Chapter Three - Improvements
When B'Elanna entered the shuttle bay and appraised the Delta Flyer, it was like looking at the vessel with new eyes. Despite being practically-minded, Voyager's chief engineer wasn't blind to aesthetics. The sleek prototype really was a sight to behold, especially in contrast to the boxy, class-2 shuttle berthed beside it. And, the Flyer was even more beautiful underneath its tetraburnium hull. Too out of sorts to pay much attention during the construction phase, B'Elanna had poured over the schematics before breakfast and taken in the sheer genius of both the structural design and the systems buried beneath the novel flight controls. The conclusion she had come to was that it really was a masterpiece.
Running a hand over the ship's name, embossed in a bold, italic script beneath the port-side cockpit window, she rued that her input in the new shuttle's construction had been so limited and lacklustre. Hopefully, that was about to change, though how receptive the Flyer's chief designer would be to her suggestions at this stage was anybody's guess. She couldn't blame him if he didn't want to know.
Evidently, he was already inside the craft. She could hear the clatter of tools coming from the aft compartment, followed by a loudly uttered expletive. She rounded the port warp nacelle and peered in through the open hatch.
Tom was dressed in the same one-piece grey overalls that he favoured when working on his 20th-century car in the holodeck. Lights glowed where panels had been removed from the bulkheads to expose isolinear circuitry and power conduits.
He looked up as he detected her presence and smiled tightly. "Hey."
"Are you OK?" she asked, concerned at the way he was cradling his left hand in his right.
"Just jammed my thumb in a panel hinge," he explained, exposing the injured digit for her to view the damage.
"Ouch!"
"Yeah."
She stepped through the hatch, dumped the tool case she'd borrowed from engineering on the floor, and pulled an emergency medkit off the starboard bulkhead, opening it and locating the dermal regenerator. About to administer the treatment herself, she had a change of heart. The Doctor had been generous when he'd compared her medical skills to those of a first-year nursing student. Practice didn't always make perfect.
"Here," she said, passing the device to Tom. She watched as he ran it over the affected extremity with a trained hand, the redness around his thumbnail dissipating beneath the regenerator's invisible beam.
Unpleasant memories intruded. No doubt the significance wasn't lost on him either as he caught her staring, but his expression was unreadable. Placing the device back in the kit, he remounted it on the bulkhead before looking at her expectantly.
"So," she said, awkwardly, "do you need any help?"
He nodded. "Sure. Grab a hyperspanner."
"I heard Vorik and Seven fixed the structural integrity issue with their usual level of efficiency."
Tom confirmed with a nod and a half-smile. "And Chapman and Ashmore repaired the transporter control circuitry. I'm nearly done tweaking these relays, and then I'll be ready to move on to something else."
"I have a few ideas for improvements," B'Elanna told him, adding quickly, "but if there's something you wanted to prioritise . . . ?" There was a tenuous line between showing enthusiasm and overstepping her bounds, and she was anxious not to cross it. Not today. She'd spent every free minute yesterday contemplating her recent actions and priming herself to be composed and forthcoming.
"Well, the thruster controls could be a lot more responsive. And the impulse engines get through deuterium like it's going out of fashion. Still within the limits of what Starfleet would deem acceptable for a regular shuttle, but," a trace of a smile formed on his lips, "the Flyer's no regular shuttle." The smile fully formed. He patted the bulkhead fondly.
B'Elanna nodded. "All right. So, which do you want to work on first?"
Tom paused to consider, still seeming a little surprised at her appearance and maybe the degree of interest she was expressing. "Let's start with the thruster controls. They're easier to access."
B'Elanna gathered the appropriate tools and diagnostic equipment. They moved forward to the cockpit, and Tom removed access panels from the floor behind the ops station, exposing the requisite control circuits.
"So," he queried with evident curiosity. "What sort of improvements were you thinking of? Are you saying there are flaws in my design?"
"Well, firstly, we could install an additional bank of plasmadyne relays," said B'Elanna as she disconnected a cluster of power cells that was blocking her view. "Not that I'm criticising, and I know it'll mean having to re-assemble the phase inducers, but it'll be worth it for the extra quantum efficiency." She took the PADD she'd been working on in her quarters and passed it to him.
"Hmm," Tom said, squinting as he looked over her calculations. "You're probably right."
B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. "I know I'm right," she said bluntly, before clamping her mouth shut and hoping desperately that he hadn't taken offence. His welcome response was to break out in a wide grin. She unclenched her jaw to smile back at him.
"Then let's put that on the list," he said cheerily, looking through the other suggestions she'd drafted on the PADD. He gave an encouraging nod from time to time as he absorbed the data, his brow knitted in concentration, the corners of his mouth curling upwards intermittently.
"Of course, then we may need to think about installing secondary phase inverters," B'Elanna explained.
Tom looked up at her, practically beaming now. "This is great," he said, waving the PADD in front of him. "How about you talk me through in more detail later?"
"Sure," she said, blinking away the inexplicable moisture that was threatening to cloud her vision. What the hell?
She stowed the PADD in the tool case then hung back, deciding it might be best to let Tom take the lead with the thruster adjustments, passing equipment and offering her advice when he asked for it.
"Seven was right about using tetraburnium alloy for the hull," B'Elanna admitted, as, an hour later, they finished the task at hand and replaced the floor panels. "I don't know what I was thinking when I came up with titanium." She stared at a point on the bulkhead as if it might yield the answer. "There was no way that was ever going to work, not even with the unimatrix shielding." Reaching out, she grasped Tom's forearm. "But don't you ever tell her I said that," she warned.
He turned to her and settled his other hand on top of hers. "I wouldn't dare."
"It's really quite something." Her gaze trailed around the Flyer's interior for what felt like the thousandth time in an hour.
"Even the flight controls?"
"They're very . . . you," she stated, diplomatically. In fact, she was growing fond of the dials, knobs and levers that covered the instrument panel at the conn. But, it wouldn't do to appear too enthused with them, no matter how much making up she had to do. "I can't wait to see how she handles when we've made all the modifications."
"I'll ask the Captain if we can schedule some time to run a few more test flights and really put this baby through her paces," Tom said animatedly. "We still need to break in the warp drive as it is."
"And, if you want to check if the structural integrity issue is really solved, we should make another atmospheric entry. Another gas giant, or . . . I wonder how she'd handle underwater?"
He smiled and stared affectionately at the helm controls. "With the current specs, not well. But, with a few reinforcements . . ."
"Maybe we'll leave that idea for now," B'Elanna interjected, before he got too carried away. She'd forgotten about his love of the ocean. How could she have forgotten that? And what else had she forgotten? - How much she liked him holding her hand for one thing, sappy as that was. "I'm glad we're finally doing this, working on this project together."
He turned that look away from the dials and levers and onto her and said, "Me too."
They worked on, talking as they did so, about the Flyer, Voyager and their crewmates, both making the occasional, tentative foray onto emotive ground but neither committing to any direct onslaught.
When lunchtime came, they stopped for half an hour, grabbing something to eat in the mess hall – the something being Neelix's interpretation of corned beef hash, which comprised a copious helping of mashed leola root. Nevertheless, it tasted better than the usual leola root concoctions, and B'Elanna graciously thanked the chef for his efforts, taking care not to be too encouraging towards future experiments.
It was late in the afternoon, back in the cockpit of the Flyer, when she summoned the courage to bring up a subject that had been playing on her mind. They'd come to a lull in conversation, having brainstormed a whole series of further modifications, deciding that some of them would have to wait until a second Flyer-type shuttle could be constructed. Tom had visions of creating a whole fleet if time, resources, and the Captain, would allow it.
"You know," B'Elanna said, hesitantly, "all these years I've tried to deny my Klingon heritage, but it's my human side that's let me down this time."
Tom turned his head from the helm console and looked at her blankly. "How so?"
"If I were fully Klingon, I wouldn't have behaved as I have." She laughed mirthlessly. "Klingons don't get depressed." The final word was spat out like an obscenity.
Tom frowned, sitting back in the pilot's seat and swivelling to face her. "I don't believe that for a minute. At the most basic level, Klingon and human brain chemistry is very similar."
She knew that, of course. If Klingon and human brains were that different, then the two races would be unable to interbreed, and she wouldn't exist.
He continued, "It's just that Klingons won't admit to getting depressed. To Klingons any illness is seen as a sign of weakness. You know that."
She downed tools and leaned back against the port-side instrument panel as he related to her, "No doctors have ever even attempted to study psychiatric illness in Klingons. Society just wouldn't allow it. Think about it, what Klingon is going to volunteer for a case study? But as for not occurring . . ." He shook his head slowly. "On Qo'noS they'd just label it differently - as brain injury or neurological disease, or . . . I don't know."
He sat forward now, speaking more fluidly. "It's like human society until a few hundred years ago. Depression was an illness that people didn't want to acknowledge, an illness with a stigma attached to it. I guess, unfortunately, a little of that way of thinking has endured. But it shouldn't have. Depression is just as real as a broken leg . . . or the Tarkalean flu. It's not a failure of your human side or otherwise."
His words made some sense, but her hackles were raised. "How do you know all this?" she demanded, standing up straighter, crossing her arms across her chest before she knew she was doing it. "Have you been talking about me with the Doctor?"
"No," he assured her, a slight hardness edging into his voice, his palms raised towards her. "I made a point of looking up a few things up in the medical database and the historical library files."
"Oh," she said, eyes flicking to the floor. "Sorry." She had to stop jumping to conclusions.
"I wanted to try to understand," he explained. "I wanted to find out how best to help you. I do know what it's like to lose people you care about . . . not under the same circumstances, but . . ." He shrugged his shoulders as his words trailed off, seeming to be at a loss now for what to say, after her paranoid interruption.
"Sickbay to Lieutenant Torres," chirped the Doctor's voice through B'Elanna's combadge.
She cursed. "What time is it?"
Tom glanced at the chronometer in the instrument panel. "1745," he told her, with a sympathetic grimace.
B'Elanna smacked her combadge. "Torres here."
"Forgetting something, Lieutenant?"
Biting her tongue before she yet again said something out of turn, she breathed then answered, "I'll be right there, Doctor. Just give me a few minutes."
She turned to Tom and rolled her eyes. "I have to go, but I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Have fun," he teased. She flashed him a mock scowl and ascended the ramp to exit the cockpit. Reaching the top, she turned back around.
"Anyhow, I don't think we can fix everything in a day, can we?" she said.
He looked up at her, fixed those brilliant blue eyes on hers and remarked solemnly and sincerely, "We'll take as long as we need."