The Lost Voyages

The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been

by Soledad

CARETAKER

Alternate pilot episode

Disclaimer: All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

Rating: PG-13, for some rather disturbing images.

As always, my heartfelt thanks to Brigid for beta-reading. All remaining mistakes are mine – here and there I kept a few flawed expressions because they sounded  more… matching for my "alien" ears. :)

Yes, part of the dialogue is still taken from the episode. Now, those lines still don't belong to me, yadda, yadda.

CHAPTER FIVE: VOYAGER

Leaving Quark's, Tom Paris and Harry Kim strolled along the Promenade in easy companionship. Which would last until the exact moment one of their more experienced shipmates informed the young ensign about the skeletons in Tom's cupboard. But he was used to that by now, and decided to enjoy Harry's company as long as he could. At least Stadi didn't seem to care…

"So, Harry," he said conversationally, "when did you arrive on DS9?"

"Yesterday," Harry answered. "But I got the day off to explore the station a little."

Tom grinned about his young companion's enthusiasm. "Saw anything interesting?"

"Oh, definitely!" Harry grinned back, though a little embarrassed. "I spent some money – too much money, to be honest – in the shops, got sick at the Klingon restaurant. Attended an extremely strange Tellarite play and got beaten to the ground in a game of racquetball by Dr. Bashir. Of course, he used to be the Academy champion…"

Tom smiled, wishing he could get this excited about anything again. "This is your first assignment, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Lindsay Ballard and I – she used to be my classmate at the Academy – got assigned to Voyager right after graduation. It's good to have a familiar face among all the strangers," he admitted a little sheepishly. "At least I'm not the only one who's green as lettuce."

"How come you aren't exploring the station with her?" Tom asked.

"Who, do you think, dragged me to the Klingon restaurant and the Tellarite play?" Harry replied, grinning. "But today she decided to attend the service in the Bajoran temple and that was a little too much amateur anthropology for my taste."

Tom smiled, but – unnoticed by Harry – the smile never reached his eyes. He really, honestly envied the ensign for having an Academy friend sharing his first post. A familiar face among all the strangers. Once upon a time Tom Paris used to know that sort of camaraderie. For the first time in his life, he'd had people who were close to him. Not because he was the Admiral's son. Just for himself.

Until he got them killed at Caldik Prime. All three of them.

He didn't even realize he had slid into brooding again, until the ensign touched his arm to get his attention. He nearly jumped at that. Being touched meant he had allowed someone to come too close – not an advisable thing in prison, and he usually paid more attention to his surroundings. But being with Harry almost gave him the feeling of being part of the team again. Which was only an illusion, of course. An illusion doomed to end as soon as he set foot on Voyager.

I have to watch my reactions, he warned himself, realizing that the ensign had been speaking to him.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said in apology, "you lost me for a minute there. What were you saying?"

"Oh," Harry shrugged, and for some reason looked embarrassed again, "I just asked whether you checked in already."

Tom simply shook his head, glad not to have missed anything of importance. The kid was too nice; he didn't deserve to be ignored. "I just arrived an hour ago."

"Oh, I see," Harry hesitated a little then offered. "Want me to take you to sickbay?"

"Sickbay?" Tom repeated in surprise, swinging his duffel across the other shoulder to keep it from bumping against the kid. "Shouldn't we check in on the bridge?"

Harry shrugged. "I haven't been to the bridge yet either," he admitted. "Whenever I asked, the captain was busy with Commander Cavit. But Dr. Fitzgerald is usually in sickbay, and you need to get your medical files verified anyway."

That actually made sense, though the idea of some Starfleet doctor checking his files from Auckland made Tom more than a little uncomfortable. Those files were rather – revealing for someone who knew what to look for (especially those recorded before Dr. Sorik had him moved to the secure wing), and he didn't want those particular episodes of his life to become common knowledge. Hell, he did his best to forget them!

"All right," he agreed, suppressing a sigh with long-practiced ease. There were things one simply couldn't change. "Sickbay it is. Lead on, buddy!"

They kept talking during the almost twenty minute trip to Voyager's sickbay. Well, actually Harry was the one who did all the talking – Tom only participated with the occasional encouraging nod. The kid told him about his parents – it seemed that Harry was an only child, born to his parents relatively late and accordingly cherished – about his years playing clarinet in the Julliard Youth Symphony, about editing the Starfleet Academy Journal for years, and first and foremost, about his girlfriend, Libby, whom he intended to marry as soon as he could.

No one should be this green, Paris thought fondly, knowing that Harry would regret his openness as soon as he realized who he was so graciously sharing his memories with. Still, he had not the heart to interrupt the kid. It had been so damn long since someone shared with him in such a friendly manner.

Since Caldik Prime, to be accurate. Oh, sure, Greg had told him all about his life in the DMZ colonies. But Greg's stories, told in short, clipped words, were full of sorrow and loss. They belonged to a life young Harry Kim was just about to experience during this mission.

Finally, Harry ran out of steam and stories – at about the same time they reached the double sliding doors of the infirmary. It was small and well-equipped, as would be expected for such a small, brand new starship, and – considering that most of the crew were only getting settled in their quarters and the station's docking clamps were still firmly engaged – not all too busy yet.

Aside from Dr. Fitzgerald and his calm Vulcan assistant only a tall Benzite male, with the usual breathing apparatus fixed on the chest of his golden uniform, was standing in front of a whole array of incomprehensible computer panels against one wall. A lieutenant commander, according to the rank pins on his collar. The chief engineer, most likely, Paris thought; the fishheads were notoriously good with machines, and this guy certainly had the age and the rank for such a post aboard a starship. Not to mention the obvious confidence, but that was about the same with all Benzites.

The Vulcan nurse seemed fairly young, though with those sour Vulcan features it was hard to guess her age. The doctor, however, seemed vaguely familiar, even though Tom couldn't remember where he might have seen that long, unfriendly face of his. Having grown up as a Starfleet brat also meant having met a great number of people whom he wouldn't necessarily remember later. It had led to all sorts of awkward situations, back when people were still speaking to him.

At least he didn't have this sort of problem now. Speaking of small favours…

"We should run a level three diagnostic, Chief," Dr. Fitzgerald was saying irritably, just when they entered, verifying Tom's guess about the Benzite's function on board. "Just to be on the safe side."

"Better safe than sorry," the Benzite agreed, in the typical, slightly hollow voice of his kind that always sounded as if it would come through a thick layer of water; the breathing tube released a thin puff of necessary atmospheric gasses right under his flat nose. "I shall send Lt. Chapman to help you."

"Thanks," the doctor murmured absently, turning to his assistant to give her further instructions. That was when his eyes caught the newcomers in the doorway; a fact that apparently irritated him even more. "Can I help you?"

Kim was obviously taken aback by that tone – after all, they hadn't done anything wrong. More than that – they were supposed to check in to sickbay, weren't they?

"Tom Paris, reporting on board," Tom announced himself, taking pity on Harry.

The room temperature seemed to drop some twenty degrees, immediately. And so it begins, Paris thought, resigned, saying goodbye to his barely begun friendship with Harry Kim. Well, it had been nice while it lasted.

"Oh, yes…"there was open disgust in the doctor's sneer. "The… observer."

All of a sudden, Tom had had enough. The doctor obviously had been informed about him, fine. And he obviously didn't want scum like Tom Paris in his sickbay – well, that was his problem. Tom Paris was dragged onboard by the mighty Captain Janeway herself, and he'd be damned if he put up with mean little hints like this.

"That's me," he nodded, his best infuriating grin plastered firmly on his face, while his eyes remained ice cold. "And as a matter of fact, I seem to be observing some kind of problem right now... Doctor."

Fitzgerald's answering grin was every bit as hostile as his own.

"I was a surgeon at the hospital on Caldik Prime at the same time you were stationed there," he said with obvious delight at the draining of blood from Tom's face. "We never actually met."

Due to long experience, Tom recovered from the unexpected blow within seconds. He'd learned the hard way to never let his opponent have the last word.

"You are mistaken, Doc," he replied with the same infuriating smile as before. "I, for my part, am quite sure that I've seen you somewhere. Who could ever forget such a friendly face?"

For a moment he thought Fitzgerald would actually hit him. That would have been great fun, having the asshole on report for assaulting a noncommissioned observer – and that the Benzite would report the incident was certain. Benzites were rather… minutious when it came to regulations, Starfleet ones or their own alike. But then the doctor turned away, grabbing a PADD from his desk and became all-professional again.

"Your medical records have arrived from your last… posting, Mr. Paris," he emphasized the word posting pointedly. "Everything seems to be in order. The Captain asked if you were on board. You should check in with her. Now."

"Uh, I… I haven't paid my respects to the Captain yet, either," Harry blurted out, not able to endure the tension any longer. "Maybe I should go with Tom…"

Fitzgerald shot him a less than friendly look. "Well, Mr. Kim, that would be a good thing for a new operations officer to do."

Asshole, Tom commented to himself, leaving sickbay without as much as a glance back. You had to chew out the kid, didn't you? Just because you hate my guts…

Something cool touched his arm, and he took an involuntary step back as he saw that it was the oddly-fingered, greyish blue hand of the chief engineer. Of course it felt cool, Benzites being a cold-blooded species. Their body temperature always matched the temperature of their surroundings.

"You might want to do something about that attitude of yours, Mr. Paris," the Benzite said, not entirely unfriendly. "It might get you in trouble again."

Tom felt a hot fury he had thought long forgotten rise in his guts for the first time since his court-martial. How dare this fishhead to patronize him?! He took another step backwards, shaking off that big, cool hand.

"I don't appreciate being pawed, Commander," he said icily. Especially not by guys twice my size. "It deteriorates my… attitude severely, if you know what I mean."

But the small eyes of the Benzite looked down at him almost compassionately from under those swollen blue lids.

"I think I do," the chief engineer answered. "And, by the way, the name is Mendon."

Without a further word, he hurried away, probably returning to engineering. Harry, who had followed Tom out of sickbay, sent a bewildered look after him.

"What was that all about?"

Tom sighed and clapped the young man on the back. "It's a long story Harry, and I'm tired of telling it. I'm sure someone around here will tell you before long." With Fitzgerald on board there was no doubt about that. "Why don't we go and say 'hello' to the captain?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Crossing the bridge to approach the Captain's ready room was nothing short of an ordeal; the trip from the turbolift behind the main command level seemed endless. Stadi looked up from the helm controls for a moment, giving them a brief nod and a hint of a smile, but it was way too little to put Tom's mind at ease. A short, trim, grey-haired, grim-faced man – another lieutenant commander, wearing the read uniform of the command staff – stood down by Stadi at the helm, but he didn't spare the newcomers as much as a fleeting glance.

The first officer, most likely. That would be one hell of a jolly ride through the Badlands.

Kim touched the door chime, and Paris stiffened involuntarily, hearing that scratchy voice from the inside.

"Come in," the captain of Voyager called, and the door opened obediently.

The ready room was fairly spacious for such a small ship – something between a study, an office and a salon, with a couch in front of a huge window and low seats on the opposite side of the coffee table. All very welcoming and comfortable. The small, bony woman with the prominent chin and the tight bun seemed strangely… misplaced in these almost cozy surroundings.

Nevertheless, it was her place, and frequently used at that, if the disorganized piles of PADDs, full of pre-launch reports, no doubt, and the half-empty coffee mugs in the replicator were any indication.

Janeway rose from behind her desk in a business-like manner that seemed to terrify Harry senseless in a second but had no effect whatsoever on Tom (after all, he was used to the Admiral himself), and put on a bright, somewhat plastic smile.

"Gentlemen," she said jovially, "welcome aboard Voyager."

Tom answered with a simple, though polite nod. He'd grown up with Starfleet brass going in and out of their home; he wasn't easily impressed anymore. Certainly not by one of the Admiral's lapdogs. Harry, on the other hand, practically forgot to breathe in a desperate attempt to pull even more stiffly at attention. "Thank you, sir."

"Mr. Kim," Janeway said in the same patronizing tone the Admiral's high-ranking visitors had used on little Tommy, while putting back another empty coffee mug into the replicator and punching the control that made them fade away into nothing, "at ease before you sprain something."

Harry made a valiant – though futile – attempt to relax, while Tom was silently fuming behind him. Why did she feel the need to make fun of the kid's insecurity? Harry had been nervous enough already; nervous enough to make a complete fool out of himself… and the lecturing, apparently, wasn't over yet.

Janeway folded her arms and turned her back on the replicator, regarding poor Kim in the manner of a long-suffering school teacher who takes the umpteenth effort to explain some basic fact to a particularly dense and irritating pupil.

"Ensign, despite Starfleet protocol, I don't like being addressed as 'sir'".

Oh, joy! Another Starfleet captain with personal peeves! Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes (in his position making an easily irritable captain mad at him wouldn't have been a smart move), while Harry flushed and nodded stiffly. "I'm sorry… ma'am?"

"'Ma'am is acceptable in a crunch, but I prefer 'Captain'," she announced rather brusquely, and poor Harry nodded again, humiliated to the bone and not understanding what he'd done to deserve such treatment. He stuck to regulations and made his best effort to please – obviously, his best effort just wasn't god enough.

Still, Tom was wary enough to keep his expression carefully neutral, knowing all too well that Janeway didn't trust him any more than he trusted her. Which was next to nothing, to be perfectly honest. It could very well be that she intended to send him back to jail, regardless of the outcome of this little Maquis-hunting mission.

He saw her eyes checking out the duffel on his shoulder, as if she were surprised at its relative fullness, and felt irrational anger rising in his guts again. Had she expected him to arrive without any luggage, just with his documents and the Starfleet-issue singlet? Well, she was wrong. Even though all his blood relatives had turned their collective backs on him, Uncle Nicholas, estranged from the mighty Paris clan (and divorced by the Admiral's ambitious sister after a mere six years of marriage) had the balls to stand up to them. Not publicly, of course, that wouldn't have been healthy for a lowly civilian engineer. But he took Tom in in Marseilles, after he'd been thrown out of Starfleet, looked after his meager belongings while he was in jail, and got them out of storage at once, as soon as Tom was set free, no matter how temporary it might be.

Uncle Nick's quiet support was the only thing that still kept Tom going. To know that he had someplace to go after his sentence was over (one way or another), made his time in jail survivable. An unpleasant captain on a short mission (one that Tom was determined to make fail) could not change that.

Not able to get any clue from Tom's blank expression, Janeway stepped away from the replicator and gestured toward the door.

"We're getting ready to leave," she said. "Let me show you to the bridge."

As they fell into step behind her, she added in a conversational manner. "Did you have any problems getting here, Mr. Paris?"

You'd like to know what I might have done on my way here, wouldn't you? Paris thought with grim satisfaction. True, he had boarded that crew transporter a day behind schedule, but he had still arrived on time, so she couldn't do a thing about it. He'd learned the hard way how far he could push people. He seldom made a mistake in that area anymore.

And the fact that he had made a stop in Marseilles on his way, meeting Uncle Nick and visiting Sandrine's, was none of Janeway's business. She belonged to a part of his life that was officially over – to the part where the Admiral belonged, Starfleet, the Academy… all things that were big and shiny. He was not about to share with her anything that came afterwards.

"None at all… Captain," he answered flatly. The rejection in his tone was so clear and complete that she didn't even attempt to continue the small talk.

Leaving the ready room, they walked along the front side of the sandy-haired security officer's work station. Stepping down to the main command level, Janeway met the wiry, grey-haired lieutenant commander who hurried up to them from behind Stadi's station.

"My first officer, Lieutenant Commander Cavit," Janeway introduced him; then she nodded towards the newcomers. "Ensign Kim, Mr. Paris."

Cavit shook Kin's hand with a paternal smile. "Welcome aboard."

With that, he obviously intended to turn away and leave them where they were. However, Tom was not willing to let him get away with that sort of rudeness. The captain wanted Paris' help, so Cavit just had to swallow it.

With an amused smile that wasn't entirely without bitterness, he offered his hand to the First Officer, faking his usual nonchalant manner once again perfectly.

Cavit stiffened, but after a moment of pointed hesitation took the proffered hand. Janeway watched them from narrowed eyes, and Tom could see that she was not happy with her first officer's behaviour. Not for Tom's sake, of course – he didn't count – but she expected things to run smoothly on her bridge. Well, it wasn't Tom's problem how she kept Cavit under control.

Poor Harry looked completely taken aback once again, obviously coming from a family where polite manners were the norm, under all circumstances. Janeway touched the young ensign's arm briefly, nudging him toward the Ops station, where a tall, dark-skinned young crewman was currently working.

"Ensign Kim, this is your station," she patted the console encouragingly. "Would you like to take over? Ensign Bristow, if you don't mind…"

The dark-skinned young man was already moving out from behind the operations console already, while Kim momentarily looked a little startled. After all, it wasn't usual to let a barely graduated ensign take over one of the important stations at once. Then a large smile spread across his face.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied enthusiastically. Now he finally was in his true place in the universe.

Janeway looked at him with that irritated schoolteacher expression again. "It's not crunch time yet, Mr. Kim," she said coldly. "I'll let you know when."

Kim looked stricken, of course, but at least he had the common sense to shut up, laying his fingertips on the controls, ready to prove himself. Janeway marched down to her command chair and gave her first officer a short, military-like nod. Cavit nodded back in understanding, without the need for words. Either the two of them had known each other for a long time, or the XO was simply damn good.

"Lieutenant Stadi," he said in a clear, calm voice, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen in anticipation, "lay in the course and clear our departure with operations."

The Betazoid nodded, her strong, slender fingers already dancing across the controls, quickly and efficiently. " Course entered, Ops has cleared us."

Cavit nodded. "Ready thrusters."

"Thrusters ready," Harry reported, a little breathlessly. Tom suppressed a smile, hearing the excitement of the young man's voice. His very first start as a Starfleet officer. There were moments like this that happened only once to a person.

"Initiate launching sequence," Cavit ordered.

"Sequence underway," Stadi replied. Unlike Kim, she didn't show any sign of nervousness, and Tom couldn't help but admire her calm, knowing that though she'd served in Starfleet for years, she'd never flown such a big ship before. Unlike some people who aren't allowed to do it.

Janeway gave her young officers a benevolent smile – still patronizing, but at least without the usual irritated undertone – and lowered herself stiffly in the captain's chair. Taking a deep breath, she stuck out her chin and gave the command, "Engage!"

Forgotten by the busy and secretly excited bridge crew, Tom Paris stood in front of Kim's station, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. To all the people present, he could have been his own duffel, lying on the thinly carpeted floor. To this ship and her crew, he was totally useless. Regardless of the fact that he could fly this ship – hell, any ship! – three times better than Stadi or any other pilot on board, he was not needed. Or wanted.

"It's hard to see what you could have had but have lost irrevocably, isn't it?" a soft voice asked, barely audible above the humming noise of awakening engines and bridge activity.

Jerking his head to the side, he saw Lieutenant Commander Mendon leaving his engineering station – a junior officer took over for him immediately – and taking one single step toward him. Tom controlled his surprise with a shrug.

"It's my own damn fault," he replied in an equally low voice.

The Benzite gave him a long, scrutinizing look, obviously feeling his bitterness all too well. "You are used to standing by the wayside, aren't you?"

Tom nodded, a wry grin placed on his face securely. "I've had time enough to get used to it. And from what I've seen aboard this ship so far, I don't expect things to change for me any time soon."

Mendon frowned, an interesting look for a being with no eyebrows.

"You can never know," he replied thoughtfully; then, in a completely unexpected switch of topics, he added. "As a senior officer, I belong to the Alpha shift. Meaning, I'll have to have breakfast at 07.30, at the very latest. That is, if you are up to watching a fishhead munching on algae salad."

He stepped back to his working station, leaving behind one completely dumbfounded Starfleet observer to contemplate the first true surprise of his life in more than two years.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Note: the Benzite officer Mendon has been borrowed from the second season TNG episode "A Matter of Honor". His background, however, and all those little things concerning Benzites (except the breathing apparatus) have been made up by me. I chose him as the original chief engineer of Voyager because I found it a little unbelievable that in the 24th century almost the whole crew would be human. And since fanfiction isn't limited by make-up costs, I can bring in interesting aliens along the way. :)