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PART THREE
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Stardate: 53945.1
Tom Paris tugged furiously at the iron bars that imprisoned him. The cage was orange with rust, yet his attempts to twist and shift the metal poles achieved nothing but to reopen the sores on his hands. He gave the bars one last strong pull, then threw up his arms angrily and gave a cry of frustration and anguish.
He wiped the blood and rust flakes off his hands onto his tattered Starfleet uniform, hissing at the stinging from the cuts and blisters. Tom shuffled the short distance to the bench at the back of the cell, the shackles adding bruising to bruising on his ankles. With a dejected sigh, he sank down onto the low wooden block and stared down at the damp floor, his eyes disinterestedly following the patchy patterns of ice and mould.
The sound of soft footsteps brought his head up. Recognising the figure tentatively emerging from the gloom, Tom sprung forward almost leaping at the rails.
"Tira!"
"Shh!" the Narcian slave whispered, urgently. "I shouldn't be here."
"Tira, you've got to get me out of here!" Tom said, barely managing to keep his voice down.
"Oh, Tom," she replied, sorrowfully. "You know I can't. They'd kill you!"
"Not if I kill them first." There was an uncharacteristic, dangerous rage in his words.
"Don't throw your life away in a craze," Tira half-instructed, half-pleaded.
"They killed B'Elanna," he said, his voice threatening to break. Then the deadly anger returned as he added, "I saw the guard's expression as he fired that shot. He killed her out of intolerance."
"Dying won't bring her back," Tira replied, gently.
"Doesn't your race believe in an afterlife?" Tom asked, not caring for an answer.
"There's still hope for you. The ship may return to Narcia and offload some of the workers to be reassigned. We could escape during the transfer."
"I don't want to just escape," he told her. "I want to take the ship. I want Narcian blood on my hands."
"You want to die," Tira clarified.
"And take them with me," Tom admitted, coldly.
The horrendously thin, rag-clothed Narcian looked worriedly at the angry and suicidal young man.
Tom saw himself through her eyes and knew her thoughts. Mistreatment and grief were draining him, and he was gaining quite a collection on minor wounds from the general inhospitality of his situation increased by his attempts to escape. Yet, there was a defiant streak to his nature, intensified by his anger and need to avenge his love's cruel murder. He would fight to the end.
For a wild fleeting moment, Tira considered the possibility that this man could defeat the high odds stacked against him and save them all. But then reality returned. He would die. And join his love in the after-world. Maybe death would be best for them all. It would be so easy to turn the ship into a blazing ball of fire, as bright as Narcia's suns. But, no, that wasn't the way. She couldn't and wouldn't let them win.
"Tira. . ." Tom reached through the bars and took her hands. Even in his gentle grasp they shook, a side-effect of being constantly chilled to the bone. He sighed. He sure had a lot to look forward too. How did this girl keep her determination?
"There has to be another way," Tira insisted.
Tom sighed again. "Tell me what you know," he said, wearily.
.
Tom knew weeks had passed when he found himself crouched in a dark corridor with the Narcian equivalent of a Starfleet phaser in his hands. Beside him Tira frantically punched commands into a console panel, as the deep thudding sound of the heavy footsteps of approaching guards grew louder and louder.
"Hurry!" Tom hissed, urgently.
"I am!" Tira protested. Her fingers flurried across the buttons and then she hit a flashing red key with finality. "There, done."
"Go! Go!" Tom urged, as the hydraulics raised the door in front of them.
They scrabbled under the unhurriedly rising panel, just as the guards turned the corner and had them in sight. The pair of escapees dashed down the next corridor, hearing their pursuers break into a run behind them. The unmistakable sound of the hindering door being blasted away by a powerful sonic rifle sent them skidding around the next bends in the maze of tunnels.
They came to a halt in front of another door. Tira hastily entered a series of complex codes into the panel on the wall. Suddenly, an alarm sounded and lights fitted around the corridor flashed red.
"Incorrect code. Incorrect code. Security breach! Section 44-Alpha. Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" a computerised voice declared loudly all over the ship.
Tira cursed strongly, but set about setting her error right even as the stream of obscenities escaped her lips.
The alarm was cut off and the door began to rise. Not waiting for a suitable amount of elevation, they slid under the entrance into a room full of high-tech equipment. Control panels and screens bordered the room and in the centre a circular unit projected colourful fluidic energy into the air.
Tira desperately looked around for the console she wanted. A beam of energy lanced through the air just missing them and grazed the edge of a unit. Tira exchanged a distressed glance with Tom, then realised that those were the controls she was looking for.
"Don't worry, I'll cover you," Tom said, taking up a defensive stance by the door.
Tira hurriedly got to work, while Tom exchanged fire with the guards. There were six armed with standard phasers and one with a sonic rifle, but the warrior seemed unwilling to use the extensively destructive weapon for fear of damaging the valuable equipment in the room. However, Tom was still grossly outnumbered and outgunned. He sent two guards down, but the Narcians' energy beams were getting far too close for comfort.
Whirling noises started up from somewhere, indicating that Tira was making progress. He only needed to give her a little more time.
But then a burning pain seared through Tom's chest and everything went tumbling into blackness.
.
.
To B'Elanna Torres's extreme relief, a flicker ran from Tom's pale blue-grey lips across his white cheek and his eyelids fluttered.
"Tom," she encouraged, stroking a damp strand of fair hair back into place.
His eyes opened and he blearily looked up at her.
"B'Elanna! Oh, thank God!" he cried, relieved, eagerly catching her wrist.
She was taken aback. "Tom, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing!" He grew more cheerful as his own words sunk in. "You're alive! I'm alive, and we're on Voyager. What could be better?" He sat up, wanting to see her better. Vertigo swept over him. "Wooooah. . ." he muttered, woozy.
B'Elanna took hold of his shoulders and pulled him against her to support him.
"Steady," she belatedly cautioned.
The dizziness and nausea passed and Tom pulled back. The startling exuberance was gone and his eyes were now troubled and sober.
"That was quite a nightmare," he told B'Elanna.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, gently.
"No, not really. I'd rather just forget it."
"Ok."
"What time is it?" Tom asked, rhetorically, as he glanced at the clock on his bedside cabinet. "08:00. . .shouldn't you be on duty?"
B'Elanna brushed the idea aside. "I'll go in a minute. Do you want something to eat?"
"Not just yet. I'll get something from the replicator later." Tom lay back down. "You should get going. I'll be fine." He smiled reassuringly.
"Alright," B'Elanna agreed, getting up from the edge of the bed. "Take it easy, ok? I'll meet you in the mess hall at 12:00 for lunch, if you feel up to it."
"Ok, see you later."
B'Elanna leant down and lightly kissed his pale forehead, he smiled up at her tiredly. She smiled back and turned to leave.
"I love you," Tom suddenly called, as she reached the door.
B'Elanna looked back over her shoulder. "I love you too, Tom."
The door swished open and she left.
.
As B'Elanna entered the turbolift she heard someone hurrying after her and held the door for the approaching dark-haired ensign.
"How is he?" Harry Kim asked at once.
"Engineering," B'Elanna ordered the computer. She reluctantly turned to the young man stood beside her. "Not good," she replied. "He woke up more exhausted than when he went to sleep."
"The Doctor still hasn't be able to shed any light on why he collapsed yesterday? Or what's causing these nightmares?"
"No," she said, softly, her voice becoming unwillingly choked with emotion.
"Try not to worry," Harry told her, his voice and expression showing that he needed that advice as much as she did.
B'Elanna suddenly stopped holding back. "Oh, Harry!" she cried. "I was so scared!"
Harry turned to her, concerned. "What happened?" he asked, gently taking hold of her arm.
"I couldn't wake him. I was scared he'd never come out of it," B'Elanna confessed, her voice uncontrollably rising. "I had just tapped my combadge to call sickbay, when he came around."
"Is he still wearing a cortical monitor?"
"I think so. . . Yes, he is. But it should have stopped anything like that happening! Oh no, do you think it's malfunctioning? I should go back and check. . ."
"Wait. It probably just means that he was only in a deep sleep," Harry assured her.
"You're right. I'm being silly. It's just. . ."
"I know." Silently, he added, 'I'm worried too.'
*
A plate of rice had never looked less appetising. Tom's stomach groaned in protest about not being fed, but at the same time it churned, warning that if he even tried to tempt it with food it would toss it straight back. He sighed, and took a sip of water instead. Even that made him feel queasy, so he gave in and set the glass back down on the mess hall table.
Hearing B'Elanna arrive, he looked up and greeted her with a wan smile. "Hey."
"Hey," she responded, sitting down opposite him and dropping several padds on the table. "How are you feeling?"
"Like. . .like. . ." His tired mind couldn't manage to come up with a witty comparison. "Bad."
B'Elanna smiled, sympathetically.
"But I'll be ok." Tom didn't want sympathy and definitely not pity. He just wanted the pounding in his head to stop.
"Good afternoon, B'Elanna!" Neelix said with good humour, approaching their table.
"Is it?" Tom mumbled, miserably. Then he remembered he didn't want pity and looked back down at his plate.
"What would you like to eat?" Neelix inquired.
"Uh, I don't know. What have you got?" B'Elanna asked.
"Well there's plenty of rice left and I've just made some Tocaa bean sauce to go with it," the Talaxian offered. "How's the rice, Tom?"
Tom was playing with his fork. He pushed the rice around, putting it into piles and flattening it out again.
"Hmm," he said, looking up and attempted to show appreciation.
Concern for the lieutenant caused Neelix's cheerfulness to falter and he didn't know what to say. He was a good morale officer, yet with someone suffering from an unanswerable medical disorder he found himself flailing in an area of unknown.
"The rice and sauce would be great, Neelix," B'Elanna said, relieving him.
"Coming up!" he promised, brightly. He gave Tom one last troubled glance, then scurried off to his kitchen.
Tom got bored with his rice and let the fork clatter down onto the plate. He leant back in his chair and indicated the collection of padds in front of B'Elanna. "Is the warp field holding all right?"
"Yes," she replied, glad that he'd supplied a topic of discussion. "Containment efficiency has dropped four percent from the optimum it reached when the shields were reconfigured. But by re-calibrating it every half an hour, we're able to stop it falling any further. I'd be sceptical about safely achieving warp nine, but we're currently moving at warp four, which we'll have no trouble maintaining."
"Nice to know. I expect we'll be making first contact with the alien vessel soon."
B'Elanna nodded. "Harry says we'll be within range in a couple of hours. I wonder who they are."
"Probably Narcians."
"The race from your dreams?" B'Elanna asked, uncomfortably.
"Yeah. I hope not though," Tom said, gloomily.
"Why? They might be able to explain what's been happening to you."
"If it is them, then our future is rather bleak," Tom understated.
"You don't know that," B'Elanna protested, not wanting to believe him. "They might be - "
She cut off as Tom sharply stood up.
"She's coming," he said, staring ahead at nothing.
"What? Who?"
"Tira. She's coming. I've got to get to the bridge," he told her, halfway to the door already.
"How do you know? What's going on?"
Tom was too preoccupied to answer and exited the mess hall without looking back.
"Tom, wait!" B'Elanna cried, running after him.
.
"Mister Tuvok, distance to the alien ship?" Janeway inquired.
"Captain!" Harry cried, before the Vulcan could answer.
The bridge crew turned to look at the ensign, wondering what had alarmed him. They followed his wide-eyed gaze to see the blue-silver light of a figure materialising in front of the main screen.
Before their startled eyes a female humanoid formed. She had ginger-tinted skin, furry pointed ears, gold lips and delicate pretty features. Long, thick waves of fiery auburn hair cascaded halfway down her back. She wore a beige long-sleeved top under a brown v-necked dress with a pale-blue sash tied around her slender waist. Knee-length beige socks and brown leather sandals covered her feet. On her left upper-arm was The Doctor's mobile holo-emitter.
"I am Xar-cet-Mir-ar Tira," the alien girl announced, smiling warmly. "It's a joy to see you again, Captain Janeway."
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Janeway asked, bewildered and slightly annoyed.
"Security to the bridge," Tuvok ordered over the ship's communication system.
Suddenly Tom burst out of the turbolift, followed more slowly by B'Elanna.
"There's no need for that, Tuvok," he said, breathlessly. "Tira's here to save us."
Chakotay frowned. "Save us from what exactly, Mister Paris? I wasn't aware that we were in any danger."
"That's the point," he said, hurrying over to the helm. "We've got to stop the ship!"
The pilot on duty, Ensign Yates, looked to the captain for confirmation. Janeway shook her head sharply.
"Lieutenant, explain yourself," Captain Janeway demanded, crossly. "Who is this alien and what is she doing on my bridge?"
"We can't go near that ship!" Paris yelled, lunging for the helm controls.
Ensign Yates tried to shield the console from him, but he roughly pushed her aside.
"Lieutenant!" Janeway all but screamed, furious.
The ensign and Tom continued to fight over the controls, as Tuvok strode purposefully across the bridge with a phaser in his hand.
"Mister Paris, move away from the console or I will fire," the Vulcan warned, aiming the weapon at the harried lieutenant.
"You don't understand! We have to stop right here!" Paris cried, irritated.
"Mister Paris," Tuvok said, in a tone that made it clear this was his last caution.
"Alright! Alright!" the younger man said, stepping back from the console, raising his hands in submission.
Just then the turbolift doors slid open again, emitting two security personnel onto the bridge.
"Take Lieutenant Paris to the brig," Tuvok ordered them.
The two crewmen stepped forward, but Janeway held up a hand.
Tom, however, didn't notice and was already backing away. "Hey, no! You can't do that!"
Without hesitation Tuvok fired.
The orange energy beam grazed Tom's right shoulder, sending a numbing force through him. He fell to his knees. For a few seconds he swayed as he tried to keep from fainting, then tipped backwards onto his back.
B'Elanna knelt at Tom's side, anxiously watching him as he fought to keep consciousness. Tom looked past her shoulder up at Tuvok.
"That was a poor shot, Tuvok," he said, weakly.
B'Elanna turned to glare at the security chief. Didn't he realise that Tom was in poor shape as it was? He didn't need someone shooting him! Then she noticed the small hint of emotion in the Vulcan's eyes. Tuvok had actually intentionally spared Tom. The shot had meant to be poor, for he had wanted to stun him as least as possible. Her expression softened and her lips offered a suggestion of a smile.
"Is Tom alright?"
All eyes turned to the owner of the unfamiliar voice.
"What have you done to him?" Tira asked, moving towards Tom.
B'Elanna stood up to face her. "How about what you've done? I take it you're Tira," she said, coldly.
"I. . .I. . ." For a moment the alien girl appeared to be overcome with guilt. But her expression cleared and then became resolute. "The future is a lot worse," she justified. She turned to Captain Janeway, "That's why I'm here."
Janeway was relieved that it seemed she was finally going to be given some answers.
"Ok," she said, taking a hold of things. "Security, dismissed. Does Tom need medical assistance?"
"I think I can get up now," Paris said, somewhat uncertain. He accepted B'Elanna's help and slowly got to his feet.
"We need to stop right now," Tira said, panicked, staring at the helm display. "We'll be within range of the Dominator's sensors any minute!"
"Very well," Janeway relented. "Ensign Yates, all stop."
Tira and Tom let out a collective sigh of relief, as Voyager came out of warp and slowed until she held position at a sufficiently safe distance from the other ship.
"Now- " Janeway was cut short by a bleep from the com system.
"The Doctor to the bridge. Captain, I'd like to report a theft!"
"Doctor, I'm a little busy ri- "
"Someone has stolen my mobile emitter! A ship-wide search must be carried out immediately!"
"That will not be necessary."
"What?! Captain, don't you realise the seriousness of this? How would you like it if someone- "
"Doctor, it will not be necessary because I know where your emitter is."
"You do? Where? I demand to have it returned at once!"
"It's right in front of me. Someone else is currently using it. However, I can assure you that it will be returned to you as soon as possible."
"It's being used by someone else? Why did no one consult me first? This is outrageous! How-"
"Janeway out."
The captain sighed. "Can someone please explain what's going on?"
She looked to Tira then Tom. Her lieutenant was swaying on his feet, despite B'Elanna's steadying hand, and it was doubtful that she would be able to hold him when his legs gave way, which would be any minute. Janeway gently steered him to a chair. He sat down gratefully, then opened his mouth to protest as he discovered that he was sat in her chair, but realised that a change would involve standing up again and so abruptly shut it.
"I am of a race known as the Narcians. The vessel ahead is a Narcian Empire ship, aptly named Dominator," Tira said, relaxing into an explanation now that there was no threat of a too early confrontation. "I was - and, in this time, I still am - a slave aboard that ship. An Empire commander enslaves alien races to work aboard his vessel when his supply runs low, which is rather often due to the conditions the slaves are kept and work in. Commander Hane of the Dominator currently has a low supply.
"The Dominator may not be as manoeuvrable as Voyager, but it is extremely powerfully gunned and the commanding crew are relentless barbarians. You will be defeated and have no choice but to surrender. Many of you will die." She glanced at B'Elanna, guessing who she was. "And many of you will wish that you were dead," she said, looking forlornly at Tom.
"Only now that doesn't have to be the case. The Dominator is equipped with experimental wormhole technology. And it works." Tira grinned, happily. "It allows an electromagnetic signal to be sent back in time. I used it to send myself back to here. Unfortunately, as of yet, physical form cannot be transferred. Therefore, I am here in an entity-like state, using your holographic technology to show myself to you."
"You don't look much like a mistreated slave," Chakotay pointed out.
"This is how she was," Tom said, "before they wrongly enslaved her."
"How did you come to be a slave?" Janeway asked the Narcian.
"It was five years ago," Tira replied. "I accidentally missed the curfew. All children in the street after the sinking of the second sun are considered orphans and automatically enslaved by the Empire Fleet, no questions asked, no checks made. None of the general public know the state of the slaves aboard the ships. They believe that the children are given a better life. The Fleet officers are thought to be gallant heroes.
"With your help, I could take control of the Dominator and expose the cruelty of the Fleet to my people."
"But how?" Harry Kim asked, looking up from his analysis of Tira's electromagnetic code displayed at his station. "No offence, but you're basically a computer program and there's another version of you aboard that ship. Can you exist twice in one timeline?"
"I will need to be merged with my physical self." She laughed at their sceptical faces. "Don't worry, I was an exceptional astrophysics student and studying for a degree in spatial-temporal-physics when I was taken by the Empire Fleet."
"What have you been doing to Tom?" B'Elanna demanded to know.
"I needed time," Tira explained. "I was. . .disorientated after the transfer. This is a strange existence. I needed something familiar to latch onto, to focus myself. Also I needed for you to be prepared, I needed at least one of you to believe. Otherwise by the time you trusted me, it would have been too late.
"I was able to tap into Tom's mind and merge with him. I showed him things and let him know about me."
"Why Tom?" B'Elanna asked, still not trusting her.
"I. . .we. . .he helped me to get here. In the future, after Voyager was captured, we planned a way of preventing it all from happening." Her expression clouded over with troubled memories. "He loves you very much, B'Elanna."
B'Elanna was stunned to silence, not knowing what to think.
"We need to formulate the rest of the plan," Tira said, turning to Captain Janeway. She glanced at the helm display. "The Dominator will break orbit in two hours and its course will lead it straight toward us."
"You mean you don't have everything worked out?" Harry asked, alarmed.
"Uh. . .no." Tira looked down. "We, um, only got this far."
Janeway took a deep breath. "Never mind," she said, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."
