Captain, I understand." Her horrified eyes were all he needed to see to know that she understood as well.
((/\))
NOTES: Thanks to Lay McDaniel who greatly improved upon that conversation between Tom and Harry.
-if you have any questions about the Vulcan thing with Tuvok at the beginning, or anything else for that matter, please don't hesitate to email me and I'll get back to you.
Thanks for still reading!
He stood off against one translucent wall, staring at a place on the glass that gleamed from the overhead and surrounding lights. His blue eyes imperturbable to the crowd of aliens swarming outside the glass walls. These beings, cheering and screaming for the match to begin, were the wealthiest in this area. You had to be wealthy to afford seats at this fight, or so Tom had been told. But that was the demand for all of his fights nowadays, he didn't care about it. He kept staring at the wall, gathering his thoughts and wits.
The pale-skinned being with whom he was about to contest against was standing with his arms, feet pointed straight into the air. It was his show of strength and skill, a crowd-pleaser, an easy skill that was supposed to make Tom nervous. Instead Tom stood there and tuned everything around him out. He hated everything about this, this disgusting form of entertainment. The part he hated most was the fact that he was forced to participate on a weekly basis. Oh he'd refused and had nearly been killed, several times. Now he just fought to survive, no more. Today was going to be different though, today wasn't another 'slap 'em around and win' fight. Today was a battle to the death, the most popular crowd drawer. Someone was going to die in this ring.
Imod had been controlling Tom's life down to the drops of water he drank for the last six months. It had been constant training and punishment. Fight after fight after fight. His arrival on Imod's ship had been rather unwelcome: complete strip search, personal belongings burned in front of his Tom's eyes, five day starvation and ritual beatings to introduce his place within their 'business.' Then the fights started and Tom had not lost one. He wouldn't allow himself to lose because as long as he won Imod promised not to use his technology to pull Voyager or any other Federation ship back to the Delta quadrant. He kept fighting because he was a survivor. His sole comfort was that he had been able to send his family home, for once he had helped them. To bad it hurt so much.
An insipid drumbeat began to echo through the ring and the audience began to quiet down and stare with greedy eyes through the glass. Tom finally pulled his gaze away and watched in secret fascination as the pale skinned man flipped onto his feet and performed an odd little dance involving difficult kicks and flips. A seductive voice filtered over top of the drumbeat introducing him as Nickas, the current world champion on his home planet Tillan. It seemed the Tillan culture trained their warriors solely for battles to the death. No mercy there.
Tom breathed in deeply through his nose, focusing on his opponent and tuning out everything else as his own introduction was made by Imod as 'The ElSar of the Delta Quadrant'. In Imod's language 'sar' describes the shifting of one's demeanor in a matter of moments. 'El' is the rapid change of colour. It was deemed the perfect description for the human that everyone knew so little about. Tom's ability to be coma-like one moment, capable of killing with only the use of his hands the next, was the reason for the title, and the only warning that his mood would turn deadly was the colour shift of his eyes from blue to gray.
None of that mattered to Tom as he concentrated on Nickas's moves. The man was graceful, fluid in motion. Very quick, and it seemed he could jump unnaturally high, landing behind his opponent. At least, that was what Tom would do if he could jump like that. He already knew how he would defeat Nickas.
The pilot didn't perform a dance for the crowd. He stood and watched the whole time, wishing vehemently that he was elsewhere. The fight was about to start. Tom reached a hand into the small back pocket on his brown pants. There he guided his fingers across smooth paper, picturing the drawing that was concealed within its folds. It was the picture Naomi had given him; his only connection to Voyager. He was ready to fight.
The drums abruptly ceased, they executed the respective hand signal of the games formally acknowledging that one of them would soon be dead. How civilized. Tom waited for the first attack, searching for fear in his opponent's eyes. He saw none. Finally Nickas used his jumping ability to full advantage, landing silently behind Tom, delivering a painful punch to his spine. For the next few minuets Tom concentrated on defending himself as Nickas attacked him from every angle possible. Kicks were blocked constantly, punches were less frequent but consistent. After a few minuets Tom had his opponent's technique pretty much figured out, now it was time to finish the fight.
He watched as Nickas squared his shoulders slightly, preparing for another jump to attack Tom's back. Voyager's ex-officer was prepared though, and as Nickas was landing behind him he spun and delivered a gut-crunching kick of his own to the pale being's mid section. He dropped like a sack of rocks but was up and bouncing out of reach a moment later, albeit hunched over some. Tom had him. He let his countless years of training and experience guide him as he blocked and delivered blow after blow, anticipating each attack made, and constantly changing his styles. That was the advantage of knowing so many martial arts, his opponents would never know which one he would use. It made Tom unpredictable and nearly impossible to beat. This time was no different.
Nickas fell to his knees when he could fight no more, barely holding on to consciousness. Tom had three or four bruises to show for the fight, a slight burning in his lower back, and now as he stood over his beaten opponent he knew what he had to do, for the sake of his own survival and sanity he had to finish this; it was a fight to the death.
((/\))
Captain Janeway, Chakotay and Tuvok sat in silence as they considered everything that the agitated EMH had just told them. Thoughts ran rampant, horrific images constantly emerging in their minds of situations that Tom could have been put through this last year, situations that they would never know. Tom would probably die before he told them. The thing that upset Tuvok was the fact that he had suspected something was wrong with Tom's departure, but he had never expected something like this to be the result.
He remembered a night he had woken up two years ago. He'd had the dream of his father's death, the dream that all Vulcan's have when a family member dies, no matter how far from home they were. His father had come to him in the dream, a peaceful dream full of certainty and love. The older Vulcan had been lying on the families passing berth, living out his last moments. He was still so young, to young to be dying from the sickness that had suddenly manifested. It was in that dream when Tuvok had shared his moments of farewells with his father as the great Vulcan teacher passed away, and he received a knowledge that he was only now beginning to understand.
His father had passed on a deeply routed sense of guilt for something he had performed, something he had been a part of. He passed on knowledge about Starfleet that had come to Tuvok in bits and pieces over the years. It would no doubt take many more years to figure out what it was his father had been a part of, but ever since that dream Tuvok had not looked at Tom Paris in the same light as he had previously. It was illogical, but perhaps it wasn't. His Father Sul'Ta had always said that logic is only in the mind of the individual who believes it; no other creature could ever understand that individual's beliefs, for they were not their own, regardless of whether they are the same. The EMH, who felt they had sat and thought long enough, pulled Tuvok from his contemplation.
"Well! What are you going to do about Mr. Paris?!"
"There is nothing we can do at the moment Doctor." Janeway slowly informed the hologram, thinking about her answer as she spoke. "Tom obviously doesn't feel that whatever it is he's been involved in is public information. And since he wasn't a member of our crew during that time… whatever it is he has gone through, we don't have the authority to order him to tell us."
"So we aren't going to do anything? We're just going to act as though he means nothing to us, as if we don't even care about what he's been through?
"Doctor." Janeway leveled one of her best 'shut up' glares at him. "By all means he is an important member of our crew and we will not abandon him again…"
"So far I haven't seen anyone make the effort to let him in on that fact." Janeway froze at the interruption, her eyes hardening to an icy glare narrowed at the Doctor. Tuvok realized that the Doctor had overstepped his boundaries with the captain, but he was glad that the situation had finally been brought to full light. Mr. Paris had not been treated in the best of ways upon his return, but that was not solely the captain or the crew's doing. The man had placed himself in the position seemingly unwilling to make an effort to change his current status as the ship's assistant chef. Across the table the doctor continued his pacing, not noticing or not caring for the look the captain was giving him.
"I also don't think that this whole mess is exclusively based around something that happened one year ago. I believe that Mr. Paris has been involved in something for quite some time, even as a member in Starfleet and as a member of this crew." This caused Janeway to raise her eyebrows in question, her anger at the EMH's outburst somewhat dissipated. Chakotay now looked at him with curiosity. Tuvok merely watched and waited to add his own opinions. This was getting interesting.
"What are you getting at?"
The EMH's frustrated eyes once again looked at the occupants of the room. "I don't know exactly." He huffed. "It's just a suspicion really, but ever since Tom became a member of my medical staff and I was given the opportunity to get to know him more personally I began to notice things previously unapparent."
"An example please?" Chakotay pushed the EMH. Tuvok leaned forward slightly, never had he been so interested in something the hologram had to say.
"His appreciation of detail, cleanliness and smooth running. Every instrument he ever uses is placed back where it should be, every medical log is perfect. Now I always thought he came across as a slob, but he seems to have somewhat of an obsession with order. The sickbay was never as well kept as it was when he was working there."
"Given his upbringing that doesn't come as a huge surprise." Chakotay argued, referring to being a fleet brat.
"Well then let's look at some larger examples." The EMH argued right back. "When the Kazon took over Voyager, Mr. Paris and I were the only ones left in space and on ship. While you were all surviving down on that planet, Tom had been stuck on a 'broken' shuttle, which he fixed while under Kazon attack and then he himself destroyed the two Kazon ships with apparently no effort. Then he recruited the Talaxian's help and created a rather difficult plan to retake our Voyager and rescue you. Of course he couldn't have done it without me." The Doctor paused to smugly recall his own efforts in the rescue, before continuing.
"And Tom was the one who made warp ten possible, despite the side affects. Now, I don't know anything about the development of that technology, but I do believe that what he came up with was something that a "pilot", even one with his expertise, would require monumental aid from engineers, designers, and perhaps even other pilots…"
"Lieutenant Torres did aid Mr. Paris on that project." Tuvok pointed out. "But Mr. Paris does tend to know things in areas other than his own expertise.
"Exactly! Look at the Delta flyer, it is a very advanced shuttle which he designed, at least as far as I know. Let's focus on medical facts. When Voyager was pulled into the Delta Quadrant Mr. Paris was aiding me in the sickbay with all the wounded. Now, he wasn't well versed in medicine until he became my pupil, but then he had a basic knowledge that impressed me, though I never told anyone that before…" Janeway and Chakotay smiled. "And every now and then he just knows something that he shouldn't at the level he is at."
"So you're saying that Tom Paris is a doctor in disguise?" The EMH was losing Janeway in his rapid ramblings.
"No, no. But he does have knowledge that should be beyond him."
"A situation which intrigued me was Mr. Paris's ability to remain unharmed while in the Akritirian prison up until the last few hours there. He survived two days alone without any alliances and a brain altering implant. His report never stated how he managed that, and considering Harry's report of his own arrival and attack in the prison, it must not have been easy." Chakotay was beginning to catch on to the Doctors overall meaning.
"Are you men saying that Tom Paris has had some form of training that goes beyond the level of Starfleet?"
"It could be possible Captain." Chakotay answered. "We don't really know much about his past other than what his records say, and his records reveal him being an outstanding Starfleet student, excelling in all his classes."
"He was always classified as a child prodigy."
"Prodigy or not, he came across as a know-it-all paying the least amount of attention possible in his classes. He was also called away on some 'vacation' which was never specifically detailed. That was a few weeks before the Caldik Prime incident." Sets of human, Vulcan, and holographic eyes stared at Chakotay, clearly wondering how he knew all of that information about the man in question. He shrugged his shoulders defensively. "I research my employee's extensively before allowing them to sit at the helm of one of my ships. Paris was no exception."
Tuvok agreed that he would have done the same thing, and he was aware that that was how Chakotay worked, being the recipient of that background check when he had infiltrated the Maquis. Captain Janeway studied her coffee mug a moment before coming to a decision on how she wanted to act on all these speculations.
"In light of recent medical knowledge, and the suspicion that Tom Paris is not exactly who he appears to be we have no solid evidence to act on. Though I don't feel this is a situation that should be ignored, it is not within our immediate power to act; but if anyone happens to come up with anymore information, or perhaps a little solid evidence, it wouldn't hurt to share." She grinned slightly in her 'I'm being devious' habit, though this time it didn't seem to hold its usual humor. Tuvok understood the order to unofficially investigate, so did Chakotay, the Doctor however felt that would take to long.
"Captain, all you need to do is sit him down over a cup of coffee and ask him, then order him to tell you. I have a recipe for a legal mild truth serum I can cook up and perhaps add to that black substance you people are always consuming…"
"Doctor, no. That is a breach of his rights and you know it. You have your orders. Dismissed." Tuvok stood and nodded his approval before turning back to his duties on the bridge. That evening he would find Mr. Paris and offer a game of parises squares, Tom used to always boast about being the best at that particular sport. Perhaps while they were playing Tuvok could get a few questions answered.
((/\))
Tom knew he should have deleted some of the Doctor's memory. Obviously the knowledge of those needles had been spread to the members of the senior staff, and now they were trying to figure out what was going on with their wayward ex-pilot. Tuvok of all people had offered him a game of parises squares. An offer which had dangled seductively. Tom would have loved to play the sport with him, the invitation to do something with someone other than fight with and serve food to was dangerously baiting him. But as much as he wanted to take the Vulcan up on the offer, he knew the sport was being used as a tool to get him to open up about his recent 'ordeals.' If there was anything that this crew and senior staff hated, it was being left in the dark about matters standing right next to them. At the moment, Tom was the 'matter,' and the last thing he wanted was for them to have the light turned on.
He'd turned Tuvok down, thanking him for the offer and spouting off that he had a prior engagement. The Vulcan took the refusal in stride, saying that he would then seek another available partner. For a Vulcan, he lied well, and Tom had always prided himself in knowing when people were lying. He rounded a corner, heading to a holodeck. It was late now so the holographically enhanced room shouldn't be occupied. He didn't make it close enough to the doors to find out.
"Tom!" Harry's persistent voice called, alerting him of who was behind him, though Tom had known someone was approaching from their footfalls. The assistant chef halted and stood stiffly to the side of the corridor, politely waiting for the lieutenant to catch up.
"Tom we need to talk."
Tom looked down into his former friend's deep brown eyes. They held no mirth or companionship right now, remaining carefully guarded, and not revealing any real emotions. His voice however, was the exact opposite. Harry could entertain a blind man for hours when it came to his voice and all the feelings it portrayed. Then again when Tom had still been a somewhat respected member of this crew he had asked some other friends what they thought, and they didn't think Harry was all that expressive. Maybe it just came from knowing the man so well.
"I'm sorry Lieutenant, I'm busy." So maybe that wasn't really true, but Tom had decided he wasn't going to play this ship's game, he was sticking to his own guidelines.
"Bullshit you're busy!" Harry raged, his chocolate eyes now flashing in frustration. "I have been trying to talk to you for the last two weeks, and you have avoided me like the Borg."
No, Tom thought, I wouldn't mind facing off against the Borg right now. "Then talk Lieutenant, while you have my undivided attention."
Harry glared at him, knowing full well how difficult Tom was planning to be. "Let's go somewhere private."
"No, thank you. You have me here and this is as good a place as any. Talk."
He complied.
"Tom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such a jerk when you came back. I'm sorry I was just as much a jerk when you left in the first place. I was your friend, and I seemed to have forgotten that along the way. I was angry and frustrated and didn't know what to do about the entire situation. I mean, hell! It's not everyday someone gets up and just leaves you, but I should have at least been supportive of your decision…"
Tom listened stoutly, carefully controlling his features. Harry was apologizing to him. To him! He was right here telling him how much he had really and truly missed him, his hands flying in the air in their usual nervous and expressive way. He was apologizing for not being there for him, Tom Paris. This was almost like a dream come true, his best friend was still willing to try and patch things up.
But as much as Tom had needed to hear these words from the man, and see the truth in his eyes, he still wasn't sure if he could trust him. After all the years of deceit he had gone through, after all the misplaced trust he had finally been willing to give to the people on this ship, he wasn't fully able to accept this as a sincere apology.
Harry's next words shattered his hopes like a wrecking ball in a glass room.
"I know you left for a reason, and you didn't want us to know, and I don't know what it is you've been doing this last year or what you've gone through, but I was wrong to turn you away. Please, let me try and fix that."
And Tom knew what had changed Harry's mind; it wasn't forgiveness or the sudden realization that Tom had always been a friend to him. It was guilt, and that wasn't what Tom had needed from Harry. His anger finally got the better of him.
"You know, when U brought me back, people instantly started passing judgement, as if they were expecting this all along. Never mind the last few years we've spent together. Do you really think I'd up and leave you all just like that?" He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. In a quieter voice, he said "Harry, this crew, this ship – it's all I have. But no one took the time to find out the real reason I left, not even you and B'Elanna. You all assumed that I was simply lapsing back into my previous habits, that that was the real me. As if Lieutenant Tom Paris was all just a clever ruse. No one ever took the time to see that it was the other way around." His voice caught, and he turned away quickly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. Damn, he must be slipping – he hadn't lost control like this for months.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, but before Harry could say anything, the Captain's voice sounded through the younger man's comm badge. "All senior officers report to my ready room."
That would have been him not so long ago. But not any more. Now he held a token position onboard a ship which he'd sacrificed everything for, everything, and had received nothing in return.
"Tom, I –"
He could feel his tenuous grip on his control slipping. "I believe you're needed, Lieutenant," he interrupted. "If you'll excuse me." Without looking at Kim, he shouldered his way past and headed towards the sanctuary of the holodeck. He silently pressed the code for his 'grease monkey' program, too angry and upset to speak the commands until he was inside and shut away from the rest of the ship, and from Harry.
This was absurd. They obviously knew that Tom hadn't been flying ships this last year, his cover had been blown. While he was slightly relieved he didn't have to pretend anymore, he knew things were only going to become more complicated. Then again, things were always complicated with him – if they weren't, he'd start getting suspicious.
He jogged back to the grassy hill, noticing vaguely that the sun wasn't shining on this particular visit. The dark thunder clouds and rain matched his mood perfectly.
He continued down the hill and into his forest of danger. For now he would fight, release some tension. Then he would decide what to do about Voyager.
((/\))
The next day found Voyager at the hospitality of the planet Rispi. They had tracked down the sensor readings of the spatial disturbance, but once they arrived there was nothing left to study, most traces of it disappearing into the blackness of space around. Voyager had traveled to Rispi to see if their scientists knew anything about it. They had now been there for two days and half of the crew was currently on the planet's surface, enjoying it's mild climate and salty air. The ocean was very close to their main city, where Voyager had been invited to dock. Politely declining the docking offer, choosing to remain in orbit to search for traces of the lost anomaly, Voyager settled for shore leave. With the wound-up attitudes clashing on board it was a refreshing chance for a break.
*breep bop* The chime interrupted the concerned conversation that had been in progress. Chakotay looked up to see who was interrupting his meeting with the captain, and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Seven of Nine to announce the purpose of her visit. What she had to say caught him by surprise.
"I have come in regards to Tom Paris." Her clipped, no nonsense words had him switch positions in his comfortable seat so that he was now leaning forward in his interest.
"Go ahead." Janeway acknowledged her with professional kindness, though it was easy to see that she had a soft spot for the Borg. The two women had become rather close friends over the few years that Seven had been on board Voyager. Seven was something of Janeway's new 'pet project,' like Tom had been the first three years aboard Voyager. The difference that Chakotay had noticed between the two was that Seven did not seem to realize the extent Janeway went to help her and Tom had, or at least appeared to have.
"I walked in on Mr. Paris and the Doctor three days ago and noticed a marking on his arm. It seemed familiar at the time and took a while for me to process, but I believe that the marking is the Tattoo of the Niktarus." Tom has a tattoo? Chakotay thought distractedly. He had never pegged the cocky man as the type to practice body art. It was usually frowned upon in Starfleet if it was not a part of religion or culture. The tattoo had been a popular initiation in the Marquis when the cause first began and had developed into a trend. Most Marquis had one somewhere on their flesh.
"What is the Niktarus?" Janeway prodded, very interested in this new information.
"The Borg were never successful in assimilating a member of the Niktarus, though they tried. Whenever they came close the being would commit suicide, extremely unwilling to become a member of the collective. Through the Borgs limited knowledge the Niktarus are the most highly trained and skilled beings in the art of combat found in the Delta quadrant. They are feared by everyone who knows of them, but they remain in a closed organization. It is a gambling organization, where the members are set against each other in fights. It is a large gathering held for the wealthiest beings in the Delta quadrant." Janeway and Chakotay stared at her a moment, not quite sure if she had developed a new brand of humour and was testing it out on them, but her stoic features told them otherwise. This was far from a joke.
"Captain. I believe we need to speak with Tom Paris, and straighten this out once and for all." Chakotay urged, his gut twisting with of the possibilities and problems this new situation could present. Then again, to have the level of skill that Seven was speaking of would have to be more of an old problem. An image suddenly pushed forward in Chakotay's mind. The sincere voice, the words, and the man saying those words suddenly became crystal clear. Send my crew home and I will fight for you. He breathed in deeply through his nose, finally understanding what those few words implied. It formed a terrifying explanation of the conspiracy that had been happening in this last year. It was mind numbing to think of what everyone hadn't known, and might never have known had U not stepped in to set the situation straight. He looked over at Janeway.
"Captain, I understand." Her horrified eyes were all he needed to see to know that she understood as well.
((/\))
NOTES: Thanks to Lay McDaniel who greatly improved upon that conversation between Tom and Harry.
-if you have any questions about the Vulcan thing with Tuvok at the beginning, or anything else for that matter, please don't hesitate to email me and I'll get back to you.
Thanks for still reading!