Author's note:
Well, here's an update – work and kids have been keeping me busy, but here's a moment in which I got this chapter done. (Some chapters come easy, some come hard, this is one of the latter.)
This fic does indeed draw on the DS9 episode 'Dr. Bashir, I Presume', which also had Voyager's own Robert Picardo playing Dr. Zimmerman. I thought that episode was very good, but I didn't like the ending – apparently, a couple minutes worth of off-screen negotiations between Bashir's father and a Starfleet judge, and presto, Bashir was off the hook from a pretty harsh dilemma. I wanted to take a closer look at the idea,so here we are. There will be an explanation of how Kessel managed to avoid being detected as an Augment in the next few chapters, but obviously Bashir got away with it.
The next few days should have been a great weight off Tom Paris's chest, and for the most part they were.
The morning after the away team had been beamed back to sickbay, Captain Janeway had arrived in sickbay bearing a large tray containing sealed beakers full of a thick gooey liquid. She had placed it down and loaded hyposprays with the contents, carefully labeling each one with the name of the crewman for whom it was intended. Slowly, and carefully, they had gone from biobed to biobed, infusing the cloned blood cells into the sickened crew.
Tom had treated B'Elanna and Harry. That much he was obligated to do. It seemed odd to him that this was all there was to it. No complicated procedure, no scanners, no surgery; all he did was fill the hypospray with orange goo, inject it into one, then go and get the other hypospray and do the other. Sure, he knew all the hard part had been done in the biolab, but still, was that all there was?
For a few minutes, he had sat and waited with them. It occurred to him that somewhere down in the biolab, there must be a beakerful of B'Elanna on a table somewhere. There would be a cloned duplicate of B'Elanna's thymus down there, merrily growing new T cells at an accelerated rate. What if it didn't just grow T cells? What if it was growing a whole new B'Elanna down there? What if it got out and started running around the ship?
It would have helped if he'd been able to sleep.
Kessel had remained silent and withdrawn throughout the procedure, and Tom hadn't paid her a whole lot of attention on that first day. It hadn't been anything personal. He'd been vaguely disappointed that Captain Janeway had more or less ignored her. He, at least, could claim that his wife, daughter, and best friend needed him. Captain Janeway was supposed to be everybody's captain. But that had been a very minor thing; the first day's concerns had been B'Elanna and Harry.
He still wasn't sure, looking back, how long it had been in real, objective time. It had seemed like centuries to him. He had sat there, staring at the scanners until his eyes blurred, willing the numbers to change with all his might. After ten minutes or so, they'd get another round of cell infusion. Then he would wait, feeling his nerves dance on edge, waiting for something to happen.
When it finally had obliged him, it had started quietly. He'd been hoping that lights would flash and sirens would go off and B'Elanna and Harry would both get up and the doctor would come over and announce that the virus was no longer present in their bloodstream. If it had been a Captain Proton serial, perhaps he could have gotten the Heal-O-Matic and made them well in a flash.
Reality hadn't been so dramatic. After what he'd sworn had been several decades, B'Elanna's body temperature had ticked down half a degree. A few minutes later, another half. When he'd realized it, he'd looked over to see Harry's was dropping at a similar rate. Their hearts slowed down to a more normal rate, and scanning had shown their viral load was dropping. The white blood cell cavalry had arrived, and it was having an effect.
He still had other patients to keep track of, but he kept an idea on the two of them as much as he could. He'd been infusing Chakotay one more time when he'd heard a faint click. It repeated after a few moments, then sped up. Click, click, click.
He turned around and was overjoyed at what he saw. B'Elanna's eyes were open, and she was fumbling at the latch holding the sensor palette over her torso. She couldn't get the latch completely open; it was snapping shut at the weak efforts of her fingers: click, click, click. She wasn't completely awake, but the sight of her staring glassily at the latch and trying to pick at it was easily the best thing he could've ever hoped to see. It took only another moment to finish Chakotay's cell infusion. The hypospray tumbled to to the floor as he ran over to his wife.
"B'Elanna!" he said.
Her eyes rolled towards his, sleepy and tired.
"Tom?" she muttered, and coughed. "What happened? Let me out of this thing...," she trailed off, picking at the latch. He opened it and pushed the wings of the sensor palette back.
He grabbed her hand, and it turned to clasp his weakly.
"You were sick," he said, and swallowed. "You were sick, it was some virus in that stupid insect, but it's all gonna be all right, my God, it's so good to see you awake, I can't tell you, I--," He cut himself off before he started sounding like a total idiot. For a few moments he simply tried to breathe and be there for her.
B'Elanna's eyes fluttered for a moment. "The...the baby?" she asked. Her voice sounded powerless and drained. He fumbled for the sensor controls and ran a quick scan, staring at the screen. He already knew that the baby hadn't been affected by the virus – at least, in any way he could see. He'd already run at least a dozen scans in the past few hours alone.
So he just sat with her and reassured her for a while. Harry recovered consciousness maybe an hour laterr. Paris sat with them, and just enjoyed the fact that they were alive and recovering. And he forgot all about Ensign Erika Kessel for a while.
The next two days were long and busy. Captain Janeway was trying to figure out whether to risk another away mission or look for dilithium elsewhere. With three bridge officers in sickbay, a lot fell to those who were still standing. Once he was done with his duty shift, he went to sickbay to visit with his wife and his friend. After sitting with them for a while, he would have a quick, rushed meal in the mess hall, and then hit his cabin for some shut-eye. It was an exhausting routine, but it was all worth it: they were going to be okay, and in the end he'd get through this. That was a great weight off his chest.
And now a day was ending. After another long day and another long sickbay visit, Tom Paris entered his quarters. His cabin was empty and silent as a tomb without B'Elanna there, and her absence hit him anew. That bunk was looking pretty good, though. The terminal on his desk was flashing a message. He sat down and touched the screen to pull it up.
From: Kathryn Janeway, Captain/USS Voyager
To:Thomas Eugene Paris, Lieutenant JG, Flight Controller/USS Voyager
Subject: Notice of Selection
You have been selected to serve on a council of officers to determine the eligibility of Ensign Erika Kessel to remain in Starfleet. Allegations that she has been subjected to illegal genetic enhancement have been made. This council will investigate these allegations and determine appropriate action. Please see Commander Tuvok or myself with questions.
Paris groaned, the sharp sound cutting the silence of his quarters. He sat down and stared at the screen for several long moments and tried to compose his thoughts. Like everything else over the past few days, his thoughts were a big snarled mess.
He didn't want to be part of this council. The whole thing struck him as stupid. For one thing, Kessel had already admitted she was an Augment. As curious as he might be about how she'd ended up here, he didn't think it really mattered. What was the purpose of the hearing? Just to satisfy some stupid official regulation? If Captain Janeway had been more of a by-the-book captain, he might have understood, but she'd bent rules in the past – in some cases, she'd forced the rulebook into contortions worthy of a circus. She'd given him a chance, and Starfleet rules didn't exactly smile on the decision to put a convicted felon as fourth in command. She'd given the Maquis a chance. According to the Almighty Rulebook, Chakotay and B'Elanna and all of them ought to be riding back to the Alpha Quadrant in the brig, not the bridge. For that matter, Starfleet rules would have preferred a decision to shoot Seven of Nine dead than to bring her back to humanity – the Borg weren't exactly on Starfleet's most-favored-race list. So how come she couldn't cut Kessel some slack?
Well, there was only one way to find out, wasn't there?
"Computer, locate Captain Janeway."
Bloooop. "Captain Janeway is in the messhall," the computer informed him helpfully. He glanced at the chronometer. She was pulling a late night, wasn't she?
Paris stood up and headed out. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say, or what he was going to do, or if this was even a good idea. All he knew was that he didn't like it one bit. For a moment he thought that this was the sort of thing that was going to get him in trouble.
But that hadn't ever stopped him before, now had it?
He headed to the mess hall, trying to think of what he ought to say. His brain felt like a sodden lump in his skull. Words just wouldn't come. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Maybe a night's sleep was what he needed. But there was part of him that rebelled at that idea, just as he'd rebelled all his life. Somebody had to speak truth to power.
The mess hall was quiet and almost abandoned; only a few crewmen catching extended dinner. The captain was at a table by herself, looking over a PADD, fortified with a mug of coffee. She glanced up at him as he came in. She looked wan and tired; she'd been pushing herself as hard as the remaining bridge officers. He swallowed and felt his stomach churn. This wasn't going to be pretty.
"Good evening, Tom," she said. "I thought you'd be in sickbay."
"I was." He tensed. "I...I see I had a message from you when I got back to my quarters."
Captain Janeway nodded slowly. "Kessel."
"Yes." He strove not to fidget. Tension hung in the air, almost palpable.
Janeway shrugged. "Did you have a question?"
Paris took a moment. "Actually, yes," he hedged.
"All right," Janeway said.
"Why?" he asked. "The whole thing seems silly. She's an Augment, so what? She didn't do anything, and there are plenty of people on this ship who did."
Janeway nodded. "That's true," she said patiently. "You're confusing this with a criminal hearing. It's not. It's a question of eligibility standards, which Ensign Kessel does not meet. It's not punitive."
"Kicking her out of Starfleet isn't punitive?" Tom asked.
Janeway set her jaw. "No," she said curtly. "Not when she doesn't meet the standard to begin with."
An unpleasant memory swirled unbidden into his mind: himself at twelve, sweating over a calculus textbook. Math had never been his strong point, and he'd really been struggling with the honors calculus class his father had demanded he take. He'd asked his father to drop the class, pointing out that he'd qualified in the Junior Atmospheric Glider Club a year before most kids did. His father had simply stared at him unforgivingly. You'll need this to get into the Academy. There's a standard, Tom. Meet it.
Then he blinked, twenty years and untold light-years spinning back to the present, and he knew what he had to say.
"I don't like the idea," he said. "It's not at all what Starfleet is supposed to be about. We've got Klingons in Starfleet – B'Elanna, and there's a full Klingon officer on the Enterprise, I think. We've fought wars with the Klingons. We've had battles with the Ferengi, and I heard somewhere there's a Ferengi at the Academy now. So why get all bent out of shape about Augments? You gave me a chance, and the Maquis, and Seven – why can't you give Kessel that chance. This is a witch hunt, this is wrong, and I don't want any part of it"
He'd thrown down the gauntlet. Was she going to pick it up? He might have bought himself another thirty days in the brig. The captain studied him for a long moment over her mug of coffee, and her eyes were cool and calculating. Might be time for that brig visit after all.
When Janeway spoke, her voice was softer than he'd expected.
"Lieutenant, I realize the situation with Torres and Kim has been...very stressful for you. You look exhausted. I've tried to make allowances for that. And I think your intentions are good. But frankly, you're insubordinate and out of line." She shook her head gently. "I'm trying to be understanding...but when it comes down to it, Mr. Paris, I'm the captain, not you. I don't have to justify my decisions to you."
"I think it's wrong," Paris repeated.
"You're entitled to your opinion," Janeway said patiently. "For one thing, you should know that the ban on the genetically enhanced has been in place for a few centuries now. The rule is there for a reason. We don't tinker with our genes. We learned the hard way."
"She didn't play with her genes," Paris maintained. "Someone else played with her genes. It's not fair to hold her responsible for that."
Janeway nodded. "True...to an extent. All the same, she knew she wasn't eligible to join Starfleet. She obviously found some way to beat the bioscanners. Not only that...we had to find her out. She never came forward, not once in seven years. I don't care for that. This crew has been alone in the Delta Quadrant all these years and all we've had to rely on is each other. I don't expect anyone on this ship to hide their abilities from me."
"So the fair thing to do is kick her out?" Paris pressed. "There's got to be some other way."
Her eyes flared at him. "Mr. Paris, I'm not warning you again. Watch your mouth."
He sighed. "I'm sorry, Captain, I just--,"
She cut him off. "You're overstressed, and understandably so. You are also a bridge officer on this ship, and when I call on you to do your duty, I expect you to do it, even if you may not like it. Is that understood?"
He swallowed, realizing he hadn't gotten himself anywhere – except back in the soup, where he always seemed to end up. "Yes, captain," he admitted.
"All right. Get some sleep. Dismissed."
He got up, feeling defeated somehow, and left the mess hall at a brisk trot. Somehow, he had managed to only get himself in trouble right alongside Kessel. All he'd wanted to do was make the captain see. She'd given him and so many others a chance – why couldn't she do it here? Because she was mad Kessel hadn't told her of her unpopular genetic status? Because Kessel had figured out some way to beat the bioscanners? Okay, he allowed, that last might warrant some kind of punishment, but permanent banishment seemed unduly harsh.
Back in his quarters, the computer was quite helpful in providing him the exact Starfleet regulations regarding genetically enhanced people. It was not helpful in providing him what he wanted, which was some basis for his position. It was as Captain Janeway had said before: pretty cut and dry. Persons who have been genetically enhanced are not eligible to serve in Starfleet. A commanding officer who has reason to believe that an officer or crewman under their command has been genetically enhanced shall convene a council of officers to determine the genetic status of that officer or crewman. If the council determines that the officer or crewman has been genetically enhanced, the commanding officer shall immediately discharge them from further service and formally separate them from Starfleet.
All of his research indicated the same thing: that as far as Starfleet went, the genetically enhanced need not apply. He didn't like the idea one bit, even after getting bawled out by the captain. Just because it was legal didn't mean it was right. The idea ran counter to everything Starfleet was supposed to stand for. Starfleet was supposed to be about looking beyond what people were. It was a matter of principle.
Principle, he mused. Funny, that. In his prior life, he'd never really cared about principles. His new beginning had given him a place on Voyager, and the respect of his fellow officers that he'd worked so hard to earn. He'd never really stood up on moral grounds, except for the Moneans, and that had bought him a thirty-day jaunt in the brig. With his checkered past, the cloak of the moralist sat badly on his shoulders. Captain Janeway had a lot more claim to the moral high ground than he did. Chakotay and B'Elanna had both stayed true to their principles. Even Harry had more of a right to claim the pulpit than he did.
But there it was, pure and inescapable: it was wrong, and if nobody else was going to stand up, then he would.
That wasn't all there was to it, he supposed; there was a little self-interest there too. If Captain Janeway could give Kessel her walking papers solely for what she was, then it was possible that other Starfleet officers could be just as unforgiving towards other Voyager crewmembers for what they'd done – people like himself, his wife, his friends.
He checked on the Starfleet regs regarding shipborne hearings, and that gave him something to go on, at least. Voyager wasn't going to be referring any personnel problems over to the Starfleet Bureau of Personnel or Judge-Advocate General anytime soon, so it would be a shipborne hearing. Feeling a bit more confident, he cleared his throat. "Computer, locate Ensign Kessel."
"Ensign Kessel is in crew quarters, deck ten, section sixteen," the computer said serenely. Paris blinked. When had she been discharged from sickbay? He hadn't even noticed. Some field medic. All the same, it didn't matter. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment and took a moment to figure out what he was going to say. Then he tapped his combadge.
"Paris to Kessel."
It took a moment before she answered, sounding surprised and a bit distant over the comm. "Go ahead."
"I want to talk to you. Do you have a minute?"
Another moment's hesitation. She'd be thinking about what she should say; whether or not he was going to get her in worse trouble than she already was. He knew the feeling a lot better than she did.
"I have time, yes," she said guardedly. "I'm...confined to quarters right now. Medical leave."
He paused. "Are you contagious?" Just after he'd said it, it occurred to him that if the illness was contagious, he'd have keeled over from it long ago, since he'd been spending at least four hours a day sitting right next to two infected people. He smiled at his own error.
"No," she said abruptly. "Not unless I bleed on you. It's blood-borne."
"Okay," he said. "You want to do this tomorrow, or what?"
"It doesn't matter," Kessel said stiffly. "Now is fine. I have little to do. What is this about?"
"I want to talk to you, and not over comms," he said. "See you in ten."
The ship was quiet as he went; it was the middle of a duty shift and the halls were deserted. Good thing, he supposed. Here his pregnant wife was in sickbay and he was paying a visit to a female ensign; whatever would people think? But whether or not anyone believed it, his intentions were pure.
As he approached Kessel's door, it wssshed open before he could do anything. He stopped, nonplussed, and stepped up to the doorway. The lights came up as he stood at the door.
"I heard you coming," Kessel said thinly, sitting at her desk. She still looked pale and sick; he supposed she was still recovering. "Come in. What was it you wanted?"
"I, uh...I wanted to see how you were doing," he said.
She observed him for a moment as if he was an interesting alien specimen. "You could have asked that over comms," she pointed out. "All right, I guess. Enough that the doctor discharged me." She watched him warily. "I got the notice from Captain Janeway. There's going to be an inquiry."
"I know," he said.
"I asked you not to scan me," she said archly.
Paris nodded. "Yes, you did. Three other people were dying and we needed answers. Look, though...I helped get you into this mess. I'll help get you out."
She digested that for a moment, watching him warily. What was grinding away in that genetically enhanced brain of hers? He couldn't tell. Her face was blank and didn't give a lot away.
"How could you get me out of this?" she asked. "Come down in your Captain Neutron rocketship and save the day with a laser beam? That's not going to help."
"Probably not," Paris agreed. "It's Captain Proton, but anyway. No, Ensign Kessel, you don't need Captain Proton, you need a defense counsel. Believe me, I am the ship's expert on when someone needs defense counsel. That's what I'm here for, Kessel. I'm volunteering to defend you at the hearing."
Kessel shrugged and threw up her hands. "What good would defense counsel do? I am genetically enhanced. I am an Augment. What are you going to do, say that I'm not?"
Paris smiled and shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Challenge the ban. The last case was a hundred years ago, Kessel. I looked it up. Times have changed, people have changed, and Starfleet can change. We'll make it."
Kessel raised an eyebrow in a rather Vulcan gesture. "You are going to defend me?"
"Better," Paris vowed. "I'm going to defend you, I'm going to win, I'm going to overturn the ban on the genetically enhanced, and you're going to keep your career in Starfleet. Count on it."
She chuckled. "You don't lack for confidence, do you, Lieutenant Paris? You're talking about changing a rule that's in place for two centuries."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do," Paris said. "Because it's wrong, and I'm right."