She had to get to work.
Waking up had been a misery. None of what she'd experienced had been real. She'd tried to redeem herself. She'd tried to show that she was more than just a murderer. She'd tried to show that she was worthy of being a member of Starfleet. She'd accepted her punishment gracefully, and she'd given Voyager the best she had. She'd been wounded in the battle with the Borg a year after she came on the ship.
And it had all been for naught. Just a dream. A fantasy her mind had conjured up while she lay comatose on a ship of pain. All the things she'd seen, all the shame and remorse...none of it had been real. It had only been an illusion conjured up by the EMH they'd cobbled together.
Just her luck.
All the same, she was an engineer, and she was the only hope that Equinox had for getting their warp drive up and running. The thought of recreating her enhanced warp drive made her ill, but plain old Zefram Cochrane-style warp drive was not so morally objectionable. Besides, there wouldn't be any enhanced warp until there was regular warp.
The warp core itself was...well, it was in bad shape. The reactor housing itself looked okay, but that was it. The old control console where she had once stood was gone, replaced by a black scorch on the floor. Several other consoles were either completely missing or so badly damaged they'd be unusable. It was hard to look at. She'd worked so hard to keep Engineering functional, but it was like trying to bail out the ocean with a thimble; no matter how hard she worked, the ship just took more and more damage.
And it was hard to believe how Engineering had gotten this way. Captain Janeway had beamed in a photon torpedo. That she found hard to believe. Captain Janeway had been harsh, Marla thought. Captain Janeway had been judgmental. But cold-blooded murder? That didn't seem like something she would've done, even under the direst circumstances.
Then again, she had to remember. Her memories of Captain Janeway and Voyager were simply dreams. Rudy and Max had explained it. Janeway had tried to kill her rather than lose. According to Rudy, she'd lost anyway. And if Voyager found them again...the idea made her shudder from some reason.
She'd dreamed about it. Last night's sleep had been fitful, to say the least. As if waking up to this world of pain and darkness wasn't enough, she'd dreamed about being in Engineering, working the controls of the enhanced warp device. Seven had been lying stunned not far away, until Burke showed up to take her to the brig. She had to manually control the enhanced warp device; there were never enough functional computers on Equinox to put it under computer control. Besides, she didn't trust computers that far. This was tricky.
The ship had been shaking and shuddering, but it had been holding together under the increased strain of enhanced warp. They only had enough fuel to jump another five hundred light-years, but that five hundred light years would put them six months ahead of Voyager even at maximum warp. They had gotten away.
Then, an unfamiliar beep had attracted her attention. She'd scanned the rubble and debris around Engineering. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until she'd realized that under one particular pile of rubble was a sleek black casing with the words USS VOYAGER on it in red letters. All too late, she realized what had happened and tried to turn and run.
The beeping had grown louder. She'd turned her head once as she fled, knowing it was already too late.
Black casing. Red lettering. White flash. Red wave of pain, then black everything.
She'd awoken drenched in sweat, clutching her lone torn blanket. A scream had been trying to escape her throat.
Thinking about it now even made her hands tremble and her palms sweat, and she almost dropped the tool she was holding. She took a moment and forced herself to calm down and examine the duplicate parts Rudy had gotten her.
For a man who didn't know much about engineering, he'd done pretty well. The pieces even looked reasonably like Starfleet equipment. There had been plenty of times she'd had to make do with scrounged alien technology that didn't even look like what it was supposed to be. At least these pieces would go in the holes Starfleet left reasonably well.
How had he gotten them? Was there a warp-capable civilization nearby? Had he traded for them, or stolen them, or what? It might be better not to ask.
The work gave her an escape. She didn't have to think about how everything she'd thought was true had turned out to simply be a fantasy. She didn't have to think about the fact that she was on a ship that had become a 24th century version of Lord of the Flies. She didn't have to think about the fact that the woman she had shyly looked up for two years to had turned out to be her attempted assassin. All she had to do was attach this to that, calibrate it, and get warp drive up and running. That ate up several hours. When she slid out from under the repaired warp core, she was surprised to learn she was hungry.
She'd have to get used to that, unless Rudy had gotten better at providing food than he had in the past.
There were a few new consoles stacked in the corner, and she paused, staring at them. Damn if these didn't look like Starfleet too. They'd fit right in the holes that were left. She connected those up and downloaded the appropriate layouts and programs. The familiar colors of Starfleet's standard keyboards came to life. There was even a couple of chairs. She smiled at how silly that was, but on Equinox there were very few luxuries. So she plunked herself in the chair and ran a few checks.
Everything was fine. There were dilithium crystals in a heavy metal case, and she lifted those to put them in the new warp core. A heavy ka-chunk sounded as the crystals slipped in. She closed up the core and began a diagnostic.
A sound made her turn. Rudy stood in the doorway and smiled at her tolerantly.
"Status?" he asked.
Her grimed fingers flew over the new console. "New warp core is within established parameters," she said hesitantly. "We should keep it at ten percent for a few days, maybe a week, for shakedown."
He nodded. "Fine. Next is enhanced warp."
She cringed. For just a few hours, she'd been able to forget about that. The sound of those horrid alien shrieks arose in her mind again.
"The device was completely vaporized," she said "It's...gone. Completely."
He nodded. "I'm aware of that. Tell me what parts you need. I'll get them. How long would it take you to rebuild it once you got them?"
She bit her lip. "A week...maybe ten days. It's tricky. You have to balance the plasma manifold exactly right. But, Rudy...,"
He looked her over slowly, toelrantly, as if expecting her question.
"But what?" he prompted.
"Maybe we shouldn't recreate it. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. A way to start over. There's got to be another way to get home."
He sighed and sat down next to her. "Marla, none of us like doing it this way. But think of how many we've already lost. We almost lost you. We need that enhanced warp back online." His blue eyes speared hers mercilessly. "We went to a lot of effort to keep you alive, you know." Guilt stabbed her just the way he had doubtlessly meant it to.
"I know," she said plaintively. "But the aliens might stop attacking us."
He shook his head. "They've been trying. They attack in waves, to see if they can overwhelm the field generator. So far it's held up fine. We've got them stacked up in the lab."
For a moment she thought of it: the Equinox's science lab, supposed to be the proud symbol of what the Federation stood for. Science, progress, study. Theirs was a charnel house. She could picture the stacked alien corpses, small green hands poking out of the pile, limp mouths stretching open exposing those hideous needle-like teeth. Her stomach lurched. Burke did the actual conversion; he liked it. She'd only done it once, and watching Burke whistle a merry tune as he strapped corpses into the conversion device was absolutely nauseating.
"Marla, if you want a written order, I'll give you one. I'm your captain. This is what we need you to do." He shook his head and spoke passionately. "We have no choice. Voyager is out there. The aliens are out there. But all you have to do is recreate the device." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't you see...we have enough fuel now. We're going home. Just a few months, that's all. We're so close. We owe it to those who died to make it home. For their sake. So their stories can be told. You don't want to be the only thing keeping us here in this wasteland when everyone could be home, do you?"
Damn, he'd always been keen at hitting her weak points and making her feel like a whiny little girl. Did Starfleet offer a course called 'Inducing Guilt in Junior Officers' at Command School?
"Of course not," she said beseechingly. "But--,"
He stopped and gave her a calm but firm look. "Marla," he said firmly, "you have always given me your very best. I need that from you now. The crew needs that from you now. These are my orders. You're not responsible; I am." His voice made it clear that no argument would be brooked.
Marla felt guilt and shame clog her throat. She nodded wordlessly.
"Atta girl," he said, and rose. "Keep me posted."
She sat in her new chair and put her face in her hands. Why was she always so weak-willed? Why couldn't she stand up for herself? The first time it had cost her so much. The thought of living the rest of her life listening for that awful sound, living life knowing what depths of barbarism she'd descended to, was enough to make her think of heading for the cargo bay and giving herself to the icy embrace of vacuum. It would be quicker and less painful.
"But it's wrong," Marla Gilmore said to no one in particular, and started to cry.
"Okay," Tom Paris said to himself. "Here I go."
The captain had asked him to contact Noah Lessing and see what he could find out. Apparently Tuvok hadn't had a lot of luck. That didn't exactly surprise him; Vulcans weren't known for their sympathy. That, he thought, was what Lessing needed. Just a little understanding, and a reminder that this wasn't about the Voyager crew; this was about Marla.
It took a few minutes to get through to Earth, as the civilian communication net was just a bit slower than Starfleet's. But soon enough, the call went through and was answered. Tom smiled calmly as the bald black man appeared on the screen. He'd decided to make the call in his quarters, as the bridge of Voyager was probably the last thing that Noah Lessing would want to see. He also wanted the privacy.
He hadn't had a whole lot to do with Lessing in the Delta Quadrant. He'd bought him a drink once in Sandrine's. Their duties and duty shifts just didn't coincide much. All the same, he didn't hate the Equinox crew as much as the others did. He knew himself what it felt like to be scorned and hated.
"Hey," he said calmly.
"Lieutenant Paris," Lessing said calmly. "So glad you could take time out from your victory lap to chat with me. Let me guess; you want the same thing Tuvok did. To pick my brain."
Paris nodded tightly. "We need to talk to you, man," he said calmly. "I need to talk to you."
"Let me save you some time, golden boy," Lessing said. "I'm not part of Starfleet anymore, thanks to you guys. I got a double D thanks to you guys. Last thing I want is to talk to you." He leaned forward, reaching for the cutoff switch on his end.
Paris leaned forward himself. "Wait. This isn't about me or you. This is about Marla."
Lessing scowled, but didn't hang up. "Jeez," he said. "Can't you leave Marla alone? When has someone suffered enough for you people?"
"You got me bad," Paris said, slipping into what little prison slang he could say over a public network. He didn't know how much prison slang Lessing had picked up – he hadn't been locked up very long – but maybe it would work. "We're not doing anything to Marla. We're trying to help her. Somebody snatched her off the street in San Francisco."
Lessing stopped and looked thoughtful, although an untrusting cast still remained over his features. "Who did that?"
Paris shrugged. "We don't know. They stole some stuff from Voyager, too. The captain's mad. She wants to know what happened."
It was the wrong thing to say; at the mention of the captain Lessing's mouth twisted. "To hell with her," he said coolly.
Tom swallowed. "Listen," he said urgently. "I don't blame you for being mad at Captain Janeway. I'd be mad at her too, if she did to me what she did to you. And I've had my own tangles with her, don't get me wrong. But this isn't about Captain Janeway. It's about Marla. I just...I just need to talk to you, man. Just a couple questions."
Slowly, reluctantly, Lessing leaned back. "Fine," he said heavily.
"Do you know anybody who might've wanted to do this?"
Lessing shook his head. "No," he said finally. "Last time I saw Marla was when the security goons came to get us off Voyager. Saw her once on the rec yard, but I couldn't talk to her or anything. Nobody said anything to me about it."
"You got out before her, right?" Tom asked.
Lessing nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I was gonna visit her, once I got out. I just...," he smiled painfully. "I went on a bender, if you want to know. Years on Equinox, then we were slaves on your ship, then prison...I wanted to go get drunk. So I did."
Tom didn't flinch. "I know the feeling," he said. "I was in prison too, you know. Still...three days? That's a long ride."
Lessing's brow furrowed. "It wasn't three days," he protested. "Just...one night, then into the next day after I slept."
Tom shook his head. "SJA records say you were released three days before Marla was," he said, and smiled to show he meant no offense. "I'm not judging you, Lessing. In your shoes I'd have done the exact same thing. I'm just trying to get things straight."
"It was just two," Lessing insisted, although he looked thoughtful.
Tom didn't think Lessing was lying, per se. But he was confused. Maybe he was just missing a day. Or maybe...maybe someone had taken a day away from him.
"Did anybody talk to you that you remember? About Marla, or Equinox, or anything?" he prompted.
Lessing shook his head. "Nope," he said, and pondered. "Just people looking to get drunk and forget the universe. Some guy bought me a couple drinks. I didn't talk about Equinox or Voyager."
Tom nodded slowly. "I don't think you would have," he said. "Listen. This isn't easy, over a comm link. I think somebody might've slipped you a Mickey Finn while you were out there celebrating. I'd like to have you come to Vulcan. Our EMH can look you over. We can try and help you remember. What do you say?"
Lessing snorted. "No," he said. "There's no way in hell I'm getting back on that ship. Go wave to the crowds, but leave me alone."
He looked at Tom with an intensity he hadn't before. "Listen, Lieutenant...I would never hurt Marla. We went through hell together. I saved her butt dozens of times, and she saved mine just the same." He didn't seem angry, just very hurt and tired. "If I'd known some guy was gonna kidnap her, I'd have found them and fought them until one of us was dead. For you to call me here and quiz me about whether or not I had anything to do with it...all that proves is that you don't understand me at all."
Tom sighed. "Actually, no, Noah," he said slowly. "I understand you better than you think. I know what it's like. I know what it's like to be in prison. I know what it's like to be on a ship where you have zero power and zero authority, and everyone else on the ship hates you. I know what that's like on this ship." His voice was calm and quiet.
"When I came on Voyager, it wasn't as a lieutenant or helmsman. It was as an advisor. I was in prison, down in Auckland. Janeway came and made me an offer. If I helped her track the Maquis, she'd put in a word for me with the parole board. It...wasn't easy. The only one who was at all friendly to me was Harry. Everybody else...from the way they looked at me, I got the idea they'd just as soon punch me if the captain wasn't watching."
"You guys had each other. I didn't have anybody. Then we got sucked into the Delta Quadrant, and I got offered a field commission. Second chances happen, Lessing. I got a second chance, and I made the most of it."
Lessing shrugged. "Good for you," he said. "I got a dishonorable discharge."
Tom refused to give up. "And I got a prison sentence. Arrest, conviction, public shaming, shipped off to New Zealand in shackles. I assure you I've got the shame thing down. Look...you've seen the bad side of how Captain Janeway gets when she wants something. Maybe you could get the good side of that, too. You're right. We're the big heroes. Everybody thinks Captain Janeway is the greatest thing since the invention of warp drive. You've got to know a letter from Captain Janeway, and maybe one from Commander Chakotay too, would do you a world of good in getting your discharge upgraded from dishonorable to general. Your name could be cleared. With a general discharge, you could re-enter Starfleet if you wanted. If not, then at least you wouldn't have that hanging over your head."
Lessing shook his head and smiled ruefully. "You say that like you believe it could happen," he said, as if Tom was a child.
Tom shrugged. "Hey. Look. This ship had a convicted felon as its helmsman, a Maqui commander as its executive officer, and another Maqui as its chief engineer. Also an ex-Borg as head of Astrometrics."
"Yeah, well," Lessing said. "You're Janeway's favorites. I'm not, to say the least."
"Times change. At one time, it was pretty clear Janeway didn't think a hell of a lot of me, either. She tossed me in the brig once, too. Thirty days on the Tuvok train." He chuckled and shook his head. "I haven't always been her favorite. But I got a second chance. You can have one too. The door's open. All you have to do is walk through it. But it's got to be now."
The black man shook his head again. "There's no way Janeway would ever give the likes of me a second chance," he repeated.
Tom sighed. "Lessing, if you think I approve of what she did in that cargo bay, you're wrong. She was dead wrong, and she knows that. But she's not Satan incarnate. She's a person, just like you and me. She could help you get a second chance. But dammit...we don't have a monopoly on giving those out. You've got to be willing to give us a second chance, too."
"I'm not on your ship anymore," Lessing said sharply. "I'm not part of Starfleet anymore. I don't have to do anything."
Tom exhaled sharply. "You know what? You're right. I can't order you to come to Vulcan. I can't order you to do anything. I could get the entire bridge crew right here next to me, and none of us could make you do anything. But dammit...it's not about us. It's not about you. It's about Marla. I saw her get stuffed in a van myself. Thirty seconds and it was over. These guys were professionals, Noah."
He saw the other man's face tighten and his lips thin. There it was. That was his in.
"Give us a second chance and we'll see that you get one. I'll make sure you have those letters in your hand, signed by both of them, before you leave. You're free to say no. But what about Marla, Noah? Does she deserve a second chance? She's somewhere out there. Frightened. Alone. Captive. Whoever's got her, I don't think whatever they've got planned for her is gonna be good. You want to say no? Fine. You're your own man, Noah. What kind of man do you want to be?"
Lessing tensed and shook his head. A low, shuddering sigh emitted from his lungs. "You son of a bitch," he remarked. "I can see why you got picked for this."
"You want to call me that? Fine. Call me every curse in the book, if it makes you feel better. I got a book of Klingon curses in my quarters. I'll lend it to you."
Lessing smiled.
"You said you'd die for her, and I believe you," Tom said. "I'm not asking you for that. Just come to the ship, let the doc look you over, and answer a couple of questions. You'll get guest quarters – same as senior officers get. There's a reservation in your name for the night flight to Vulcan. The reservation number is four-seven-two-six-alpha. Do what you think is right."
"You Voyager people make me sick sometimes," Lessing said heavily. "You think you get whatever the hell you want."
"I want to see you get a second chance, Lessing. I want Marla to have one too. I'd like to see the both of you have a shot to get where I am. Give us a shot, Lessing. Come here and talk with us. You won't regret it."
Those cool light brown eyes studied him.
"I know I've said it," Tom said, "but it's not about you, and it's not about me, and it's not about anybody on this ship. It's about Marla. Do it for her, man. She needs you."
Lessing gritted his teeth. "Fine," he said unwillingly. "Though you're still a son of a bitch."
Tom grinned. "See you tomorrow. Son of a bitch out."