Chapter 10 – Leaning Forward
"So, Captain Riker. If what we heard from Mr. Paris' testimony is correct, the idea to intervene in the Trifid conflict was his?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"And you just went along. At his instigation."
"No. The decision to carry out the intervention was mine, and I take full responsibility for it. I am the Captain, and as such I discuss possible courses of action with my officers. And yes, they often come to me with ideas, based on their particular expertise, for courses of action we may wish to take. Sometimes we carry them out, other times we do not.
"But the accountability for any decisions taken stops with me, and me alone. So, contrary to your implied suggestion that Commander Paris alone should bear the responsibility for any alleged breach of the Prime Directive in the Trifid, he should not even be before this … court."
"That's a very noble sentiment, I'm sure, Captain, but as your Executive Officer Commander Paris is responsible for carrying out the actions that you say … you … decided on. Accordingly he is properly before this court. Moreover, the Commander's record in these matters speaks for itself, loud and clear. I will thank you for not questioning the appropriateness of these proceedings again."
"That's fine, your honour. But I want it to be perfectly understood that Commander Paris did nothing for which he lacked my authorization. If we both must be judged, then we must be judged together."
"Indeed, Captain. But what I want to be perfectly understood by you, Mr. Paris and the jury is this, Captain: Based on your own evidence, when you allowed Commander Paris to talk you into this … this venture, he made it abundantly clear to you that he knew you would be breaking the law. He did what he did deliberately and willfully and fully aware of the consequences - because he had done it before. Not believing that he was right, or that you were right, or that you had the law on your side, but knowing full well that he was wrong, and taking a calculated gamble that this court or a court like it would somehow find a reason to excuse your unlawful actions. It is that arrogance which this court will not stand for, and which will be reflected in any sentence this court will administer in the case of Commander Paris."
"Objection, your honour. You are providing summation and argument, not investigation. And you may not, under any circumstances, anticipate the Commissioners' ruling."
"Objection overruled, counselor. I am not anticipating anything. I am stating a fact."
+o+o+
"It's the particles in the nebula that we see as the black streaks." Harry was bent over a console in Astrometrics that was linked to the operational sensor system. His finger pointed at a series of readings taken between 11:05 and 14:30 ship time, while both he and Tom were looking intently at an image on an overhead screen, which Lieutenant Commander Cran, the Chief of Astrophysics, had called up in the centre of the lab.
The EMH, pleased that his discovery was finally receiving the proper attention, preened a little as he too studied the screen. He had not been programmed for astrophysics and stellar phenomena, but after seven years of multi-tasking in the Delta Quadrant he had certainly picked up enough to follow the conversation with interest. And so, although he was unlikely to mention it, he was grateful for the holo-emitter Tom had set up in Astrometrics to enable him to be present for the discussion of his discovery.
Cran nodded her affirmation of Harry's statement. "According to the sensor data, at the material time the ship passed through an area where the molecular dispersion patterns of the particles – the stuff that makes the Trifid such an ideal stellar nursery - are somewhat denser than in most areas. Carbon, silicon/oxygen compounds, iron, frozen water, carbon dioxide and ammonia. Not much denser than anywhere else, only by about 7 percent, but apparently enough to absorb the most radical forms of radiation, including all the ones beyond the theta band."
"And those particles halt bacterial growth?" Harry mused, only slightly intimidated by the lecture. "Remarkable."
"Not really," Tom said, his forehead creased in a light frown. Biology and biochemistry were not Harry's forte. "As Petra mentioned during the briefing a couple of days ago, the particle accumulations in the Trifid have been defeating our best sensors' ability to penetrate them; they reflect light as well. So it shouldn't be a surprise that they absorb or deflect the kind of ambient radiation that spurs on the bacterial growth. It's not the bacteria themselves that's being affected, it's the radiation that causes them to grow that's being reduced."
"That's right," Cran said. "By those black streaks. Like I said when we got here, there are parts of the nebula that basically act like a curtain."
Tom stared at her, dumbstruck.
A curtain. The same image he had used to shield his mind from unwanted intrusion by the light beings now seared its way into his mind with the force of a photon torpedo.
You draw a curtain to keep out the light.
Of course.
Tom hit his comm badge, harder than usual, ignoring the protest from his still-recuperating chest. "Paris to Torres." "Yes, Tom."
"B'Elanna, is it possible to modify the Bussard collectors to draw in a number of things at the same time? Things like – what did you say, Petra? - carbon, silicon/oxygen compounds, iron, HO2, CO2 and ammonia – you know, the kind of stuff that's floating around in certain parts of this damn nebula?"
Silence, then, "I can't see why not. We used them on Voyager to collect plasma all the time. I forget exactly what I used to do the conversion then, probably a chunk of leola root and a replicated mousetrap, but I bet we have better materials onboard here."
Tom suddenly and fervently recalled just how much he adored his brilliant wife. "What about release. How do we vent what's been collected? In a targeted but sufficiently wide dispersal pattern? Guys, help me think here."
"It would probably help a little if we knew what it was you had in mind, Thomas Eugene Paris." It was hard to miss the slightly astringent tone in B'Elanna's voice as it came over the comm link.
Tom shook his head impatiently, his mind racing three steps ahead. Wasn't it obvious? "The K'rikian home worlds. They're being destroyed by the radiation caused by the emergence of the Lumen. If we could draw a curtain between those worlds and the asteroids where the Lumen are born …"
Realization dawned quickly on Harry's face and dissolved into a broad grin. He completed his best friend's sentence. "… then the K'rikian home worlds would be saved, they could stop mining the dilithium caves, and the Lumen's children wouldn't be killed."
"Exactly. Two birds and one great, big, pulverized intergalactic stone. The adult Lumen present no harm, they emit only as much or less radiation than our warp core, so they should be able to co-exist peacefully with the K'rikians. Or at the very least they should be able to ignore each other, happily ever after, and all that."
Tom felt a sudden lightness in his head, a sense of absolute clarity of purpose he had not felt since he had stepped onto the Delta Flyer in order to save a watery world from its fate.
"All we need to do is move part of one of those black particle strands into a place where it will do some good. And you and B'Elanna are just the kind of geniuses to make it happen," he added, his voice almost giddy with excitement.
"There's only one problem," B'Elanna chimed in. Tom turned, startled to hear her voice in the room rather than over the comm link. She grinned at him as she came down the stairs into the centre of the lab.
"I thought I'd come to where the action seems to be this morning. Since we're stuck in pretty much the same place where we were yesterday in Engineering, and the Doc seems to have beaten back the Vulcan measles sufficiently for me to have enough staff working on the warp core for once."
She smiled briefly at the gratified EMH, then turned back to face her husband. "And that's the real problem, in case you forgot. We're still stuck. It's all well and good to make plans to run the Bussard collectors and turn the Trifid into a Quadrifid by painting a new streak across it, but apart from a bunch of shuttles with limited capacity, we have nothing to work with. This ship, I'm afraid, isn't going anywhere to collect anything anytime soon. We'll be lucky if we make it to the wormhole on time."
Tom slammed his hand against the console he was leaning against. He hadn't forgotten, exactly, but he hadn't particularly wanted to be reminded, either. "Fuck." He took a deep breath. So close. The solution – in their grasp, but …
"There's another problem," the Doctor chimed in, happy to finally have something substantive to contribute to the discussion. "Apart from the language being used in this lab. Although the Commander might consider it a minor irritant, based on his record in these matters."
Everyone turned to look at him, Cran feeling slightly left out, not having the same shared past as the other four. Tom raised a questioning eyebrow.
"The Prime Directive. In case you forgot. Again."
Harry looked at Tom uncomfortably. Despite the increasingly relaxed relationship between Tom and the EMH, the latter couldn't seem to stop needling his former assistant about something, anything, anytime the opportunity offered itself. Almost as if he had to prove to himself that Tom wasn't his superior officer, needed to keep him in his place a little.
Cran just stared at her XO, not bothering to hide her curiosity. She knew that he had - rather famously, in fact - "done time" in the past, but never bothered enough to look up the details.
Tom snorted, and proceeded to enlighten her. "What my friend the Doctor" – the EMH had the grace to wince a little – "has so kindly decided to remind me of, Commander, is the fact that while we were on Voyager I got demoted and spent time in the brig for having the audacity to try and save a planet that wasn't on the Federation's pre-approved list of places we are permitted to save."
"Oh." Cran felt a little embarrassed, having made her First Officer essentially bare his disciplinary file to her. That sort of thing was not usually considered a good career move, even if he didn't seem to be bothered too much.
"What happened … to the planet?" she asked, trying to deflect attention from her faux pas, while at the same time completely oblivious to the undercurrents of sorrow and anger that suddenly filled her lab. Inter-personal relations had never been her strength.
Tom's jaw tightened as painful memories flooded his mind – Riga, that beautiful blue world - and while he had no intention of shirking the question, he was grateful when Harry stepped in quickly to spare him having to answer.
"It was a world entirely made of water, right to the core, held together by an ancient containment field. Truly amazing, one-of-a-kind. Teeming with life. The race that took possession of it towards the end … caused the containment field to weaken. Tom … the Commander tried to stop the process – I'm glossing over some details here, I'm sure he won't mind – but he was stopped. The planet now no longer registers on long-range sensors. We assume that containment failed catastrophically and that it has ceased to exist."
Cran slowly nodded her understanding. "That's awful. And what a crock." She looked at Tom. "Sorry, sir, but that's what it is, the great Prime Directive. A crock of … you know. In my humble opinion. But I'm just a scientist. What do I know of politics or law?"
"What indeed," Tom sighed. "Of course, you wouldn't get any disagreement from me." He looked at Cran thoughtfully. If this dry-as-a-bone, no-nonsense scientist felt this way, maybe there was hope for the Federation yet.
Tom suddenly remembered the discussion he had had with the Captain during their first meeting, the dinner that had turned out to be a job interview. Riker had mentioned that he thought views towards the Prime Directive were indeed changing.
How about Will himself? He took a deep breath. "Alright, you guys go back to our warp core problem; seems to me we've done all we can here for now and I trust you, Doc, are satisfied. I'm going to have a chat with the Captain."
His nonchalant final statement left hanging in the lab, Tom turned to B'Elanna. With his own eyes he sought hers, sinking into their deep brown depths, calling on the bond that linked them now so strongly. Willed her to remember.
An image, black and white, a fantasy setting without miracles on offer. Railing at an unjust fate, an unnecessary catastrophe, being caught in the web of rules, trapped like a fly.
Her voice, in memory. What about Tom Paris? His decision, then, breaking free.
His punishment. Those walls closing in. Loneliness. For both of them.
B'Elanna knew what her mate wanted from her, what he might do again, would do again today, if only he could. His honour would demand no less.
For all the things that made him who he was, for all the reasons why she loved this man, she nodded her support, again. In these things she would give it, always. Help him pay the price. Pay it herself.
"Just remember," she said softly, "even if you get the Captain onside for this crazy plan – and I can see it in your eyes, you have a crazy plan ready to go – we don't as yet have the means to execute it."
Harry, who was beginning to feel a little left out, as he often did when he watched Tom and B'Elanna do what he somewhat jealously called their 'Klingon mind meld thing', decided it was time to add his two slivers of latinum to whatever 'discussion' his friends were having.
"About the core," he said. "I know you asked the Lumen whether they knew how to fix the warp drive," he said, "and they didn't have the technical wherewithal, let alone the vocabulary, to tell you how. But fact is, they went in, they came out, and it died. Maybe we could get one of them to go in again? Undo what they did?"
+o+o+
Tom hesitated before requesting entry into the Captain's ready room. He had already dismissed the notion of taking the Flyer on his own; B'Elanna was right. With the shuttle's limited capacity he could be collecting particles for months and not weave a curtain tight enough to do what needed to be done. There was simply no point in going the lone wolf route this time.
But he knew what he would be asking of Riker; knew he could be removed from his position just for putting the question.
Knew that he would be putting a burden on his Captain's shoulders whatever his answer would be, and the responsibility he would feel if it should be "yes".
But Thomas Eugene Paris also knew the far greater responsibility that would weigh him down for the rest of his life, were he to decide not to ask the question at all.
Trust. It all came down to trust.
Tom breathed out slowly, chimed the door, entered silently. Stood and waited until he knew he had Riker's full attention.
"Captain, I think I found a way out of the problem between the K'rikians and the Lumen."
I, not we. Riker's sensors went on alert immediately. It was not like Tom Paris to lay sole claim to ideas. He always made sure contributions were credited, however minute.
Riker scrutinized his First Officer's face carefully, intently, as he listened silently and intently to the plan Tom described. A plan clearly conceived by his First Officer, but just as clearly based in part on the EMH's findings and Cran's corroborating analysis, and with technical specifications that had evidently been devised by Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres.
Riker became more and more aware that this should be a senior staff briefing, with each of these officers outlining their respective substantive contributions. Not a one-on-one with his XO.
It did not take the Captain very long to understand why no one else was present. Why Tom Paris made it crystal clear that what he was proposing was his own plan, his own idea.
It was a question of responsibility, not vanity. Protection and plausible deniability, for everyone but Tom Paris.
And William Riker, if he agreed.
"You want the Enterprise to intervene in the conflict between the K'rikians and the Lumen." Flatly stated.
"Yes."
"To intervene in a conflict not of our own making, between two species who are neither warp capable nor members of the Federation."
"Yes."
"In direct and knowing breach of the Prime Directive."
"Yes."
A breath, expelled.
"Your reason?"
"Because it's the right thing to do. Because everything I have ever known of Starfleet and the people who made it great tells me that when we have the means to protect two species from mutual annihilation, we have a moral responsibility to do so."
"The law says …"
"I know what the law says, Will. I've run up against it before. It's a law without a moral compass."
"You've paid a price for that view before, Tom."
"Yes, and that was for a wasted effort. If there's another price to be paid, it will be small one by comparison to what we can achieve here. Because we will have already won the prize that matters."
Blue eyes locked into bluer. "This time they won't just throw the book at you. You know that. I'd probably get off with a demotion, first offence and all. You …"
"Yes. I know."
"I can't let that happen. You're too good a commanding officer, Tom. Starfleet needs people like you."
Tom laughed, a little bitterly. "Are you so sure about that? Seems to me, whenever I get something good going, I manage to run up against a rule that just wasn't meant for 'people like me'. And here we have a rule without … how do I put this? Well, I'm married to a Klingon, so I'll put it this way: a rule without honour. And if I have to choose between that rule and the path of honour, well, I'm sorry, but that's not really a choice."
Riker stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You sound like a mixture between Picard and my friend Worf, Paris. I always hated it when the Captain pulled the 'moral duty' line on us, or when Worf fell back on his honour. Whenever they did either, it inevitably got us into all kinds of trouble."
Tom waited in silence; he knew Riker wasn't finished. He would be patient.
Was rewarded.
"Then again, doing the right thing can be painful, but also curiously liberating."
Tom straightened a little, responded cautiously. "Yeah. The brig was liberating, in a roundabout way. Taught me that I could live with the consequences of my decisions, and my choices. If I knew they were right. This is right."
Riker fingered his beard slowly, deliberately, as he stared out of the observation window. Times like this he found himself missing Picard's fish tank; as disconcerting as that spiky thing floating mindlessly around inside it had been, it gave you something to look at that didn't remind you of the problems that usually lay just the other side of the view port.
He turned back as Tom spoke again.
"The one thing when you keep breaking the law is, odds are that eventually you'll run into a good lawyer. Mine told me his favourite quote from an old case: 'Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.' You know, the great Jim Kirk lost his admiral's bars over a Prime Directive violation. Janeway didn't even get so much as a slap on the wrist when we got back, for saving a group of telepaths from the Devore. She got promoted instead."
"You're saying we might get away with it?"
Tom shook his head vigorously. "No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all. But Janeway did what she did literally about a week after I finished doing my time for failing Monea. Sure felt a hobgoblin biting my ass that day. But the more I thought about it, the less I felt like a failure. I felt like I'd set an example, in some way. Changed her view. And maybe others'."
Both officers retreated into their own thoughts again, messages delivered and understood. There really wasn't anything else to be said. There were only decisions to be made.
After a silence that stretched into minutes, Riker let out a long breath.
"Your lawyer friend. Let's give him a call when we get back to Earth. We may need him. In the meantime, what are we doing about getting the warp core back online?"