The missions had finally been handed out to the 'graduated students,' but
instead of sharing them with their friends and fellow officers, they
remained tight lipped. It was not acceptable to speak about these
particular assignments, because they were all classified.
Thomas stood in his dress uniform facing the small gathering of five in front of him. He knew this was it. After all these years of training they were finally setting him to work. According to the computer's database, which he wasn't supposed to have access to, he was the top student this year, and the top student of the last several years. It was quite flattering really, especially when he assessed the high skill of the other soldiers. But while flattery was generally supposed to be a good experience, this was worrying him.
Being the top student meant being given the 'top' assignments, and judging from some of the assignments he had studied, they were something the somewhat mentally disturbed would enjoy, or just the individuals who were outright committed to their beliefs and their jobs. That seemed to be the case for everyone on this ship, and as far as they were concerned it was also the case for Thomas.
His commanding officers appraised him of his mission with calm superior attitudes. Going over the entire mission with great detail, asking him questions to gauge his comprehension. He found himself nodding sharply at their orders, asked questions of his own, and schooled his face to easily hide his anger at them. His anger at their abuse of the beings in this place, of the torment they created, of the nightmares he woke silently from every night after witnessing and being a part of so many cruel deeds which they deemed 'necessary.' This wasn't Thomas's first mission, by far actually. He had been taking part in them on regular bases since the age thirteen, he'd just never been the one to 'pull the trigger' as the saying went. Now, standing tall at the age of sixteen, he was being entrusted with his first solo mission. He was being ordered to assassinate a member of the Romulan senate who was visiting space station nine in one day. He would be leaving in an hour.
"The un-registered shuttle is docked and waiting. You will be completely unaided in this mission. Do not fail." Sental's cold gaze bore into Thomas, searching for some form of intimidation or weariness perhaps? Thomas didn't give him anything, keeping his emotions tightly wrapped in his stomach where only he knew about how terrified he was.
"Yes sir." Thomas barked out, glad that his voice didn't squeak in his nervousness. When Sental nodded sharply he interpreted it as his dismissal and left the briefing room to change into his civilian clothing, before embarking on a mission which would change his life.
Sental's gaze followed the young man as he left the room, and lingered a moment as the door shut. After a strained silence he raked his fingers through his silvering hair and turned to acknowledge Sul'Ta's questioning gaze.
"What is it Sul'Ta?"
"You seem doubtful of Paris. Is there a reason you are concerned with him?"
"Not concerned, just cautious."
"How so?" Sental leaned back in his cushioned seat, steepling his fingers as he decided how to answer.
"Paris is talented. Almost too talented, and though he seems to be a loyal member within our limited ranks, I am not sure whether he can be completely trusted."
"He's shown nothing but loyalty in his twelve years among us." Vivix spoke up. Sental regarded her with a cold glare. She had been working under him at this base for sixteen years. Her ability to control and train some of the toughest soldiers was the most efficient he had ever worked with. She knew the fears of every man and woman in this program and she twisted those fears in order to manipulate. She was a professional, but as Paris had grown up her cold demeanour had turned into an almost protective dominance when regarding him. And Sental was aware that her sudden interest in the boy had nothing to do with a motherly affection. This was something he had been getting annoyed with over the last two years, and it was mostly because he sensed that Paris was aware of this 'affection' and had been using it to his advantage.
"And why do you suppose he shows this loyalty? Is it because he is a proper little soldier and enjoys his work, his position in life which was forced onto him at the age of four? You forget how smart he is Vivix, he could be manipulating us all with his loyalty."
"If you distrust him so much than why do you allow him this mission? This is not a child's game Sental, we know you wouldn't send him out there unless he was far beyond ready for the assignment." His cold gaze turned to livid anger at her arrogance. He was satisfied when she leaned into her chair to escape his withering gaze.
"I am well aware that this is not a child's game, lieutenant," he ground out. "You will live longer if you remember that."
"Yes sir," she acknowledged, her voice not portraying the nervousness in her green eyes. He gazed around at the other three members of the room, finally focusing on Sul'Ta, who had been the one to initiate this topic.
"What I am implying about our young Paris, is simply that we cannot allow him to become a rogue agent. The risks are too great. We eliminate all rogue agents as a rule, but if he ever flees our organization then he will be difficult to handle. From now on we take extra precautions. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir." Everyone nodded in agreement, although Vivix was less enthusiastic than he wished.
((/\))
Five minutes ago Thomas had engaged the cloaking device on his ship and flown it right to the underbelly of DS9. He'd hacked into the station mainframe and disconnected the sensors before beaming himself on board and heading towards the main trading deck. Now he was casually strolling along the wide corridors, occasionally knocking shoulder with beings that were engrossed in their shopping and unaware of where they were going. At the age of sixteen Thomas had been to this station several times. Once had been with his father, once had been with Angela, and three times it had been to practice and hone his socialization skills. To gain experience with the civilians and soldiers unaware of his program. Proudly he had excelled, charming everyone far better than he had hoped. It came easily and naturally, and had almost been enjoyable except for the knowledge that he had been participating for an assignment only. Like now.
He shifted the tunic on his shoulder's, unfamiliar with the way it draped over him and hung almost to his knees. He was conscious of the weight attached to his belt from the small weapon he protected, concealed from view. It was a projectile weapon with a poisonous needle. The extract used to create the deadly toxin was from one of the Romulan's own foliage. The poison itself would take approximately twenty minutes before filtering throughout the senator's entire system, and finally severing the nerves, collapsing the blood vessels and heart. Not a nice way to die but effective and irreversible. The Senator would be consumed with instant paralysis and death followed shortly. Thomas would have ample time to leave this sector and delete all traces of his presence.
He looked towards a restaurant across the way, drawn to it by the soft music coming from a delicately carved wooden flute. It instantly reminded him of Angela, and how she created similar music so easily on the piano, and how she'd taught him.
Continuing down the corridor he was aware of undercover security agents trying to look inconspicuous, their trained eyes casually grazing across everyone visible. Pretending he didn't notice he continued towards his destination. Finally he spotted his target, fifteen meters ahead examining some fabric. Feeling his blood run cold in fear Thomas headed slowly towards him, aware that he showed none of his fear, not allowing his position to be compromised.
This was easy; all he had to do was silently pull the trigger in passing. The needle would embed in the flesh, release its toxin and fall to the ground, probably unnoticed. Yet as Thomas got closer to the Romulan, his doubts came more forcefully. Was this really the way to aid the Federation? Murder? He'd been witness to several murders, some that hadn't been nice for the victim at all, and he had been sickened by it then. Now being ordered to perform the greater deed had his hands trembling ever so slightly.
He was no coward. He couldn't be after the way he had been brought up. Cowards never survived in life. They hid in fear, ran from confrontation, and never looked their victims in the eye. Which was technically what he was about to do.
Walking closer and closer, stopping for moments to view some small shops display, the music drifted towards him again. Thoughts in turmoil he remembered when he first met his family after being drafted into SEP. His sister Angela had been an inspiration, introducing him to the real world. He'd liked the real world, where many people were innocent to the violence he was subjected to everyday. He remembered thinking that whenever he was given the chance, he would leave SEP. So far he had been too afraid to take the chance.
He wasn't a fool. He knew that if he left he would be added to the shrouded bounty hunter roster and until he was dead someone would be searching to kill him. He'd often lay awake in his barracks, listening to Qart's propulsion snoring across the floor, planning what he'd do if he were free. Those had been a child's dream, of owning his own shuttle, answering to himself, not being punished for small mistakes. He knew that he couldn't have that while running for his life. Though running from this life he had now might be an improvement.
He was only a few meters away from the Romulan now. This man had four children and a deceased wife. He lived on Romulus in the main city, owned an aqua pet and enjoyed earth's pancakes for dinner one night a week. Thomas reached into his tunic and lightly gripped his weapon, placing his index finger across the trigger and pushing the nuzzle so it barely peaked out his tunic's opening.
A life of fear, living on the run, perhaps one day exposing SEP; or a soldier's honoured life, performing tasks necessary for the survival of Starfleet, assassinating and living under orders. Thomas's finger lightly grazed the trigger, making sure it was there. There was no doubt about it in his mind that he was good at what he had been trained to do. He might be one of the best. That would be an asset in staying definitely, and even more so in surviving.
He walked by the Romulan, easing his hand off the weapon and out of his tunic, pretending like he had been scratching his torso. The Senator's gaze turned from a delicate orange fabric and met Thomas's grey gaze. Thomas smiled in greeting and the man glared at him like he was dirt on the bottom of his shiny shoe. Averting his eyes, Thomas headed towards the stations shuttle bay. In approximately three minutes a cargo shuttle would be launching for earth. With a little manipulation he could stow away undetected, and arrive at his father's home shortly. Starfleet Academy began in two days, he was sure his father could pull some strings and get him in this semester.
((/\))
Sental's large fist slammed onto the metal surface, causing the liquid in his mug to spill. He'd known that that boy would be a problem. There had always been something off with him. Paris never communicated with the other soldiers after his friend, Eiret, was killed in a training accident three years before. Even then he hadn't spoken to them much. He kept to himself. Alkeric had stated that he was never certain which thoughts he read from the boy to believe. The kid was smart enough to evade a telepath, and he was still running loose.
Four years ago on his first assignment Paris hadn't reported to his rendezvous point. And he hadn't completed his mission. He disappeared from DS9 without trace, best guesses assumed he hopped aboard one of the many cargo ships and disappeared. Two days later they discovered him making a very loud appearance at the Starfleet academy. By immediately making himself known in the public and Starfleet eye he was, in a manner of speaking, protected from SEP's hit men. They could no longer randomly kill the cocky boy, kidnap him, order him to rejoin their 'school.' They had to wait and plan carefully for the perfect situation to get rid of him. They had to create an accident.
Sental glared at the screen before him, muttering curses that would make a Klingon blush. A railroad spike resembled Paris, and it was stuck right in Sental's side. He had waited two years for an opportunity that was fool proof to the best investigators of Starfleet, and to Paris. After all, one couldn't have the son of an admiral die accidentally without a full-blown investigation.
It had been set up for last week, a flying accident on a routine exercise. Each shuttle had carefully been recalibrated so the sensors would view objects at a further distance than was reality. Nothing was discovered, its programming so complex and finely tuned. Paris had had other ideas though. Sental knew it was expected from a pilot with his skill, but he'd crossed his fingers. Paris had pulled away from the asteroid moments before colliding, his friends hadn't been so lucky, but that was a lesson for him to learn: wherever he was, people were in danger.
Caldik Prime had been a failure; Paris was still alive and in the publics eye more than ever. Admiral Owen Paris had turned his back on his son when the boy stated that he falsified his report, shocking everybody. What Thomas expected to gain from the act of betrayal against Starfleet was frustrating Sental. Paris was obviously not fully sane when it came to decision making, ruining his chances of informing Starfleet about SEP. After all, nobody believed a self-proclaimed liar.
Sental twisted in his seat to gaze out of the space station's window. This station, these perfect soldiers, had been his project for the last twenty- six years. Sixty-two perfect soldiers had been trained and given many successful missions and not one of them had ever been as big a problem as Paris. The day he died was the day Sental would relax, and not until then, because if Paris leaked the existence of SEP, Sental would be finished.
((/\))
She had been watching him carefully since he had glided silently into the bar. His tall frame blended well with most of the patrons in this place and he dressed in earthy browns, drawing no attention to himself. He'd taken a seat in the corner, away from the few tinted windows. She knew instantly that he was hiding from something, or searching for something. She'd been in this business all her life, the bistro having passed down from her late father, and was proud to say that if there was one thing she knew how to do really well, it was read people. The only problem with this young man was that she couldn't get past the cover.
He ordered a synthenol, and the waitress had giggled at him, telling him to come back when he was man enough for the real thing. He smiled and changed his order to milk. Amused, if somewhat flustered, the waitress had swaggered off to take some other orders before returning with his drink. Sandrine continued her study of him well into the night, taking care not to be noticed by his stunning blue eyes, which seemed to be seeing everything without looking.
Finally he moved from his seat in the corner. He took a break to the men's room and returned to a newly emptied pool table, close to her bar. She nodded in greeting when he looked her way and then pretended to focus her attention on the drink she was making. He stood there a moment to seriously contemplate the colourful balls lined in a perfect triangle, before picking up a cue stick and looking at it just as hard. She knew he had been watching the game along with everything else in her pub for the last two hours. What was he doing looking so confused now?
He looked up and she grinned at being caught staring at him. There was no room for embarrassment in her line of work, and when he winked at her she wasn't sure what he meant by it. She turned the bar over to Adrian and took her customary seat at the edge of her bar to watch as he lined up with the white ball and struck it. After bouncing off the tables far end and coming back to hit the balls he looked triumphantly as the black ball neared the side pocket. Oh non, with skill like that or lack of, he was going to lose some money tonight. She might go to save him but Grissem, the head pool shark had already spotted the blonde man and was moving in fast. Sorry mon ami, you are going to lose some money tonight she thought.
"Hey there, Mr. Rod." Grissem sauntered on up, looking from sneaky brown eyes upon his prey.
"I'm sorry, are you talking to me?" The rookie looked around the table for someone answering to the name Rod before looking questioningly at Grissem.
"Don't see anyone else here who looks like they got a pipe shoved up their arse. You stand any straighter boy and you might dislocate some vertebrae." The pale man's cheeks coloured slightly and he brushed a quick hand through his blonde hair. Sandrine didn't miss the quick flash of amusement coming from those blue eyes before they turned back to the guise of innocence. She was starting to think she knew what was going on, and hid a grin.
"What can I do for you sir?"
Sharky, for that was Grissem's nickname, glared in mock disgust. "Don't sir me, I might start to feel old."
The sneak was pulling out the charm early tonight it seemed. The stranger grinned shyly as Sharky continued.
"You ever played pool before?"
"No. Actually this is the first time I've ever seen this game."
"It's a sport my boy. One of the best ever invented."
"Oh, I see."
"No, you don't. But you will. The name's Grissem, but friends call me Sharky."
"Nice to meet you. Tom Paris."
"All right Paris. Here's the deal: I show you how to play a game for nothing, teach you the ropes and all that. Then, if you want we can play again and add a small wager."
"You wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all. Somebody has to be the teacher sometimes eh? Let's get started." Oh, she was almost embarrassed for the blonde. After the initial lesson Sharky had jumped in and started picking away at Paris's pockets. They were now up to one hundred and fifty credits, and his level of skill hadn't gotten much better. Sharky's eyes hadn't stopped glowing since they reached seventy-five credits. She knew the gambler well enough to guess he was preparing to make his final move, and he didn't disappoint her.
"Paris, let's say we give you one more chance to win back those credits you're going to be handing over to me soon. Two hundred is the final call. Take it and play another round or hand over my winnings and we'll go have a drink, my treat." Paris grinned in good humour but looked sceptical. If there was anything Sandrine could credit to his personality, it was that he was a natural at crowd-pleasing.
"I don't know," he began to reach into his back pocket. "I should probably pay up now and call it a night."
"My friend. One more game to call it a good night."
Paris stopped his hand in mid reach, hesitating as he thought the offer over. Then grinning, he brought his arm around and picked up his cue.
"What the hell, I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning." The crowd that had gathered cheered and began to once again place their bets. Sandrine was tempted to make one herself, but she had a policy where she would not gamble in her own bar. Let them lose the money and she stay in business.
"Take the break." Sharky offered, waving his callused hand towards the white ball.
"Are you sure? You won that last round after all, you get break."
"Paris, never look a gift horse in the mouth. Take it while you can." Paris raised his eyebrows in one more moment before smoothly stepping up to the table and preparing to take his shot. Pulling back he released a hard shot, breaking each ball like a professional and sending two of the striped balls into the corner right and side left pockets. Sharky just about fell down in shock. Paris looked up at him and shrugged.
"Lucky shot?" Then moving again to the white ball he sent another ball smoothly into a pocket. Sandrine felt her grin growing and growing as each ball went into one pocket or another. The cigar Sharky had been chewing on all evening had been placed into his breast pocket before it could fall from his open mouth and ruin on the floor.
"What is this?" He mumbled in surprise, carefully watching and assessing each stroke Paris expertly took. "What is this?" Shock, Sandrine mused, was beginning to set in. Finally the black ball found its way home and the crowd surrounding the table was momentarily quiet, looking between Paris, who was grinning slightly, and Sharky, who seemed at a loss for words.
Finally his curved shoulders shook from a chuckle as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a disc. Transferring two hundred credits onto it he handed it over to his opponent, shaking his head in amusement.
"I knew my game would eventually be turned against me. I just had no clue you would ever be the one."
"I wasn't that bad." Paris protested as he pocketed the disc.
"A monkey with one arm could play better than you until that last round."
"Yeah well, I'm a quick learner once I'm warmed up."
"Don't even try to tell me you'd never held a cue before. That's a bloody lie."
"Come on, I owe you a drink." As the bar cleared out over the next few hours, Sandrine was well aware that the stranger Paris was still sitting at the bar, drinking his water. Taking a stool beside him she asked Adrian to pour her a scotch on the rocks, before she twisted to face him. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he took a casual drink.
"You've been watching me like that since I stepped in here," he stated, and turned his piercing blue eyes on her. She grinned and thanked Adrian for the drink, but remained silent. Paris turned to look at the mirror, still aware of everything going on in the room. They sat like that for fifteen minutes before she had had enough waiting.
"Nobody has ever noticed me when I watch them before."
"I've been watched a lot in my life."
"So I gathered mon ami. I am called Sandrine."
"Tom Paris." She'd been thinking about where she'd heard his name before, but she still couldn't come up with any background for this man. He sat with a straight back as he had all evening, which implied that he had some form of training or naturally good posture.
"Are you planning to take over Sharky's title as this pubs pool shark?"
"No. I don't think I'll be staying too long."
"A man who likes to run?"
This time his smile was colder, his blue eyes flashing in the memory of something. "Most men run from something."
"Oui, but they also take a break every now and again, non?"
He was silent.
"Where are you from Thomas?" His intelligent eyes searched her face a moment as he decided if he wanted to open up to her. There was something different about him though, something different about the way he held himself, or spoke. The way he drank from his glass and carefully watched everything around him without seeming to do so. She knew he was running from something. She'd known that since he'd walked gracefully into her place, and something inside her wanted to know more about him.
"Where am I from," he repeated to himself. "That's a good question. How about we generalize and just say that I'm human and was born on earth." She thought about that carefully for a moment, trying to understand everything it meant, certain that she couldn't.
"Earth is a large place."
"Not so large. Not large enough if you ask me. Everyone seems to know where you are when all you want to do is escape for a while."
"From the law?"
He laughed out loud at that, grinning at her with those beautiful blue eyes, but behind the mirth lay sorrow.
"I wish this was from the law."
"From the government?" He looked away from her, scanning the room again. It was getting very annoying but she did not say anything about this habit. Instead she took a sip from her own drink, thinking.
"Where will you be going?" She asked slowly, not quite sure what she was getting to.
"Anywhere. I've got two hundred credits, good looks, and a newfound skill for pool. What else could I be missing?"
"A place to rest," she said quietly. His back stiffened ever so slightly at that, and she reached out, grasping his hand. He gazed down at it thoughtfully, and she suddenly realized what the offer she just made might be taken as. "Thomas, I understand that you must run, but you must also have somewhere safe to hide. You may stay in my home," he raised his eyebrows, "in the guest quarters, until you find your feet. You may pay rent, or work it off as a waiter in this pub, but that is all the offer I give you."
"That is very kind of you. I hope you don't have a habit of inviting strangers into your home, it's not safe."
"You are not a stranger Thomas, but a man who needs to find some peace. I am willing to be a friend, something I understand you have not had many of." She might be digging a little to deep with these comments, but she had this unexplainable desire to help this man.
"Thank you, but I can't accept your offer. It's too dangerous."
She grinned knowingly. He was afraid for her, but she had seen many bad things in her life and knew she could protect herself. "I will protect you mon Cher, do not fear."
He smiled sadly as he stood and pressed his lips gently to her hand. "I won't fear, not for myself." He turned to go and she felt her chance of knowing him slipping away already. Without thinking she grabbed his arm, feeling his muscles flex beneath the thin shirt.
"No person should walk alone at this time of night. Stay, and leave tomorrow with a good night's sleep." He pulled his arm gently out of her grasp, but she was not insulted by the gesture. Judging by how tense he became from the physical contact he wasn't very comfortable with casual restraint. She shouldn't have grabbed him; she might have scared him off. Looking into his blue eyes he finally showed the emotion of weary gratitude, and turned his head to look at the floor.
"You're too good to be true Sandrine."
"Of course I am. Just remember, the guest room is yours my Thomas, and nowhere else." With that last statement he seemed relieved. When she finished closing and Adrian had gone home for the evening after looking at Sandrine with curious eyes, she led Thomas to the back room where the door to the upstairs apartment lay.
Soon they were sitting on the couch, just talking, Sandrine with a glass of red wine, Thomas with water. He left the next morning, but two nights later he came back and she gave him the same offer of a bed and a job. This time he accepted it.
Over four months he stayed with her, and she slowly realized that she loved him. Not a romantic love, but a family love. Every evening they would talk and he would tell her very little about himself, and she would talk on and on of her family, of her father and of herself. Slowly though, he began to trust her, telling her how he had been a part of a Starfleet project and he had 'resigned' from his position there. His superiors were not happy and he had been running ever since. She had asked what kind of project and he had apologized for bringing it up, but he couldn't tell her.
She had her suspicions though, and every day she knew him she was able to put one more piece in the puzzle. Then early one morning she had woken up for a drink and had noticed his door slightly ajar with the light on. Without thinking she had crept to the door and peered in. Her Thomas was in there all right, and he was working himself to death. She watched him for a minute performing some silent martial arts, but the only thing she recognized was a small bit of Klingon. Then he'd stopped and turned to look at her, sweat dripping into his eyes. How long had he been doing this?
She had stared at him for what seemed like eternity, and he had stared silently back, trying to figure out how to approach this new situation. The reason she knew he was worried was because he didn't show it; she knew him too well. Then, forcing him to sit on her overused couch and getting some water for them both (he never drank liquor, he hated the idea of losing control of his actions by any impairment) she forced him to talk, which took all night. He was the last person she ever wanted to get into an argument with, stubborn mule.
And she learned everything she ever needed to learn. Finally he told her the whole story, his whole life. And she cried for him. She swore an oath to him which she would never break. She swore to remain innocent of all he told her to any public eye, she would not reveal his past if God himself came and asked her. Finally it all had to end. He left silently one night, leaving her with the press of his soft lips to hers, and a black rose to remind her always of their shared time, and the danger it would always bring.
Six months later he was in Auckland Penal colony, and she'd torn her insides apart with the conflict of whether or not to contact him there. Finally, remembering her own safety as she promised, she made no attempt to contact him. Five days before he disappeared on a Starship called Voyager, a black rose was delivered to her home. She cried until there was nothing left to do but go on living, and remembering.
Thomas stood in his dress uniform facing the small gathering of five in front of him. He knew this was it. After all these years of training they were finally setting him to work. According to the computer's database, which he wasn't supposed to have access to, he was the top student this year, and the top student of the last several years. It was quite flattering really, especially when he assessed the high skill of the other soldiers. But while flattery was generally supposed to be a good experience, this was worrying him.
Being the top student meant being given the 'top' assignments, and judging from some of the assignments he had studied, they were something the somewhat mentally disturbed would enjoy, or just the individuals who were outright committed to their beliefs and their jobs. That seemed to be the case for everyone on this ship, and as far as they were concerned it was also the case for Thomas.
His commanding officers appraised him of his mission with calm superior attitudes. Going over the entire mission with great detail, asking him questions to gauge his comprehension. He found himself nodding sharply at their orders, asked questions of his own, and schooled his face to easily hide his anger at them. His anger at their abuse of the beings in this place, of the torment they created, of the nightmares he woke silently from every night after witnessing and being a part of so many cruel deeds which they deemed 'necessary.' This wasn't Thomas's first mission, by far actually. He had been taking part in them on regular bases since the age thirteen, he'd just never been the one to 'pull the trigger' as the saying went. Now, standing tall at the age of sixteen, he was being entrusted with his first solo mission. He was being ordered to assassinate a member of the Romulan senate who was visiting space station nine in one day. He would be leaving in an hour.
"The un-registered shuttle is docked and waiting. You will be completely unaided in this mission. Do not fail." Sental's cold gaze bore into Thomas, searching for some form of intimidation or weariness perhaps? Thomas didn't give him anything, keeping his emotions tightly wrapped in his stomach where only he knew about how terrified he was.
"Yes sir." Thomas barked out, glad that his voice didn't squeak in his nervousness. When Sental nodded sharply he interpreted it as his dismissal and left the briefing room to change into his civilian clothing, before embarking on a mission which would change his life.
Sental's gaze followed the young man as he left the room, and lingered a moment as the door shut. After a strained silence he raked his fingers through his silvering hair and turned to acknowledge Sul'Ta's questioning gaze.
"What is it Sul'Ta?"
"You seem doubtful of Paris. Is there a reason you are concerned with him?"
"Not concerned, just cautious."
"How so?" Sental leaned back in his cushioned seat, steepling his fingers as he decided how to answer.
"Paris is talented. Almost too talented, and though he seems to be a loyal member within our limited ranks, I am not sure whether he can be completely trusted."
"He's shown nothing but loyalty in his twelve years among us." Vivix spoke up. Sental regarded her with a cold glare. She had been working under him at this base for sixteen years. Her ability to control and train some of the toughest soldiers was the most efficient he had ever worked with. She knew the fears of every man and woman in this program and she twisted those fears in order to manipulate. She was a professional, but as Paris had grown up her cold demeanour had turned into an almost protective dominance when regarding him. And Sental was aware that her sudden interest in the boy had nothing to do with a motherly affection. This was something he had been getting annoyed with over the last two years, and it was mostly because he sensed that Paris was aware of this 'affection' and had been using it to his advantage.
"And why do you suppose he shows this loyalty? Is it because he is a proper little soldier and enjoys his work, his position in life which was forced onto him at the age of four? You forget how smart he is Vivix, he could be manipulating us all with his loyalty."
"If you distrust him so much than why do you allow him this mission? This is not a child's game Sental, we know you wouldn't send him out there unless he was far beyond ready for the assignment." His cold gaze turned to livid anger at her arrogance. He was satisfied when she leaned into her chair to escape his withering gaze.
"I am well aware that this is not a child's game, lieutenant," he ground out. "You will live longer if you remember that."
"Yes sir," she acknowledged, her voice not portraying the nervousness in her green eyes. He gazed around at the other three members of the room, finally focusing on Sul'Ta, who had been the one to initiate this topic.
"What I am implying about our young Paris, is simply that we cannot allow him to become a rogue agent. The risks are too great. We eliminate all rogue agents as a rule, but if he ever flees our organization then he will be difficult to handle. From now on we take extra precautions. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir." Everyone nodded in agreement, although Vivix was less enthusiastic than he wished.
((/\))
Five minutes ago Thomas had engaged the cloaking device on his ship and flown it right to the underbelly of DS9. He'd hacked into the station mainframe and disconnected the sensors before beaming himself on board and heading towards the main trading deck. Now he was casually strolling along the wide corridors, occasionally knocking shoulder with beings that were engrossed in their shopping and unaware of where they were going. At the age of sixteen Thomas had been to this station several times. Once had been with his father, once had been with Angela, and three times it had been to practice and hone his socialization skills. To gain experience with the civilians and soldiers unaware of his program. Proudly he had excelled, charming everyone far better than he had hoped. It came easily and naturally, and had almost been enjoyable except for the knowledge that he had been participating for an assignment only. Like now.
He shifted the tunic on his shoulder's, unfamiliar with the way it draped over him and hung almost to his knees. He was conscious of the weight attached to his belt from the small weapon he protected, concealed from view. It was a projectile weapon with a poisonous needle. The extract used to create the deadly toxin was from one of the Romulan's own foliage. The poison itself would take approximately twenty minutes before filtering throughout the senator's entire system, and finally severing the nerves, collapsing the blood vessels and heart. Not a nice way to die but effective and irreversible. The Senator would be consumed with instant paralysis and death followed shortly. Thomas would have ample time to leave this sector and delete all traces of his presence.
He looked towards a restaurant across the way, drawn to it by the soft music coming from a delicately carved wooden flute. It instantly reminded him of Angela, and how she created similar music so easily on the piano, and how she'd taught him.
Continuing down the corridor he was aware of undercover security agents trying to look inconspicuous, their trained eyes casually grazing across everyone visible. Pretending he didn't notice he continued towards his destination. Finally he spotted his target, fifteen meters ahead examining some fabric. Feeling his blood run cold in fear Thomas headed slowly towards him, aware that he showed none of his fear, not allowing his position to be compromised.
This was easy; all he had to do was silently pull the trigger in passing. The needle would embed in the flesh, release its toxin and fall to the ground, probably unnoticed. Yet as Thomas got closer to the Romulan, his doubts came more forcefully. Was this really the way to aid the Federation? Murder? He'd been witness to several murders, some that hadn't been nice for the victim at all, and he had been sickened by it then. Now being ordered to perform the greater deed had his hands trembling ever so slightly.
He was no coward. He couldn't be after the way he had been brought up. Cowards never survived in life. They hid in fear, ran from confrontation, and never looked their victims in the eye. Which was technically what he was about to do.
Walking closer and closer, stopping for moments to view some small shops display, the music drifted towards him again. Thoughts in turmoil he remembered when he first met his family after being drafted into SEP. His sister Angela had been an inspiration, introducing him to the real world. He'd liked the real world, where many people were innocent to the violence he was subjected to everyday. He remembered thinking that whenever he was given the chance, he would leave SEP. So far he had been too afraid to take the chance.
He wasn't a fool. He knew that if he left he would be added to the shrouded bounty hunter roster and until he was dead someone would be searching to kill him. He'd often lay awake in his barracks, listening to Qart's propulsion snoring across the floor, planning what he'd do if he were free. Those had been a child's dream, of owning his own shuttle, answering to himself, not being punished for small mistakes. He knew that he couldn't have that while running for his life. Though running from this life he had now might be an improvement.
He was only a few meters away from the Romulan now. This man had four children and a deceased wife. He lived on Romulus in the main city, owned an aqua pet and enjoyed earth's pancakes for dinner one night a week. Thomas reached into his tunic and lightly gripped his weapon, placing his index finger across the trigger and pushing the nuzzle so it barely peaked out his tunic's opening.
A life of fear, living on the run, perhaps one day exposing SEP; or a soldier's honoured life, performing tasks necessary for the survival of Starfleet, assassinating and living under orders. Thomas's finger lightly grazed the trigger, making sure it was there. There was no doubt about it in his mind that he was good at what he had been trained to do. He might be one of the best. That would be an asset in staying definitely, and even more so in surviving.
He walked by the Romulan, easing his hand off the weapon and out of his tunic, pretending like he had been scratching his torso. The Senator's gaze turned from a delicate orange fabric and met Thomas's grey gaze. Thomas smiled in greeting and the man glared at him like he was dirt on the bottom of his shiny shoe. Averting his eyes, Thomas headed towards the stations shuttle bay. In approximately three minutes a cargo shuttle would be launching for earth. With a little manipulation he could stow away undetected, and arrive at his father's home shortly. Starfleet Academy began in two days, he was sure his father could pull some strings and get him in this semester.
((/\))
Sental's large fist slammed onto the metal surface, causing the liquid in his mug to spill. He'd known that that boy would be a problem. There had always been something off with him. Paris never communicated with the other soldiers after his friend, Eiret, was killed in a training accident three years before. Even then he hadn't spoken to them much. He kept to himself. Alkeric had stated that he was never certain which thoughts he read from the boy to believe. The kid was smart enough to evade a telepath, and he was still running loose.
Four years ago on his first assignment Paris hadn't reported to his rendezvous point. And he hadn't completed his mission. He disappeared from DS9 without trace, best guesses assumed he hopped aboard one of the many cargo ships and disappeared. Two days later they discovered him making a very loud appearance at the Starfleet academy. By immediately making himself known in the public and Starfleet eye he was, in a manner of speaking, protected from SEP's hit men. They could no longer randomly kill the cocky boy, kidnap him, order him to rejoin their 'school.' They had to wait and plan carefully for the perfect situation to get rid of him. They had to create an accident.
Sental glared at the screen before him, muttering curses that would make a Klingon blush. A railroad spike resembled Paris, and it was stuck right in Sental's side. He had waited two years for an opportunity that was fool proof to the best investigators of Starfleet, and to Paris. After all, one couldn't have the son of an admiral die accidentally without a full-blown investigation.
It had been set up for last week, a flying accident on a routine exercise. Each shuttle had carefully been recalibrated so the sensors would view objects at a further distance than was reality. Nothing was discovered, its programming so complex and finely tuned. Paris had had other ideas though. Sental knew it was expected from a pilot with his skill, but he'd crossed his fingers. Paris had pulled away from the asteroid moments before colliding, his friends hadn't been so lucky, but that was a lesson for him to learn: wherever he was, people were in danger.
Caldik Prime had been a failure; Paris was still alive and in the publics eye more than ever. Admiral Owen Paris had turned his back on his son when the boy stated that he falsified his report, shocking everybody. What Thomas expected to gain from the act of betrayal against Starfleet was frustrating Sental. Paris was obviously not fully sane when it came to decision making, ruining his chances of informing Starfleet about SEP. After all, nobody believed a self-proclaimed liar.
Sental twisted in his seat to gaze out of the space station's window. This station, these perfect soldiers, had been his project for the last twenty- six years. Sixty-two perfect soldiers had been trained and given many successful missions and not one of them had ever been as big a problem as Paris. The day he died was the day Sental would relax, and not until then, because if Paris leaked the existence of SEP, Sental would be finished.
((/\))
She had been watching him carefully since he had glided silently into the bar. His tall frame blended well with most of the patrons in this place and he dressed in earthy browns, drawing no attention to himself. He'd taken a seat in the corner, away from the few tinted windows. She knew instantly that he was hiding from something, or searching for something. She'd been in this business all her life, the bistro having passed down from her late father, and was proud to say that if there was one thing she knew how to do really well, it was read people. The only problem with this young man was that she couldn't get past the cover.
He ordered a synthenol, and the waitress had giggled at him, telling him to come back when he was man enough for the real thing. He smiled and changed his order to milk. Amused, if somewhat flustered, the waitress had swaggered off to take some other orders before returning with his drink. Sandrine continued her study of him well into the night, taking care not to be noticed by his stunning blue eyes, which seemed to be seeing everything without looking.
Finally he moved from his seat in the corner. He took a break to the men's room and returned to a newly emptied pool table, close to her bar. She nodded in greeting when he looked her way and then pretended to focus her attention on the drink she was making. He stood there a moment to seriously contemplate the colourful balls lined in a perfect triangle, before picking up a cue stick and looking at it just as hard. She knew he had been watching the game along with everything else in her pub for the last two hours. What was he doing looking so confused now?
He looked up and she grinned at being caught staring at him. There was no room for embarrassment in her line of work, and when he winked at her she wasn't sure what he meant by it. She turned the bar over to Adrian and took her customary seat at the edge of her bar to watch as he lined up with the white ball and struck it. After bouncing off the tables far end and coming back to hit the balls he looked triumphantly as the black ball neared the side pocket. Oh non, with skill like that or lack of, he was going to lose some money tonight. She might go to save him but Grissem, the head pool shark had already spotted the blonde man and was moving in fast. Sorry mon ami, you are going to lose some money tonight she thought.
"Hey there, Mr. Rod." Grissem sauntered on up, looking from sneaky brown eyes upon his prey.
"I'm sorry, are you talking to me?" The rookie looked around the table for someone answering to the name Rod before looking questioningly at Grissem.
"Don't see anyone else here who looks like they got a pipe shoved up their arse. You stand any straighter boy and you might dislocate some vertebrae." The pale man's cheeks coloured slightly and he brushed a quick hand through his blonde hair. Sandrine didn't miss the quick flash of amusement coming from those blue eyes before they turned back to the guise of innocence. She was starting to think she knew what was going on, and hid a grin.
"What can I do for you sir?"
Sharky, for that was Grissem's nickname, glared in mock disgust. "Don't sir me, I might start to feel old."
The sneak was pulling out the charm early tonight it seemed. The stranger grinned shyly as Sharky continued.
"You ever played pool before?"
"No. Actually this is the first time I've ever seen this game."
"It's a sport my boy. One of the best ever invented."
"Oh, I see."
"No, you don't. But you will. The name's Grissem, but friends call me Sharky."
"Nice to meet you. Tom Paris."
"All right Paris. Here's the deal: I show you how to play a game for nothing, teach you the ropes and all that. Then, if you want we can play again and add a small wager."
"You wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all. Somebody has to be the teacher sometimes eh? Let's get started." Oh, she was almost embarrassed for the blonde. After the initial lesson Sharky had jumped in and started picking away at Paris's pockets. They were now up to one hundred and fifty credits, and his level of skill hadn't gotten much better. Sharky's eyes hadn't stopped glowing since they reached seventy-five credits. She knew the gambler well enough to guess he was preparing to make his final move, and he didn't disappoint her.
"Paris, let's say we give you one more chance to win back those credits you're going to be handing over to me soon. Two hundred is the final call. Take it and play another round or hand over my winnings and we'll go have a drink, my treat." Paris grinned in good humour but looked sceptical. If there was anything Sandrine could credit to his personality, it was that he was a natural at crowd-pleasing.
"I don't know," he began to reach into his back pocket. "I should probably pay up now and call it a night."
"My friend. One more game to call it a good night."
Paris stopped his hand in mid reach, hesitating as he thought the offer over. Then grinning, he brought his arm around and picked up his cue.
"What the hell, I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning." The crowd that had gathered cheered and began to once again place their bets. Sandrine was tempted to make one herself, but she had a policy where she would not gamble in her own bar. Let them lose the money and she stay in business.
"Take the break." Sharky offered, waving his callused hand towards the white ball.
"Are you sure? You won that last round after all, you get break."
"Paris, never look a gift horse in the mouth. Take it while you can." Paris raised his eyebrows in one more moment before smoothly stepping up to the table and preparing to take his shot. Pulling back he released a hard shot, breaking each ball like a professional and sending two of the striped balls into the corner right and side left pockets. Sharky just about fell down in shock. Paris looked up at him and shrugged.
"Lucky shot?" Then moving again to the white ball he sent another ball smoothly into a pocket. Sandrine felt her grin growing and growing as each ball went into one pocket or another. The cigar Sharky had been chewing on all evening had been placed into his breast pocket before it could fall from his open mouth and ruin on the floor.
"What is this?" He mumbled in surprise, carefully watching and assessing each stroke Paris expertly took. "What is this?" Shock, Sandrine mused, was beginning to set in. Finally the black ball found its way home and the crowd surrounding the table was momentarily quiet, looking between Paris, who was grinning slightly, and Sharky, who seemed at a loss for words.
Finally his curved shoulders shook from a chuckle as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a disc. Transferring two hundred credits onto it he handed it over to his opponent, shaking his head in amusement.
"I knew my game would eventually be turned against me. I just had no clue you would ever be the one."
"I wasn't that bad." Paris protested as he pocketed the disc.
"A monkey with one arm could play better than you until that last round."
"Yeah well, I'm a quick learner once I'm warmed up."
"Don't even try to tell me you'd never held a cue before. That's a bloody lie."
"Come on, I owe you a drink." As the bar cleared out over the next few hours, Sandrine was well aware that the stranger Paris was still sitting at the bar, drinking his water. Taking a stool beside him she asked Adrian to pour her a scotch on the rocks, before she twisted to face him. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he took a casual drink.
"You've been watching me like that since I stepped in here," he stated, and turned his piercing blue eyes on her. She grinned and thanked Adrian for the drink, but remained silent. Paris turned to look at the mirror, still aware of everything going on in the room. They sat like that for fifteen minutes before she had had enough waiting.
"Nobody has ever noticed me when I watch them before."
"I've been watched a lot in my life."
"So I gathered mon ami. I am called Sandrine."
"Tom Paris." She'd been thinking about where she'd heard his name before, but she still couldn't come up with any background for this man. He sat with a straight back as he had all evening, which implied that he had some form of training or naturally good posture.
"Are you planning to take over Sharky's title as this pubs pool shark?"
"No. I don't think I'll be staying too long."
"A man who likes to run?"
This time his smile was colder, his blue eyes flashing in the memory of something. "Most men run from something."
"Oui, but they also take a break every now and again, non?"
He was silent.
"Where are you from Thomas?" His intelligent eyes searched her face a moment as he decided if he wanted to open up to her. There was something different about him though, something different about the way he held himself, or spoke. The way he drank from his glass and carefully watched everything around him without seeming to do so. She knew he was running from something. She'd known that since he'd walked gracefully into her place, and something inside her wanted to know more about him.
"Where am I from," he repeated to himself. "That's a good question. How about we generalize and just say that I'm human and was born on earth." She thought about that carefully for a moment, trying to understand everything it meant, certain that she couldn't.
"Earth is a large place."
"Not so large. Not large enough if you ask me. Everyone seems to know where you are when all you want to do is escape for a while."
"From the law?"
He laughed out loud at that, grinning at her with those beautiful blue eyes, but behind the mirth lay sorrow.
"I wish this was from the law."
"From the government?" He looked away from her, scanning the room again. It was getting very annoying but she did not say anything about this habit. Instead she took a sip from her own drink, thinking.
"Where will you be going?" She asked slowly, not quite sure what she was getting to.
"Anywhere. I've got two hundred credits, good looks, and a newfound skill for pool. What else could I be missing?"
"A place to rest," she said quietly. His back stiffened ever so slightly at that, and she reached out, grasping his hand. He gazed down at it thoughtfully, and she suddenly realized what the offer she just made might be taken as. "Thomas, I understand that you must run, but you must also have somewhere safe to hide. You may stay in my home," he raised his eyebrows, "in the guest quarters, until you find your feet. You may pay rent, or work it off as a waiter in this pub, but that is all the offer I give you."
"That is very kind of you. I hope you don't have a habit of inviting strangers into your home, it's not safe."
"You are not a stranger Thomas, but a man who needs to find some peace. I am willing to be a friend, something I understand you have not had many of." She might be digging a little to deep with these comments, but she had this unexplainable desire to help this man.
"Thank you, but I can't accept your offer. It's too dangerous."
She grinned knowingly. He was afraid for her, but she had seen many bad things in her life and knew she could protect herself. "I will protect you mon Cher, do not fear."
He smiled sadly as he stood and pressed his lips gently to her hand. "I won't fear, not for myself." He turned to go and she felt her chance of knowing him slipping away already. Without thinking she grabbed his arm, feeling his muscles flex beneath the thin shirt.
"No person should walk alone at this time of night. Stay, and leave tomorrow with a good night's sleep." He pulled his arm gently out of her grasp, but she was not insulted by the gesture. Judging by how tense he became from the physical contact he wasn't very comfortable with casual restraint. She shouldn't have grabbed him; she might have scared him off. Looking into his blue eyes he finally showed the emotion of weary gratitude, and turned his head to look at the floor.
"You're too good to be true Sandrine."
"Of course I am. Just remember, the guest room is yours my Thomas, and nowhere else." With that last statement he seemed relieved. When she finished closing and Adrian had gone home for the evening after looking at Sandrine with curious eyes, she led Thomas to the back room where the door to the upstairs apartment lay.
Soon they were sitting on the couch, just talking, Sandrine with a glass of red wine, Thomas with water. He left the next morning, but two nights later he came back and she gave him the same offer of a bed and a job. This time he accepted it.
Over four months he stayed with her, and she slowly realized that she loved him. Not a romantic love, but a family love. Every evening they would talk and he would tell her very little about himself, and she would talk on and on of her family, of her father and of herself. Slowly though, he began to trust her, telling her how he had been a part of a Starfleet project and he had 'resigned' from his position there. His superiors were not happy and he had been running ever since. She had asked what kind of project and he had apologized for bringing it up, but he couldn't tell her.
She had her suspicions though, and every day she knew him she was able to put one more piece in the puzzle. Then early one morning she had woken up for a drink and had noticed his door slightly ajar with the light on. Without thinking she had crept to the door and peered in. Her Thomas was in there all right, and he was working himself to death. She watched him for a minute performing some silent martial arts, but the only thing she recognized was a small bit of Klingon. Then he'd stopped and turned to look at her, sweat dripping into his eyes. How long had he been doing this?
She had stared at him for what seemed like eternity, and he had stared silently back, trying to figure out how to approach this new situation. The reason she knew he was worried was because he didn't show it; she knew him too well. Then, forcing him to sit on her overused couch and getting some water for them both (he never drank liquor, he hated the idea of losing control of his actions by any impairment) she forced him to talk, which took all night. He was the last person she ever wanted to get into an argument with, stubborn mule.
And she learned everything she ever needed to learn. Finally he told her the whole story, his whole life. And she cried for him. She swore an oath to him which she would never break. She swore to remain innocent of all he told her to any public eye, she would not reveal his past if God himself came and asked her. Finally it all had to end. He left silently one night, leaving her with the press of his soft lips to hers, and a black rose to remind her always of their shared time, and the danger it would always bring.
Six months later he was in Auckland Penal colony, and she'd torn her insides apart with the conflict of whether or not to contact him there. Finally, remembering her own safety as she promised, she made no attempt to contact him. Five days before he disappeared on a Starship called Voyager, a black rose was delivered to her home. She cried until there was nothing left to do but go on living, and remembering.