Contest: ENTER An Ocean Ablaze

AN OCEAN ABLAZE
A "Roads Not Taken" story by Oddish

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following story is set in my "Roads Not Taken" alternate timeline. To be concise, Tuvix's request to live was honored, Seska didn't get a chance to defect to the Kazon, the Year of Hell wasn't wiped from history, the Doc got a name, and Voyager went generational. And as a result, some events in Voyager's journey unfolded differently...

The following takes place about 2-1/2 years after "Three Reunions", and the same amount of time before the original "Roads Not Taken".

Lieutenant Tom Paris tried to look as nonchalent as possible as he hurried down the corridor that led to the Delta Flyer's bay. To his credit, he did a pretty good job of it, thought the person waiting for him inside the beefed up shuttlecraft. Had he been walking alone, no one would likely have suspected that he was up to no good. However, his efforts were nullified by the aspect of the young Monean who was walking along behind him, nervous as... how did the humans put it again? "A kitten in a room full of rocking chairs." Had Tuvix or the captain or any of their subordinates been monitoring the corridor, they would have likely known immediately that something was up. The watcher laughed. Anyone who had been watching the young helmsman for the last few hours would have known that he was going to do something ill-advised. However, Tuvix was concocting yet another dish made from the fresh Monean fish he had access to, and the captain was in the ship's nursery with her son.


Oblivious to the fact that he was being constantly watched, Tom peered into the shuttlebay. "It's clear," he said. "Come on."


As Riga scurried in and he let the door shut behind them, Tom thought about the events of the last few days. Finding the incredibly improbable phenomenon of an ocean floating in space. Taking the Flyer on a near-suicidal crash dive to find out what secrets lay in its lightless depths. Revealing the truth to the Moneans, and his frustration upon realizing that their leaders intended to let their ocean destroy itself rather than act to fix it. Finally, consulting with the like-minded Riga, and coming to a decision. He had no doubt that the captain would try to stop him, that she might even be willing to blast the Flyer into oblivion. But ever since he had seen that big blue ball of water floating in space, he had been captivated by its unique nature. His childhood dreams of the sea had come back to him in a flood, and he had been amazed to feel joy and wonder and other things he hadn't felt since a year before, when he had watched the torpedo casing containing B'Elanna's plasma-scorched remains recede into the unfathomable depths of space.


This was still in his mind as he unsecured the Delta Flyer's hatch and stepped into the shuttlecraft... then froze as he realized that he wasn't alone. Most of the interior lights were off, but there was enough ambient light to reveal a shadowed figure occupying the pilot's seat. The distinctive odor of red leaf tea reached his nostrils a moment later, and he realized immediately who had caught him. It wasn't as noxious as the fish juice that she was typically sipping when they reported to sickbay for morning training sessions, but it was still pretty much undrinkable to most non-Cardassians. "Seska."


Seska brought up the lights in the craft, and gave him that arrogant smile that had made everyone on the ship want to smack her even when they still believed her to be a Bajoran Maquis member. "Hello, Tom."


Riga looked perplexed. He had assumed that he and Tom would be carrying out this highly illicit operation alone. "Who's this?"


Tom sighed. "Riga, meet Seska."


"Who's she?"


"That's... well, complicated," Tom said.


"Complicated" was a worthwhile word to describe the relationship between Seska and the Voyager crew. Though she was a Cardassian spy who had infiltrated Chakotay's band of guerillas, she had quickly realized (along with the rest of the cell) that Voyager was her best chance of getting home. However, where the rest of the Maquis had bought into Janeway's "the Prime Directive is more important than our lives" philosophy in a big way, Seska had decided that gaining allies was more important than following principles. To that end, she had spent two years throwing covert technological bones to the Kazon, and had only been caught when the ship had taken an unexpected backtrack. She had promptly been confined to quarters, and might have remained so indefinitely if not for an enigmatic race called the Krenim, and their year-long efforts to destroy Voyager (and countless others). The ship had been blasted to near ruin by their relentless attacks, and Janeway had had no choice but to release Seska from confinement. With the holographic doctor offline, her training in multispecies field medicine (thoughtfully arranged by the Obsidian Order to make her more appealing to the Maquis) was too essential not to use. And by the time Dr. Shmullus was up and running again, the captain had realized the value of having an Order-trained spymaster available.


"Well, you caught me," Tom said resignedly. "What happens now? You call the captain? Get even further in her good graces?"


That had indeed been Seska's intent, and indeed her hand was on the way to the Delta Flyer's comm when she got a good look at Tom's face. Since they had frequently worked together in sickbay (especially when Dr. Shmullus was gone), she had gotten a front row seat for the emotional devastation he had experienced when B'Elanna's charred corpse had been borne in. Yes, he had continued to eat and breathe and do his job after that. And yes, he had his close friendship with Harry Kim and seemed to get some enjoyment from his shifts in the ship's nursery. But he wasn't the same, not really. Not until he had sailed the Delta Flyer into the depths of the Monean ocean. At that moment, he had really started to come back to himself... but that was over.


Anyone who knew Cardassians understood that they were far more complicated than Federation propaganda gave them credit for. While they could certainly be as treacherous as any Romulan, as brutal as the worst of the Klingons, and ruthless enough to make a Ferengi jealous, they also had an amazing capacity for compassion and empathy when they allowed it to surface. And sometimes when they didn't; Seska could see Tom's soul shriveling and dyng inside him as his only chance to save the ocean evaporated before his eyes. And it was enough to stop her hand before it could activate the comm. Instead, she let out a sigh of exasperation. "Are you two idiots completely intent on getting yourselves killed?" she queried. "Or would you consider an alternative solution?"


Tom felt a wave of confusion smash over him. This was not the response he had expected. "What kind of alternative solution?"


"Come up to my office and I'll show you," Seska said.


Tom nodded. He was completely screwed anyway, so there was no reason not to see where this went. "All right."


Seska's "office" was a previously unused chamber down on Deck 13, not far above the very bowels of the ship. It was dimly lit, the way Cardassians liked it, and currently quite warm. Seska normally lowered the temperature when the two misfit humans who constituted her primary staff were present (though she kept the lights low; it seemed a fair compromise), but they were not now. Tom commented on this: "Where are Jonas and Harren?"


"Back at their usual duties," Seska explained. "The Monean database wasn't much of a challenge."


"Challenge?" Riga queried.


Tom explained, a bit apologetically. Part of Seska's normal procedure at every planet they visited was to analyze their computer systems, anbd crack them if possible. If the people on the planet proved hostile, she and her people could use the ship's computer to launch cybernetic attacks at their military or general infrastructure. Janeway was aware of what she did, and detested it, but had reluctantly instructed Seska to continue doing it. With Voyager's combat effectiveness vastly reduced by the Year of Hell, she could not afford to be the idealist she had once been. And with the ship's company now including her husband, their son, and a dozen other small children, she was ready to be ruthless in their defense.


"So... you could get the refineries to blow themselves up right now," Riga said.


"I could have a nice little virus in your hands in five minutes," Seska assured him. "However, since I'm assuming that our goal is to save your people instead of cripple them, we need to make some changes." She indicated the two other workstations. "Riga, is it?" Riga nodded. "I need everything there is to know about those refineries. And Tom, I need you to pull the data on the Mark IV deuterium fusion plants they use to power them. Those workstations are tied into the Monean data grid."


Riga turned to his work. Tom paused long enough to ask one question: "Why?"


Seska understood the gist of the question. She carefully thought out her response. It would be counterproductive to admit that she was acting because she felt sorry for him, Cardassians and humans were both proud people. Finally, she admitted: "Because I know what it's like to want to get something done, but have to deal with a bunch of stupid rules. Any more questions?"


Tom turned to his work. "No, ma'am."


Due to the limit on number of characters per page, this story will be posted in several chunks...

 

Two and a half hours later, a far more frazzled looking threesome made their way to the transporter room, which was fortunately untenanted at the moment. Tom watched the door while Seska handed Riga a locally produced data module she had acquired somewhere or other, containing the malevolent fruits of their labors. "Here it is. You'll need to get it into the systems of all the machines you plan to affect within the next four hours."


"Why so soon?" Tom queried. "It's set to go online shortly after Voyager leaves, isn't it?"


"Because the virus will need time to propagate through the system," Seska explained. "If it doesn't, the effects could be unpredictable. It might do nothing, or it might..."


"Could we transmit it ourselves?" Tom wanted to know.


"Of course, if we wanted everyone in the Ocean and on Voyager to know that we were responsible," Seska said. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather avoid getting thrown in the brig for violating the Prime Directive."


"She'd probably demote us, too," Tom remarked.


"She might demote you," Seska said. "In case you didn't notice, I technically don't have a rank." Similar to Seven of Nine, Seska was a civilian specialist. She was expected to obey the person in command of the ship, and the crew were expected to obey her in matters that she was expert in, but she had no authority elsewhere.


"What about Riga?" Tom asked. "Will he be able to cover up his part in this?"


"Unfortunately, no," Seska said. "It would have taken us at least five hours to build a Trojan Horse. Crewman Harren could have done it in two, but he'd also ask a lot of questions."


"I don't mind doing more work," Tom said.


"But I'm due in sickbay in twenty minutes, and you and Harry are doing Captain Proton," Seska reminded him. "And if we make excuses, that could implicate us when they investigate this."


"But it's not fair to Riga," Tom complained.


"It's all right, Tom," Riga assured him. "I want them to know that I did this. It's the only way I can get them to listen."


"But you could get in all sorts of trouble."


"He'll be all right, Tom," Seska said. "The Moneans don't have a death penalty, and they don't use torture in their interrogations. Mr. Riga can expect to spend a long time in prison, and the prisons aren't exactly comfortable, but he won't be harmed."


"If it'll help save our world, it'll be worth it," Riga said. "Besides, they'll eventually realize that the refineries were destroying this world. Maybe they'll let me out then."


"It still feels wrong, though," Tom said.


"We're helping him save his home from destruction," Seska reminded him. "We won't do him any good by martyring ourselves."


Riga laid a hand on Tom's shoulder. "Let me do this, Tom," he said. "You've done your part. It's time for me to do mine." He stepped onto the pad. "Now energize, so I can get started."


Tom nodded and activated the transporter, and he vanished. They stood in silence for a few moments, then Seska turned to Tom. "You'd better get ready to meet up with Harry. And for crying out loud, act natural. It won't do Harry's conscience any good to have to tell Tuvix and the captain you were acting strange, when they question him."


Tom sighed. "I understand."


*~*~*~*

Next Day

When Voyager had been designed, it had been envisioned as a deep space exploration craft, without the amenities of a Galaxy Class. This included a total lack of facilities for civilian family members, especially children. With only Naomi present, there had been little need for adaptation. However, Captain Janeway's unexpected pregnancy two and a half years before had triggered a sizable wave of marriages and subsequent births. Soon after, a nice-sized chamber on Deck 8 had been selected for the ship's nursery facility, and the parents and other volunteers had gladly stepped forward to take shifts manning it. Tom and Harry, though neither was married or a parent, still were happy to volunteer for a shift. Seska was exempt from this particular duty, since some of the parents were dubious about trusting her with their offspring. However, children onboard meant pediatric patients, and her exceptional way with the children made her Dr. Shmullus's preferred person for routine examinations.


Tom brought over the child she had indicated her need to have a look at, a little boy by the name of Mason Mills. The Year of Hell had taken a full sixth of the crew, and while no children had died or been orphaned, little Mason had lost his mother. His father, Warren, was doing the best he could as a single dad to a one-year-old, but he sometimes had trouble remembering things like doctor visits or booster shots, hence Seska's presence in the nursery. Tom placed the youngster gently on the table normally used for changing or dressing the kids, then remained as Seska carefully scanned him. She kept a running commentary as she did so: "Let's see... bones are strong, heart looks good, very healthy brain development, digestion is working quite well... matter of fact, I think Uncle Tom's going to have to change you after we're done here."


"Wonderful," Tom remarked, rolling his eyes.


"And you are eighty-six centimeters, top to bottom, and 14.9 kilos." Seska tsked at the last number, which was a bit over the norm. "I think you and Daddy have been taking too many trips to Hallie's Sweet Shop." Hallie's was a program Tom had created for the kids and parents, a recreation of a candy store from the early 20th century. The sweets on display were holographic, but if you asked the counterman to give you some, the replicators would materialize the real deal on the countertop. "Maybe your Uncle Tom can talk to him, recommend a holodeck program that involves less munching and more running around."


"I think I know a few," Tom assured her. "Warren's looking a little chubby himself, a bit of exercise might do him some good."


Seska stashed her scanner and produced a hypospray and placed it against the thigh of Mason's stretchsuit, then pressed the button to administer the melange of vaccine boosters that Shmullus gave each of the children. Since hypostrays were less painful than needles, there was no explosion of tears, but a few sniffles, which Tom easily defused by rubbing the youngster's back. "Hey hey hey, it's all right. Wasn't so bad, was it?" He then turned his glance to Seska and lowered his voice so that no one could hear them (except Mason, who wouldn't blab on them because he didn't talk yet). "Shouldn't we have heard something by now?"


"Relax, Tom. Nothing will have happened yet. Nothing detectable anyway."


"When?" Tom queried.


"If we're going to know at all," Seska said, expertly packing her scanner, depleted hypospray, and other gear into the pockets of her plain black coverall. "We should hear something within the next thirty minutes. Either way, you're not going to change anything by getting overly stressed."


"I know that," Tom assured her.


"You need to just act natural," Seska reminded him. "We've done our part. If Riga's done his, we should know soon." She smiled a bit nastily. "In the meantime, I believe you have a job to do." She indicated little Mason. The smell from his posterior had filtered through his clothing, giving credence to her words.


"Right," Tom said as she left.


*~*~*~*

Monean Ocean - About the Same Time

The Monean oxygen extractors were built on simple, robust, and reliable technology. Most notable was their fuel source: like most reactors of their type, they ran on deuterium, an isotope of hydrogen that had an extra neutron in its nucleus. They kept themselves supplied by the simple expedient of filtering water from the ocean and splitting it into hydrogen and oxygen. Plain hydrogen, unsuitable for fusion unless you had a star to handle the job, was bled back into the ocean. Deuterium was pressurized and pumped into a small holding tank that fed the reactor itself. From there, it entered the magnetic containment field at the center of the reactor, where a high intensity laser heated it to the necessary several million degrees necessary for fusion to occur. Then, the deuterium began smashing itself together and turning into helium, which released enormous quantities of energy. Soon enough, the laser went offline, and continuous infusion of more deuterium into the core ensured that the reaction was self-sustaining. As long as the fuel kept coming, the reactor could run at anything from 2.6 percent capacity (anything lower, and the core temperature dropped too low and the reaction fizzled out) to maximum safe power: if the reaction got too powerful, it could overwhelm the terawatts of magnetic field that contained it.


Normally, the refineries did not have to run at anything close to full capacity. There were enough of them that they could easily meet demands. Which was why the crew immediately knew that something was wrong when the deuterium infusion suddenly jumped from 40 percent of their maximum safe level to 105 percent. They hurriedly tried to dial it back down, and nothing happened. The foreman of the crew ordered a full shutdown, which would have been a hassle because restarting the unit would have taken hours, but it didn't matter because the shutdown procedure did not engage. The reaction at the core, which fueled suns and sent starships careening through the galaxy at unimaginable speeds, began to spiral out of control. It was only a matter of time before it became too powerful for the magnetic field to contain.


At this point, the workers realized that something was very wrong, and they ordered the refinery and the surrounding area evacuated. A handful stayed behind to try one last measure for regaining control, or at least reducing the severity of the disaster. The refinery's tanks were full of pressurized deuterium, which would be quickly ignited when the field went down. If they could vent them into the ocean, however, they would disperse harmlessly in the water. Seska's initial creation would have completely disabled this mechanism as well, turning the unit into a massive thermonuclear bomb. The modified version allowed them to set the emergency venting sequence in motion... but only one of the four valves would operate, so the gas was bleeding off at only one-quarter the normal speed.


The foreman ordered the remaining crew to the last evacuation shuttle still in the blast radius, and told the pilot to get as far away as possible. If the containment field failed before the deuterium was gone, the remaining fuel would go up in a nuclear fireball that could be kilometers in diameter.


*~*~*~*

Voyager

Tom knew in his head that an object you pick up does not get exponentially heavier the longer you carry it. However, the last fifteen minutes had made him question that postulate. Little Rachel Porterman had been in a rather insecure mood when her mother dropped her off at the nursery that morning, and had promptly displayed her sentiments with a massive display of waterworks as her parent departed. Tom had managed to calm her down by picking her up and holding her, but any efforts to ease her to the floor had resulted in her tightening her small arms around his neck. And although he knew she normally weighed in at about twelve kilos and change, the youngster was starting to feel almost as heavy as a little girl-sized neutron star fragment.


At least, he reflected, her diaper wasn't stinky. Not yet, anyway.


As he was pondering the notion of which would be more painful, the continued burn in his arm muscles or the aural bombardment of her bawling, the ship's comm came online. "Lieutenant Paris. Report to the bridge immediately."


"Aye, captain," Tom responded, depositing his pint-sized burden on the floor despite her protests and heading for the door. There were enough other adults in the room that the kids would not be anywhere near unsupervised.


When he emerged from the turbolift on the bridge, he surveyed the situation. The red alert lights were not on, so there was no imminent danger to Voyager. However, a glance at his station indicated that they had already reversed course. While he had a good idea what the reason for this was, he carefully feigned ignorance. "What's going on?"


"We just got a distress call from the Moneans," Janeway said. "It seems that someone has sabotaged their oxygen processing plants. If they can't get them offline in ten minutes, they're going to explode."


"Setting optimum course," Tom said. "What's our top speed?"


"Janeway to Mr. Carey," the captain barked. "How much speed can you give us?"


A brief silence on the comm as Carey did some calculations. Following the extended fight with the Krenim, Voyager had barely been able to do warp five. He and his team had been making repairs for the past few months, but without B'Elanna's brilliance and creativity, it had been slow going. Finally, he responded: "We can do Warp 7.8 indefinitely. I think I can get us up to 8.4 for an hour or so."


"How long to the Ocean at Warp 8.4?" Janeway asked Tom.


Tom calculated in turn. Since the Monean Ocean was the only object in orbit around the rogue red dwarf that kept it in a liquid state, he had gone to warp as soon as they cleared orbit, and had been going away from it at a steady Warp 6 for over two hours now. "Half an hour, at least."


"Do it," Janeway said simply. Tom nodded, and felt the ship shudder as it accelerated past its cruising velocity.


"We won't be on time," Chakotay reminded her from his seat next to hers.


"I know," Janeway said. "But if those refineries blow, it'll be a disaster for the ocean and the people who live there. If it's as fragile at Tom and Riga said it was, it might be destroyed completely. They might need us to aid in rescue efforts, even if we can't do anything else."


Ending below...

 

At Seska's instruction, Riga had uploaded the virus to three of the refineries, all of similar configurations. In two of them, it worked exactly as intended: the last of the stored deuterium fuel bubbled away harmlessly into the water, leaving only what was filtering through their system. As soon as the tanks registered zero fuel, the infusion jumped from 105 percent to the maximum possible setting of 150, and the explosive boost to the already barely controlled fusion reaction was the anvil that broke the camel's back. The magnetic field collapsed, and the expanding ball of million-degree plasma voraciously devoured all of the deuterium in the fuel lines, fusing it into helium in microseconds. There was enough of it to create a low-kiloton thermonuclear blast, but the refineries were big and heavily shielded, and their duranium outer hulls bulged violently outward and cracked in several places, but managed to contain the destruction. However, their internal equipment was not so fortunate: the unimaginable heat reduced it to homogenous slag. In other words, the precisely configured virus had worked to perfection: though no external harm was done, neither plant would produce so much as an O2 molecule ever again.


Things didn't work as scheduled at the third refinery. Everyday wear and tear from salt corrosion had damaged the emergency purge valves, causing the open one to only vent fuel about ninety percent as fast as the internal systems believed it was. Though Seska's program had allowed for some imprecision, it hadn't allowed for enough: a good three or four percent of the deuterium was still in the tank when the exponentially increasing reaction finally overloaded the magnetic field. The resultant nuclear fireball was hundreds of kilotons in intensity, and no way even a duranium shell was going to contain such a blast; it was reduced to metallic splinters. Billions of liters of water was flashed into superheated steam all around. The area had been evacuated, so no Moneans died, but hundreds of assorted fish were incinerated. However, it was a big ocean, and that blast was the only significant one. And, since it was a fusion reactor, radiation was almost nonexistent. By the time Voyager emerged from warp and virtually screeched to a halt in orbit of the watery ball, an initial damage assessment was already complete, with cautious optimism the rule of the day.


*~*~*~*


The call came a little after 2200 hours, two nights after Voyager's return to the ocean. Tom had been in a sort of limbo during that period, going about his duties on the bridge or in sickbay, eating meals in the mess hall, visiting the holodeck when he could get an hour free. And all the while wondering what exactly was going on. Despite the generous supply of Monean fish that he so enjoyed cooking with, Tuvix had hardly ever managed to get time in the kitchen, suggesting that his security duties were consuming nearly all of his time. Tom and Dr. Shmullus were the only ones covering sickbay, indicating that Seska's services were similarly prioritized. And, while the generally misanthropic Harren was rarely seen regardless, Michael Jonas was also missing. And according to Naomi, who was in the nursery a lot despite being far older than the other kids there, all the security officers kids were staying late. Clearly, Voyager's experts on security and espionage were both quite busy lately.


Anyway, Tom was debating whether to replicate a nightcap and head for bed, or to go to the mess hall and see what was happening there. Then, the decision was taken out of his hands. "Janeway to Paris," the comm said.


"Yes, captain?"


"Please report to my ready room. Immediately."


Tom felt his guts turn to ice. He had known the captain for over four years, and when she used that tone, the news was not going to be good.


When he entered the ready room, his mood was not improved to see that Seska was already present, looking quite solemn. He swallowed hard, then stepped up beside the Cardassian. "Good evening, captain. Uhh... how can I help you?"


"I'm sure you're aware by now that several of the Moneans' oxygen refineries were destroyed by acts of sabotage," Janeway stated.


"Uhhh, yes," Tom said. "And I was under the impression that they caught the saboteur. And, he admitted everything." This was indeed true. Even as the wreckage of the destroyed refineries was still sizzling from the residual heat, Riga had gone to the leaders and admitted what he had done.


"Yes, he did," the captain said idly. "And he has steadfastly insisted that he acted alone. However, Mr. Tuvix and the local authorities have studied Mr. Riga's dossier. He's a marine scientist, completely untrained in cybernetics. And yet somehow, he was able to produce a highly sophisticated computer virus. One that managed to completely neutralize all three refineries, but with relatively modest collateral damage."


"I analyzed the virus. It was impressive work," Seska said. "And I would know."


"Yes, I know," Janeway said. "Just as I know that whenever we come to a new world, one of the first things you and your team do is study their computer systems, just in case you have to sabotage them."


"Need I remind you, the electronic warfare tools I created here have been shared with both you and the Moneans," Seska said irritably. "If I had launched an electronic assault on them, the results would have been far more extreme than a few wrecked refineries."


"And both Tuvix and I interviewed Crewmen Jonas and Harren," Janeway said quietly. "They both admitted that the Monean security protocols were almost laughable in their simplicity. You could have crafted that thing yourself in a matter of hours."


"Very true," Seska said, and if she wasn't really bored and irritated, she faked it expertly. "But why would I bother? These idiots had made the decision to destroy their own world. Even you agreed that that wasn't our problem."


Janeway's face hardened, whether it was at Seska's Cardassian callousness or her pointing out the main flaw in any case against her, there was no way to know. Either way, Tom swallowed hard. Marriage and motherhood had certainly softened the captain over the last two years, but she remained a formidable leader, and not to be underestimated or crossed. "Tom did not agree with you."


"Well, would you like me to question him?" Seska queried sweetly. "I'm sure that if he was involved, he would tell me."


"That would be a bit of a conflict of interest," Janeway stated. "According to our internal tracking records, the day before the incident, you spent approximately half an hour in the Delta Flyer. Then, Tom met you there. A short time later, both of you went to your office, where you spent several hours by yourselves."


Seska's face remained unreadable, but she cursed internally. She had not bothered to take off her commbadge before hiding in the Flyer, because her plan at the time had been to capture Tom, not aid him. Maybe the Ferengi really were right about good deeds going unpunished...


"All right, I admit it," Tom said. "I was going to take the Delta Flyer and attack the refineries. Seska talked me out of it."


"I knew that if he tried, you'd probably overreact and blow him to bits," Seska stated, her slippery mind quickly adapting to the change in direction. "And he's the only other medical assistant we have onboard."


"I see," Janeway said. "And the three hours you spent together in her office afterward?" She did not mention Riga; since he had not had a commbadge, his movements could not be tracked retroactively.


"In exchange for not tattling on me, Seska 'requested' that I create a custom holodeck program for her," Tom explained.


"Really?" Janeway looked interested. "What kind of program?"


"A recreation of the Lakerian Health Spa," Seska explained. "It was a place I used to go to when I was a girl. It was actually right next to the Amusement Center. So, my father would take my brothers there, while Mother and I would, as you humans say, pamper ourselves."


"I can show you the program if you like," Tom said. "It's really starting to look authentic."


"There's also the matter that you were the last person to see Mr. Riga before he left the ship," Janeway said. "His transport was initiated by you, anyway."


"Yes. We were friends," Tom said. "And he was just as upset about the ocean as I was. When I changed my mind about helping him, I guess he found someone else who would."


"That's a very compelling story, Mr. Paris," Janeway said softly.


"Enough!" Seska snapped. "Captain, with all due respect, do you have any hard evidence that either Tom or I were involved in this affair? Any at all?"


"No, Ms. Seska, I don't," Janeway said icily. "But having worked with you for some time, I know that when you're involved, there almost never is any evidence."


Tom remained silent. There didn't seem to be anything to say.


"Very well," Janeway finally said. "The Moneans have decided to take us up on our previous offer to teach them alternative methods of oxygen extraction. They figure that since they have to rebuild their systems anyway, they might as well build safe ones."


Tom nodded approval. "What about Riga?"


"He's under house arrest, for now," Janeway said. "I wouldn't worry about him too much, honestly. I spoke with the Monean authorities regarding him. They know that sooner or later, the truth of the matter of the refineries will come out. When the people realize that his actions saved their home, they'll demand his release." That was why he wasn't in prison, Janeway knew from her conversations with the leaders. If he was harmed or ill-treated during his incarceration, the political fallout upon his vindication would be severe.


"Well, that's good news, captain."


"Well, I'm afraid you'll like this news somewhat less," Janeway said. "I'm putting together two engineering teams to assist the Moneans in developing the new technology. They'll each need one person for logistical support. I'm assigning the two of you to those positions. This will be in addition to your standard duties, of course."


Tom made a face. 'Logistical support' basically meant that he and Seska would be spending several hours of standing around either doing a whole lot of nothing, or going somewhere or other to deliver or obtain supplies, or other painfully boring work. Like any job on the ship, it could be assigned to anyone with the qualifications for it (and the only qualifications for logistical support was that you had to be breathing), but was usually dropped upon either crewmen who were low on the seniority ladder, or visiting cadets as part of their traditional hazing. And addng that to his regular duties meant that there were fifteen- or sixteen-hour workdays in his future, for however long to took to get the Moneans equipped and up to speed on the new technology.


Janeway noted Tom's dismayed reaction with a hint of satisfaction, then eyed Seska. The Cardassian simply nodded to her, with a faint hint of her trademark annoying smirk. She understood that Janeway knew that she was guilty, but could prove nothing. The only way to save face was to do what she had done here, and administer a completely unofficial punishment to the guilty parties. And Seska had enough sense to take the win. "Very well, captain," she said.


"Aye, captain," Tom supplemented.


"The engineering teams will meet in Cargo Bay 3 at 0500 hours," Janeway finished. "So, the two of you might want to get to bed as soon as possible. Dismissed."


FIN

 

Wonderful portrait of the Seska we could have had. And STV would have been so much richer for it, instead of just writing her out as a heavy. Nicely done! rbs

 

Thanks... one of my favorite expressions about the inherent complexity of Cardassians is that watching one on the weep at the death of his child's pet wompet, you can't imagine him cutting down an enemy without blinking... but he will.