Prologue
"Enter."
Chakotay stepped into the captain's ready room.
"Are we still on for dinner tonight?"
"With personnel reports for dessert, of
course."
"Of course." He couldn't stifle a grin as he
took his accustomed seat in front of her desk.
"Unless you would prefer working on baby
shower plans instead. I understand Neelix has
been polling everyone coming into the mess hall
to come up with the best way to surprise
B'Elanna."
Janeway took a sip of her coffee. "I've heard
that surprising pregnant Klingons is one of
the best ways to live dangerously."
"According to the Doctor, we have a window of
opportunity between the third and sixth months
when pregnant Klingons are uncharacteristically
placid."
"Tell Neelix he'd better have the party soon,
then, just in case."
"I'll consider that an official order,"
Chakotay replied, chuckling at her mock glare.
Janeway smiled back at him and confided, "You
know, if this starts a baby boomlet, we might
need to redistribute crew quarters in the very
near future."
"I'm open to getting a roommate, Kathryn."
"I'll just bet you are," she drawled. Then she
changed the subject, right on cue. "More
important matters first."
As they discussed Voyager's latest supply
requisition list, Chakotay managed to keep his
mind on his work and a smile on his lips. It
was only after he left her that he admitted to
himself just how nice a roommate on a starship
could be, especially if it were the right
roommate. The right life mate, if he
eventually had his way. But that second
thought he'd keep to himself for now. As for
the first pleasant thought, it was a small
starship, but a very long trip.
Act 1
The first thing B'Elanna saw when she walked
into her and Tom's quarters at seventeen-fifty
hours was the table. It was covered with a
white tablecloth, and set with the red china
they'd replicated shortly after they'd married.
Two tall white tapers were lit, and a bottle
was chilling in a silver bucket.
She hadn't been paying much attention to the
time until Chakotay had stopped by
Engineering. She'd used her promise to get
home earlier as an excuse not to talk to him.
Still she'd completely forgotten about the
private celebration Tom had planned for
tonight.
"You're late."
B'Elanna turned as Tom came around the corner
from the dressing area. He'd spoken without
rancor, and he was smiling, obviously in a
happy mood. "I'm sorry," she said as she
dropped the several PADDs she was carrying onto
the small stand by the door. "A couple of
unexpected things came up in Engineering."
"No problem." Tom squeezed her shoulders and
kissed her on the lips in his traditional
greeting. She slipped her arms around his
waist briefly before he pulled back and gave
her a disarming grin. "I haven't actually
fired up the replicator yet."
B'Elanna managed a small smile in return.
"Nothing's spoiled then."
"Nope." Tom walked to the table and pulled the
chilling bottle from the bucket. "I
replicated a bottle of 2369 Dom Perignon,
syntheholic of course."
He'd replicated the same vintage on their
wedding night, and she'd definitely approved
of the choice. She silently watched him
uncork the bottle and pour the champagne into
two fluted red glasses.
"I was just going through the computer's
database on baby furniture," Tom said,
indicating the console on the desk with a
small jerk of his head. "I found a really nice
antique cradle. That's the first thing we'll
need to get, either a cradle or a bassinet for
her to sleep in when she's born."
B'Elanna nodded weakly in agreement as Tom
walked toward her again, glasses in hand.
"There are dozens of other things we'll need
too, but we'll have plenty of time to rearrange
our quarters and collect it all. Here."
B'Elanna took the glass he offered her, aware
again of the sheer enthusiasm that lit his
face when he talked about preparing for the
baby. For a moment wanted desperately to feel
that too, to be consumed with anticipation, to
be thinking of only those kind of innocuous
plans . . .
"A toast," Tom said, lifting his glass. "To
our daughter. May she grow up happy and
strong, and may her life be as wonderful as we
can possibly make it."
B'Elanna hesitated for only a moment before
clinked her glass against Tom's. That was
exactly what she wanted for their daughter
too. She took a quick sip, then walked to the
table and set her glass down. "Tom--"
"What's wrong?"
B'Elanna turned to find Tom looking at her
intently. "Nothing's wrong exactly . . ."
"B'Elanna, this morning you were a little
nervous, but you were happy. Now
you're . . .not." Tom frowned. "Are you feeling
okay?"
B'Elanna took a deep breath. It was now or
never. "I'm fine. But the baby may not be."
Tom stared at her, clearly nonplused. "What
are you talking about? This morning the
doctor said she was perfectly healthy."
"She is healthy, *now.* We need to consider
another procedure to make sure she stays that
way."
Tom slowly set his glass down on the table, his
expression troubled and wary. "What
procedure?"
His question gave B'Elanna the opening she
needed. What was important was that Tom
understand the risks inherent in their
daughter's mixed genetics, and the necessity of
this procedure to ensure her good health.
B'Elanna began to tell him what she and the
doctor had discussed, ignoring the stab of her
conscience as she deliberately left out most of
the doctor's objections.
Tom listened carefully to B'Elanna's
explanation, but he was still completely
bewildered when she finished. Her conclusion
didn't make sense, and he didn't know what to
think about the doctor. "Why didn't the
doctor say something to me, if he's seriously
concerned about this?"
"He's still working on the data. But once we
tell him that we're both in agreement--"
"I'm not in agreement," Tom said bluntly. He
shook his head vehemently and stalked across
the room, frowning at the starstreaks outside
their window. Then he turned and saw
B'Elanna's irate expression. He deliberately
took a conciliatory tone. "This doesn't make
any sense. Why would her mixed genes be so
detrimental to her health? Your health has
always been fine. Better than fine, in fact."
"Every case is different."
"Maybe," Tom conceded. "But even if there are
some minor problems, there's no way that
altering her genome so drastically could be
necessary. There are also ethical
restrictions involved--"
"Not if the alterations are therapeutic,"
B'Elanna said sharply.
"Nothing you've said convinces me it would be
justified for her health," Tom said. Not even
close, and he couldn't understand how the
doctor could even be thinking about altering
their daughter even for a moment. He took
several steps forward and put a hand on
B'Elanna's shoulder. She was stiff and
unresponsive, her expression unyielding.
"B'Elanna . . ." he massaged her muscles
gently,
trying to figure out how to reassure her.
"Maybe you misunderstood the doctor. Even if
he's researching the data, it's probably just
as a precaution. He wouldn't consider such a
drastic measure unless there was no other
alternative. Right now our daughter's healthy.
Considering your condition, it's natural to be
worried . . ."
B'Elanna shook his hand off her shoulder. "I'm
sick and tired of everyone telling me I 'don't
have to worry,' as if I shouldn't care about
my daughter's welfare! And now you're doing it,
too? Don't patronize me, Tom!"
Tom sighed, frustrated. "I'm not patronizing
you, B'Elanna. But you're blowing this out of
proportion."
"Are you a doctor, Tom?"
Tom stared at B'Elanna, momentarily surprised
at her sarcasm, then annoyed. "No, B'Elanna,
I'm just a lowly medic," he said, his tone
equally caustic. "But I do know that what
you're proposing would change our daughter
completely--her personality, her appearance,
everything about her."
B'Elanna shook her head. "She'd still be our
daughter, even if she looked less Klingon."
"But she wouldn't be . . ." Tom paused,
registering what she'd just said. "How do you
know what she looks like?" he asked, though he
immediately realized the answer. His eyes
widened. "You *saw* her."
B'Elanna's expression was defensive. "So what
if I did?"
"I'm glad you saw her, B'Elanna," Tom said
gently. He'd been hoping she'd give in. He'd
wanted her to share his joy at seeing their
daughter . . .
Except that B'Elanna didn't share his joy.
Finally--belatedly--it all came together for
him. "That's it, isn't it? You never thought
about gene resequencing *until* you saw her."
"That has nothing to do with it," B'Elanna
snapped.
"The hell it doesn't! You don't want her to
look Klingon!"
Her expression told him that his accusation was
on the mark, though he certainly felt no
satisfaction knowing it. He'd thought she'd
moved beyond this, and had truly begun to
accept herself. She'd taken comfort in her
last meeting with her mother in Grethor.
She'd even decided, albeit reluctantly, to
write back to her uncle on Qo'noS. So why was
this an issue again? "I don't get it."
B'Elanna turned away, quickly enough that her
arm unintentionally knocked one of the glasses
of champagne off the table. She seemed
barely aware of it as she paced to the bed and
back. When she looked at him again, her face
was set. "You don't know what it's like to be
a . . .mongrel."
The way she said that word stabbed at his
heart. "B'Elanna, you're not--"
"I've been called that, Tom," B'Elanna told him
harshly. "By humans and Klingons. Do you
think I want that for my daughter? Do you
think I want her to always have it thrown in
her face that she's different from everyone
else--or for her to never feel like she
belongs?"
Tom regretted that B'Elanna had felt that way
once, but it scared him more that she could
still feel that way. "B'Elanna, I know your
childhood was difficult. But you *do* belong
here on Voyager. There are lots of people
here who are different from everyone else--
Neelix, Chell, Seven, Icheb, Naomi--and
they're all accepted here. Our daughter will
be too. In fact, if you want to see what our
daughter's life will be like, just look at
Naomi."
B'Elanna was silent for a moment, and Tom hoped
she was considering his argument. Then she
asked pointedly, "And what about when we get
home?"
Tom started to say it wouldn't happen for a
long time, but he knew now that B'Elanna's
latest project might get them home many years
sooner than they'd expected. The funny thing
was, when she'd told him briefly about it
after the last data transmission a week ago,
he'd almost told her not to try so hard. Glad
as he was to be in contact with his family
again, he didn't have a strong desire to rush
back to the place where his life had
completely unraveled, or to trade his life
here for a more uncertain future in the Alpha
Quadrant.
But that reluctance had absolutely nothing to
do with his daughter, as Tom would have told
B'Elanna. She spoke again before he could,
perhaps taking his brief silence as accordance,
"Don't you want to give our child the best
opportunity possible to be happy?"
Tom sighed. "Of course I do, B'Elanna. To me
that isn't changing who she is, and turning
her into someone else. How can she have the
best opportunity possible if *she* doesn't
even exist anymore?"
B'Elanna's eyes narrowed. "You're twisting
this, Tom," she said angrily, though there was
a tired edge to her voice now. "But you're
not going to change your mind, are you?"
Tom shook his head, and answered truthfully,
"No." He couldn't do it. "I can't consider
something I think is completely wrong."
B'Elanna's face shuttered, and Tom could
literally feel her withdrawal. "Then there's
nothing more to talk about."
"Yes, there is--"
"You got what you wanted," B'Elanna said
coldly, turning away.
She was wrong. He hadn't gotten what he wanted
at all. He anted her to be as happy about
the baby she was carrying as he was, and to
accept their child wholeheartedly.
"B'Elanna . . ."
She sat down stiffly on the couch and stared
out at the stars, not acknowledging him. Part
of him wanted to go to her and comfort her,
but an equal part of him was angry with her.
He wanted her to see what he saw when he
looked at their baby, and it hurt that she
could reject the daughter he was already
coming to love. He wished he completely
understood why, but he also knew B'Elanna
wasn't going to talk to him right now, and if
he forced her, it would just turn into a
shouting match. At the moment his own
emotions felt too raw to deal with that.
"I'm going out for a while. It will give us
both time to . . .think."
Though he'd spoken quietly, he knew she'd heard
him. She didn't respond. He looked at her
rigid form for several seconds, feeling
frustrated, angry, and confused. Then he
turned and walked toward the door.
Act 2
B'Elanna wanted to shout, or throw something,
but this wasn't a simple clash of tempers
where they had a rousing argument that cleared
the air between them, and then made up with
sex and soft words. So she ignored Tom when he
said he was leaving, and drew more deeply into
herself.
When she heard the door open she had a
momentary impulse to turn around and ask him
not to leave. If she did, she knew he'd stay.
Instead she remained silent as the door swished
closed again.
She turned then and glared at the door. One of
the things she'd always admired about Tom was
the fact that he stuck to his convictions, and
refused to bend to anyone else's will, even
hers. But right now that trait infuriated her.
The one time she asked his support, he refused
to give it.
She knew she wasn't being completely fair, and
that Tom wasn't disagreeing with her to hurt
her. He was truly happy with every aspect of
their daughter. He didn't mind his daughter's
Klingon attributes right now, but what about
later?
Another memory flashed into B'Elanna's mind, of
the camping trip she'd taken with her father
shortly before he'd left for good, and she
heard his voice clearly again--
"B'Elanna's changed lately . . .She's become
moody, unpredictable, difficult--just like her
mother . . .Everything's a fight . . .I'm not
sure I
ever had the constitution to live with one
Klingon, and now I'm living with two of them."
Her father had been talking to her uncle, but
she'd overheard his words--words that had made
her realize how he really felt about her, and
that explained why he'd left two weeks later
and had never looked back--because she was too
Klingon. B'Elanna jumped up from the couch,
and strode over to the small stand by the
door. She rummaged through the several PADDs
she'd brought with her to camouflage the one
that mattered. She pulled that one out and
stared at its blank screen without turning it
on.
Maybe all the research she'd done and scenarios
she'd considered over the past few hours would
become moot. Once the doctor studied the
available data and her baby's genome, he might
find a medical problem that would prompt him to
make the changes she'd requested.
B'Elanna winced. Was she actually wishing her
baby ill? She touched her stomach lightly.
No, she didn't mean it like that at all.
"I just want the best for you," she whispered.
"I just want to protect you."
She knew Tom thought he was protecting their
daughter too, and she wanted to trust that
response in him, to believe that everything
would be fine, and that history wouldn't repeat
itself. She wanted to let it go, but she
wasn't sure she could.
She walked to the bed and sat down. Then she
turned the PADD on and brought up an image--
the result of the data she'd been manipulating
covertly all afternoon. Deep in thought, she
stared the image and considered her
alternatives.
^*^*^*^
"Uh-oh," Harry thought as he stepped into the
mess hall for his beta shift dinner break. Tom
was sitting in the corner of the mess hall,
morosely dragging a fork through some sort of
limp gelatinous mass congealing on the plate
in front of him. Four glasses, all but one of
them empty, were lined up in the table's
trough. For Tom to be here like this, with
clear evidence that he'd been here for some
time, that meant his nice, romantic dinner
with B'Elanna must not have worked out as
planned.
Harry went to the replicator and with great
deliberation punched in his request for
macaroni and cheese with pleeka rind/tomato
sauce. As his dinner materialized Harry walked
slowly to the beverage server, pouring himself
a glass of fruit juice with care before
turning in Tom's direction. He wasn't going to
be able to delay talking with him any longer.
Strolling casually towards Tom's table, Harry
tentatively inquired, "What is that stuff?
>From the smell, it must taste as bad as it
looks."
Tom glanced up at his friend. "You've got that
right. It's something Neelix conjured up in a
weak moment of nostalgia. He must have been
pining over the lost joys of Leola Root
Surprise."
Harry grinned. Leola root was an ingredient
that was now mercifully unavailable to the
Talaxian cook unless he replicated it; since
it could no longer be grown in Hydroponics.
Harry's eyes traveled to another table, where
Icheb was avidly studying a PADD, sipping from
a glass of Borg "nutritional supplements" that
looked suspiciously like a chocolate
milkshake.
"Do you think it's a coincidence that the leola
root mysteriously stopped growing when Icheb
came on board?" Harry asked.
That drew a chuckle from Tom. "If it isn't, we
all owe him a week's worth of replicator
rations and our eternal gratitude."
Harry laughed along with Tom. "I'm glad we can
still grow pleeka in hydroponics. I've
developed quite a taste for it--and so has
Icheb, I've noticed."
"Pleeka Rind Casserole. After having it for a
week at a time when I was out of rations, I'm
sorry I can't enjoy it the way the two of you
do." Tom emptied the half-filled glass in front
of him. "Are you done for the night, Harry, or
is this your lunch break?"
"It's lunch. I'm on for the full shift
tonight."
Tom sighed. "Too bad. I was thinking about
borrowing your couch tonight."
"You know what Mulcahy said after he used it
when his cabin was being repaired."
"That he'd rather sleep on the floor than on
the lumpiest couch in the Delta Quadrant?
Yeah, I heard. Beggars can't be choosers,
though."
"OK--what is it this time, Tom?" Harry asked.
"It's the same old thing, Harry. That Klingon-
phobia she has about herself."
"She's a little sensitive about being part
Klingon, that's all."
"A *little* sensitive! Every time I think she's
finally over it, something else triggers it
all over again. This time it's 'our child, the
science lab project.' Let's strip out all the
Klingon."
Harry understood what had happened immediately.
"You know she had it rough as a kid. She wants
your baby to have an easier time."
"You're not saying I should let her have her
way, are you? Change the baby just because of
a few ridges on the brow?"
"Maybe you can let her know you're willing to
listen to her concerns. If you talk it over,
she might see she's over reacting. And there
was that one medical problem already. Maybe you
do need to make sure everything will be all
right to appease her."
"Appeasing isn't in a Klingon's vocabulary. Or
a half-Klingon's--even if she won't admit it."
"Well, my couch is your couch, if you're really
that desperate. It's there, even if I'm not."
"Lumps and all," Tom answered with an
exaggerated grimace.
"Lumps one way or the other."
"That's the truth."
"But at least in one case the lumps are worth
it, aren't they?"
Tom sighed. "Yes. But we argue a lot, Harry.
Sometimes it worries me. A little arguing and
then a little making up are fine for us, but I
don't think our child will understand."
"Maybe you can work on fixing that while she's
pregnant. Both of you are a little on edge
with the baby coming."
Harry never got a reply, since Icheb picked
that moment to approach their table and ask,
"How is Lieutenant Torres feeling?"
"She's okay," Tom said guardedly.
"And how is your daughter doing?"
"Daughter? How do you know the baby's a girl? "
"It's a girl!" Harry, said delightedly, too
swept up in Icheb's revelation to notice the
tensing of Tom's jaw.
"Lieutenant Torres requested information on
gene therapy and resequencing."
Tom's agitation seemingly disappeared, which
Harry did notice, with trepidation. On those
rare occasions when Tom became dangerously
angry, the calmer he seemed to those who did
not know him well--and Icheb had surely never
seen this side of Tom. Harry himself hadn't
seen it for well over a year.
"Treatments? For what?" Tom asked, his voice
becoming quieter, but more intense with every
word he uttered.
"Lieutenant Torres called me to ask several
questions about gene resequencing techniques.
She said she was working with the doctor to
correct several more problems he had detected
and that your daughter might need genetic
treatments before she's born."
"Did the doctor also call you about this?"
"Lieutenant Torres said she had offered to
consult with me while he pursued his own
research. Am I in error?"
"It's somebody's error, all right," Tom said,
so stiffly and quietly that Harry could barely
hear the remark.
"Removing so many of the baby's Klingon genes
is radical procedure. I thought you knew about
it. . . ." Icheb's voice trailed off in
confusion.
Tom shook his head. "Oh, I knew about it. I
just didn't think she would really . . . wait,
Icheb. What time did my wife ask you about
this?"
"At 1508 hours . . ."
"That explains it." Tom visibly relaxed.
"Don't worry about this any more, Icheb. We've
talked it over since then. The baby is fine
just the way she is."
Icheb looked even more puzzled. "You did?
Lieutenant Paris, you were here eating dinner
when I arrived in the mess hall. Lieutenant
Torres called me with another question just
before I walked in. I didn't hear you use your
comm badge."
The glasses on the table rattled alarmingly as
Tom jumped up, his eyes glaring sharply blue
in contrast to his face, which had suffused an
alarming shade of red. As Tom wordlessly ran
out the mess hall door, Harry confused Icheb
even more when he said, under his breath,
"I'll clean up, Tom. And that couch--I'll make
sure it's ready, just in case."
Act 3
As Tom pounded down the corridor towards their
quarters, he tried to calm himself. Most of
the time, he was the one soothing B'Elanna's
temper, but this time, he was the one who
needed it. When he started to gain control of
his emotions just outside their door, however,
the image of his daughter's face shimmered
into his mind. A surge of love mingled with
fear flooded into his mind. He wanted her just
the way she was, the girl who, he was sure,
would look just like her beautiful mother some
day. He couldn't let her be taken away from
him.
When Tom burst into their quarters, he saw no
immediate sign of B'Elanna. He cursed softly.
He should have called to make sure she was
still here. Just as his hand went for his
commbadge, he noticed the light under the
bathroom door.
His hand dropped to his side and he sat heavily
on the bed, feeling immensely relieved. She
was here. For a moment he'd thought--well, he
didn't know what he'd thought, but he'd been
unsettled by her absence.
He sighed, and the PADD resting in the middle
of the bed caught his attention. He glanced
at the activated display with trepidation,
after what Icheb had told him. A young girl of
perhaps twelve or thirteen was pictured on the
display. With her blond hair and blue eyes,
she looked a lot like him.
Icheb's words flashed into his mind.
"Lieutenant Torres requested information on
gene therapy and resequencing."
Tom's heart sank. It was just as he'd feared.
B'Elanna obviously had been doing more than
just thinking about redesigning their
daughter's genes, she'd actually started
working on it. If she'd already gone this far,
how much further was she planning to go?
The bathroom door slid open at that moment,
and B'Elanna stepped out, wearing a
camisole and silk boxers. Tom was relieved
that she obviously didn't plan on going
anywhere tonight.
B'Elanna turned and saw him, and her gaze went
immediately to the PADD in his hand.
"B'Elanna--"
"What are you doing?" she asked icily.
"What am *I* doing?" Tom waved the PADD at
her. "What is this?"
B'Elanna strode forward and snatched the PADD
from his hand. "This is none of your
business, and if you weren't reading something
private--"
"None of my business?" Tom shouted. "Now my
own daughter is 'none of my business,'
B'Elanna?"
B'Elanna stepped back slightly. "I didn't
mean that. And this is just a PADD. I was
reviewing the data, which I have every right
to do, in case--"
"In case what? You know there's no medical
justification for this."
"We don't know that for sure yet."
"That's not what you told Icheb."
"I needed his help! What was I supposed to tell
him?"
"B'Elanna, this data you've collected is moot.
The doctor would never agree to making these
changes, not unless he was reprogrammed or
something . . ." Tom stopped when he saw the
sudden change of expression on B'Elanna's face.
He couldn't believe it. "B'Elanna, you
weren't going to . . ."
"No!" B'Elanna blurted out, but from the way
she immediately shifted her eyes away from
him, Tom knew the truth.
"You were, weren't you? You were going to
rewrite the doctor's ethical subroutines so he
would change our baby."
B'Elanna started to shake her head in denial
but stopped. Staring past the table, still set
with the dishes for their uneaten supper, and
at the blank television set, B'Elanna massaged
her forehead as she collapsed onto the couch.
"I don't know," she admitted dully.
"Were you even going to tell me?"
"I don't know!" she said again, her voice
rising in anguish. "I don't even know if I
really could do it or not, Tom. Don't you see,
I just want to protect my baby!"
Tom stood over her silently for several
moments. Finally he sat down next to her.
"B'Elanna, talk to me. What is this really
about? What could make you want to do this to
your daughter?"
"I want her to be accepted, to be happy . . ."
"You can't completely control that, B'Elanna.
It doesn't matter who she is, you can't force
everyone to accept her or to love her. She'll
have to do that on her own."
"I can make sure . . ." B'Elanna stopped.
"Make sure what?" Tom prodded. "Tell me."
After a long, pregnant pause, she whispered, "I
can make sure her father always loves her."
Tom was speechless. When he found his voice,
he sputtered, "I *do* love her. Do you
actually think I'd love her any more if she
were blond and blue-eyed, and completely
human?" He shook his head. "There's no fine
print on the guarantee for me. I already love
her. Why do you think I wouldn't?"
"I'll bet my father said that once, too. And
look what happened!"
"Please, don't judge all fathers by what your
father did, B'Elanna. Or by mine, for that
matter. I'm not going to be like either of
them."
B'Elanna gave him a piercing look. "You and
your father may have had your differences,
Tom, but he loves you. He always has, and you
*know* it."
Tom was a little taken aback by her
indignation. Then he realized that her words
were true. He hadn't broken his habit of
being blase, and even cynical when he spoke of
his father, maybe because he was still afraid
their fragile reconnection would disappear
again. But he did know the truth.
"You're right, I do know it," he said quietly.
"His disappointment with me never had anything
to do with how I look--which happens to be
like my mother. The gulf between us was caused
by his reaction to what I did, and what I
became because of it."
"And he never stopped loving you, Tom, no
matter how much you both disappointed each
other. So you can't possibly understand. My
father loved me when I was little--but later,
when I started to look and act too Klingon, it
was a different story."
"I know your father left, B'Elanna, but that
doesn't mean it was because of you. Your
mother and he--"
"You don't know why he left."
"Your mother and he drifted apart, the usual
reason one parent leaves, and the marriage
dissolved."
B'Elanna shook her head vehemently. "He left
because . . .I told him to leave."
Tom frowned. That sounded ridiculous, but he
could see that B'Elanna was serious. "That's
hard to believe."
"Believe it!"
Tom listened while B'Elanna poured out her
story about the ill fated camping trip with
her uncle and three cousins that B'Elanna had
hoped would bring her and her father closer
together. Instead she'd found out he could
barely tolerate living with one Klingon, let
alone two.
As her tale painfully unfolded, Tom was
reminded forcefully of the fully-human
B'Elanna who had stumbled over part of the
story when they'd been held by the Vidiians.
His own B'Elanna had never looked more like
that distressed human being than now. He tried
to think of something that might comfort her.
"Sometimes people say things they don't really
mean just to let off a little steam," he
interjected. "Or they don't mean it the way it
sounds."
"You weren't there, Tom," B'Elanna said
harshly.
That was true. He hadn't been there. If he
had been, he might have punched John Torres in
the face for being so dismissive of his
daughter's feelings afterward, as B'Elanna
recounted her father's reaction.
"That was when I told him if he couldn't stand
living with Klingons, then he should leave.
Two weeks later, that's just what he did."
B'Elanna was hunched over, staring unseeing
again at the black screen of the television
set. Tom, dismayed at the bleakness of her
voice, touched her arm gently. "That's
coincidental, B'Elanna. He was already unhappy
in his marriage. I'm sure he didn't leave
just because you told him to."
"How do you know that?" B'Elanna cried out
softly.
"Parents split up all the time. That doesn't
mean he stopped loving you."
B'Elanna looked at Tom, her gaze as empty and
tormented as her voice. "Then explain to me
why he never called or wrote me again, why he
obviously didn't care anymore whether I was
alive or dead."
Tom couldn't explain; there was no good
explanation for a man to do that to his child.
Instead he thought fleetingly that one punch
wouldn't be nearly enough, and aiming for the
face would be higher than the man deserved.
But B'Elanna's father was back in the Alpha
quadrant, out of his reach, so Tom did the
only thing he could do; he slipped his arms all
the way around B'Elanna and hugged her
tightly. He was thankful she didn't pull
away. Instead she rested her head on his
shoulder. He felt her body shake and detected
the sensation of dampness on his shirt--odd to
say the least since B'Elanna rarely cried. He
started to stroke her back when the obvious
correlation between the story she'd just told
him and her dismay over their daughter's
Klingon genes finally hit him. He was the one
who pulled away and stared at her in
comprehension.
"You think I'll leave? Is that it?"
B'Elanna looked back at him, her eyes moist.
"He did."
"I'm not your father, and you're not your
mother. You can't compare their relationship
to ours."
"We fight a lot--like my parents did."
"I think I said once that I like scraping
shields with you, B'Elanna," Tom said lightly.
"You're father obviously didn't. And didn't
you tell me once your parents had a passionate,
whirlwind courtship? We had anything but--the
whirlwind courtship, that is." His lips
quirked. "We *have* had our passionate
moments," he amended, "but we took a much
longer, more torturous path to marriage."
He'd hoped his comment would coax a smile out
of B'Elanna, but her expression remained
somber. Abandoning the humorous approach, he
added earnestly, "What I'm trying to say is,
we've worked through a lot of our issues
already--we've pretty much seen the worst in
each other. We knew exactly what we were
getting into when we got married, far more so
than your parents probably did. And I can
assure you that I wouldn't still be here if I
didn't really want to be."
"Neither would I," B'Elanna said. "But we
can't know the future."
"Not entirely," Tom agreed. "I can't make
absolute promises, as uncertain as our lives
are on Voyager. But I can promise you that I
will never leave you under my own power." He
lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from
her cheek. "I'm sure we'll still have
disagreements, and even fights--that's part of
any marriage. But we can disagree and still
love and respect each other. And that's the
other thing that won't ever change--the fact
that I love you, B'Elanna. I know I don't say
it very much, but I'll say it more--I'll say it
over and over if you'll just believe it."
"I do believe it," B'Elanna said. "Saying the
words doesn't mean everything. When I was
little my father told me he loved me all the
time, but he left anyway."
"I'm sorry about the way he treated you,
B'Elanna. He was an idiot, and it was his
loss." He frowned, and his hand slipped from
her cheek. "I know I've had my idiot moments
too, but that doesn't mean I'd walk out on my
own daughter someday. She's my daughter, too,
B'Elanna. My flesh and blood. Nothing is
ever going to make me walk away from her. I'll
love her just the way she is, and I hope you
can too."
B'Elanna looked stricken at Tom's words and
the resigned expression on his face. "I'm not
saying *you're* going to leave --"
"Yes, you are," Tom said with a small, sad
smile.
B'Elanna wanted to think of a way to deny what
he'd said, but couldn't. Wasn't that exactly
what she'd been thinking, why she'd spent
hours designing a child she thought he could
love enough not to ever leave? She'd been
telling herself she was only reviewing the
doctor's program parameters out of curiosity,
"just in case," but she'd started laying the
groundwork, preparing for that possibility. She
wanted to believe it hadn't crossed her mind,
but it had. She had rejected her daughter as
surely as her father had rejected her by
wanting her daughter to be someone else, just
as her father had wanted her to be someone
else. How could she have ever let things get
so out of control in her own mind? She felt
ashamed she'd let old childhood memories take
over her emotions so completely.
B'Elanna picked up the PADD she'd dropped on
the couch and looked at the child she'd
designed, the one she'd thought would be more
worthy of love than the child she was already
carrying. With one quick press of a button she
deleted the work she'd done. Then she looked
at her husband. "Tom, I'm sorry--"
"For what?" Tom took the now blank PADD from
her hand and set it on the coffee table. "You
didn't really do anything."
She knew that distinction was a fine one. She
hadn't actually acted, but the impulse had
been there. "I don't know if you can
understand, Tom, but I was never thinking about
you, I was thinking about my father. I do
know that you'll never walk away from your
daughter. I know that you'll be a wonderful
father."
"And you'll be a wonderful mother, B'Elanna."
He put a hand over her abdomen. "Our baby is
perfect just as she is, and beautiful, just
like her mother."
B'Elanna smiled tremulously. "You really think
so?"
"Think? I know so! She's gorgeous. I'm going to
have to beat men away from her with a stick
some day, you wait and see."
B'Elanna chuckled. "She is kind of cute isn't
she?"
"Kind of?" Tom asked. "If we have two or
three more, and they're all just like you,
that will be fine with me too."
B'Elanna shook her head. "Let's just get
through one first."
"Okay, but I mean it. I'll be happy living
with two Klingons, or three, or even six
Klingons. In fact, when we get back to the
Alpha quadrant, we can move to the Klingon
homeworld if you want."
B'Elanna wrinkled her nose. "That's okay. We
don't have to go *that* far. Besides you'd
probably get challenged to bat'leth fights
twice a day."
"So?" Tom grinned. "I still keep up with my
practices in the bat'leth program. I've
gotten pretty good, in fact."
He'd often invited her to join him in that
program, and B'Elanna had almost always
refused. She wondered how good he really was.
Knowing how he hard he worked on anything he
really enjoyed, she wouldn't be surprised if
he'd gotten quite good indeed. "That may be,
but I still think we can find somewhere else
to live."
Tom shrugged. "Okay. We can live on Earth,
Mars, a deep space station, another starship,
wherever. The place doesn't matter, as long
as you're with me--and our brood of kids of
course."
B'Elanna laughed softly, but she felt warm
knowing that Tom was entirely serious.
Tom changed the subject slightly. "Speaking of
the bat'leth, you haven't joined me in that
program in a long time."
"I wonder what the doctor would say about me
taking up Klingon martial arts right now."
"True. Maybe we should save that for after
she's born. But we were going to study the
sacred scrolls, too, and we've never gotten
around to it. I don't see why the Doc would
have any objections to that. I think we should
get around to it, for our daughter's sake. I
want her to appreciate her heritage--all of
it."
B'Elanna nodded. It was something to think
about. "We'll talk about that later. At the
moment, I have other things on my mind."
Tom smiled back at her, a familiar glint in his
eye. "Tomorrow, then. I've got a few other
things on my mind right now, too." He leaned
forward and whispered, "I love you, B'Elanna.
And I love our daughter, too, no matter what.
Just to make sure you haven't forgotten yet."
She hadn't. And she wouldn't.
^*^*^*^
Tom fiddled with the controls for a few
seconds before entering the holodeck. This
program wasn't totally new; he hadn't wanted
to fritter away a lot of spare time
constructing one from scratch when B'Elanna
needed him. Besides, this program prompted
fond memories. He had helped B'Elanna put it
together a long time ago, to mark a special
day. That the day had turned out to be a
pivotal day in their lives just made it that
much better.
As far as he knew B'Elanna had never actually
finished experiencing this program, but that
no longer mattered to him. What he had always
wanted the program to convey to B'Elanna did
matter, very much. Despite taking steps in the
right direction, she always seemed to pull
back before fully embracing her total self.
After her experience with her mother's --
spirit? image? hallucination?--whatever had
happened on the Barge of the Dead, B'Elanna
had appeared to accept her Klingon heritage
more completely than she actually had, judging
from what she had considered doing to their
baby. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the
feeling that he had to share responsibility
for what might have happened. Too many times
when she'd needed his support, when she
struggled alone with her feelings about
herself and her heritage, he had thoughtlessly
retreated to the holodeck or the shuttlebay.
True, he'd always made an initial attempt to
help her, but he'd put up little resistance to
her rebuffs when he should have stood his
ground. When he should have been there for her.
Going to the holodeck this time was different,
though. It was research, like going to a
library--just a lot more fun than pouring over
dusty paper books or squinting at a terminal.
"Yeah, right, Paris," he murmured to himself
with a rueful smile, as he continued punching
data into the control pad.
Finally satisfied with the changes, Tom entered
the holodeck. His nose was immediately
assaulted by greasy smelling smoke spilling
out of a double row of sputtering torches and
the scent of wax from a multitude of flickering
candles that, together, splashed light upon
the walls of twisting cavern passageways.
Tom's mouth quirked a little as he remembered
sneaking in those small but critical details
when he'd helped B'Elanna formulate the
logarithms for the original program. He
recognized the junction where he'd once
encountered a very unhappy hologram, punched
in the eye by a certain very reluctant
celebrant of the Day of Honor. That brought a
smile to his face, too.
At last he came to a cavern that was carved
into a room. A small, high window hollowed
into the rock let in a modicum of murky
natural light. Along the wall beneath the
window, a series of shelving units were fitted
with slabs of wood, set on an angle, to form
diamond shapes. Each diamond held a multitude
of rolled parchment scrolls. In front of the
shelving, a heavy wooden table held a pair of
spirals fashioned of roughly hammered silvery-
gray metal, each fitted with a half-dozen
candles. The table's rough-hewn surface was
scarred and pitted, as if a warrior had once
used it as a target for throwing his *d'k tahg*
and *mek'leth*.
The room was silent and empty. The one he had
expected to find was not there.
After waiting patiently for a few minutes, Tom
called out, "Is the librarian here?"
A figure dressed in long robes whirled into the
room, the glare in his eyes flashing as
brightly as the bat'leth he carried.
"Librarian?" roared the Klingon. "Who slanders
this holy place and invites a carved-out
heart?"
"Whoops. Poor choice of words," Tom said,
stepping back on his heels. "What I meant to
say was, 'Are you the spiritual . . . guide
who will help me with my research?' "
Mollified, the Klingon strode close enough to
Tom to stare intently into the pilot's eyes.
"And why does a human come here to do
'research'?" he asked belligerently.
At that moment, sneezing over dusty books or
peering into a flickering terminal screen
seemed a lot more appealing than they had an
hour ago, but Tom quietly responded, "To keep a
promise."
"What promise is this?"
"I promised my wife that we could study the
sacred scrolls together. She is half-Klingon
and . . . um . . . it's been a while since she
studied them with her mother."
"I see. And this half-Klingon . . . have we
seen her here before?"
"Uh, yeah. But a lot has happened since then."
"And you think *you* could become her
*DevwI'*?" The Klingon's low voice resonated
with scorn. Obviously, B'Elanna's last visit
was remembered.
Tom knew enough Klingon to correctly translate
the Klingon term--"the one who guides".
"Yes, I do. With you to show me the way."
The hologram studied Tom closely for several
more seconds, no doubt assessing Tom's
sincerity. Tom stood erect and stared back
into the Klingon's eyes unflinchingly. "And you
think you are a warrior who is worthy of this
sacred task?"
"I'm working on it," Tom admitted. Those dusty
books were looking better all the time.
Tom's answer seemed to satisfy the Klingon,
however. He carefully placed the bat'leth he
held upon a stand near the table and said,
"Come, sit down. Tell me what you already know
of our rituals and beliefs."
"Is there a name I can call you, *DevwI'*?"
"*DevwI'* will do."
Tom hadn't had anyone particular in mind,
but his guide, his *DevwI',*
looked considerably younger than he'd
expected. He had instructed the computer to
create a composite, based upon the
characteristics of the known writers of the
sacred scrolls, to personify their contents.
The authors who had created the rituals and
commentaries so important to the Klingon
people apparently had never made it to
grizzled, venerable sage. Since so much of
Klingon culture and ritual was predicated upon
the ways of warriors, who tend to live the
sort of lives that land them in *Sto-Vo-Kor*
much earlier than, say, your garden variety
librarian, perhaps Tom shouldn't have been so
surprised.
The guide certainly knew his stuff, though. On
several occasions, Tom was left to squirm
uncomfortably as his guide discussed deeds of
honor and duty, reminding him of times that
his own had fallen far short of heroic Klingon
standards, or even barely passable human
standards. One mistake still pained him so
much he could barely face it, even after all
this time. Whenever he thought about honor, he
could not fail to think of it--so painful, he
had tried to deny it happened to himself as
much as to those to whom he had given the lie.
Tom had paid a terrible price for that lie.
Only when Voyager had become stranded in the
Delta Quadrant had the opportunity to redeem
himself become possible. Though he felt
reasonably sure others thought he had met that
challenge; sometimes he still struggled to
believe it himself.
Tom's discomfort eased when the guide discussed
the many ways a warrior meets the challenge to
be honorable, whether enduring pain or torture
in the name of duty, facing the unknown to
increase knowledge or even sacrificing one's
life so that others might live. He had done
all of these things since arriving in the
Delta Quadrant. B'Elanna had, too, even though
she usually shrugged off her own deeds as "just
another engineering job," no matter how much
risk to herself the task had entailed. Tom
didn't know if the guide realized it, but Tom
saw that following the Klingon "Way of the
Warrior" was as important to him as it was for
B'Elanna. A way to get her to accept that
fact, though--that still eluded him. Still, he
felt confident he could overcome it, with
time. That is, until . . .
"So, Thomas, son of Owen of the House of Paris,
what Klingon traditions have you followed with
your bride so far?" the *DevwI'* asked.
Touchy subject. "We celebrate the Day of Honor
as a special day." No need to let him know
that the celebration was a personal sort of
anniversary, not directly related to Klingons.
"And, um. Well, we've worked out with
*bat'leths* . . . sometimes . . . " He left
out the fact that B'Elanna rarely joined him
in that pursuit. He thought about the Klingon
warrior romance novels they'd both read, but
doubted that would qualify in this case. He
frantically tried to think of something else
to add to the pitifully short list, but his
open mouth, unable to name any more examples,
gave him away.
"Is that ALL???" the guide cried out,
incredulous.
"We haven't been married that long . . ." Tom
began, then decided that reticence wasn't
going to be of any help to him, or to
B'Elanna.
"The truth is, my wife has a lot of painful
memories from growing up half-Klingon on a
world where she and her mother were the only
ones in the neighborhood. That was tough
enough, but B'Elanna and her parents also had .
. . issues. Her mother celebrated the holidays
and taught B'Elanna many Klingon rituals, but
as a child B'Elanna didn't fully appreciate
them. And she hasn't really felt comfortable
enough to follow them much on Voyager, where
she's the only one of Klingon blood . . .
although I know they mean much more to her now
. . ." Tom's voice trailed off. They did, he
was sure of it, if only she would admit it.
Suddenly too restless to remain seated in his
chair, Tom stood up and began to pace from one
end of the room to another, his face carefully
turned away from the guide. "A while ago
B'Elanna had an incredible experience. She
almost died in a shuttle accident. While she
was unconscious, she experienced a vision that
her mother had been condemned to Grethor.
After she came to, she insisted we help her die
clinically so she could go back and save Miral
--that's B'Elanna's mother--and send her to
*Sto-Vo-Kor*. We did it; B'Elanna saved her
mother; and we managed to get B'Elanna back.
"At the time, I wasn't sure if her mother was
dead. I always thought it was some sort of
hallucination--B'Elanna trying to accept her
Klingon heritage--you know? Since we've been
able to exchange messages regularly with home,
though, we found out Miral really did die on
that day. Now I can't believe it was only a
hallucination. That's too much of a
coincidence. Or at least, I hope it wasn't a
coincidence. I'd like to think that B'Elanna
had that chance to patch things up between her
mother and herself, that she helped her mother
travel to *Sto-Vo-Kor*. B'Elanna isn't ever
going to have a chance to make things right
between them on this plane of existence, now
that her mother's gone." Tom sighed as he
confessed, "I'd actually promised B'Elanna I'd
study the scrolls with her if she *didn't* try
to save her mother. I'm glad she didn't take me
up on it. But last night, I promised again, to
myself, that we were going to do it anyway.
Study the scrolls together. Make Klingon
traditions--as well as human ones--part of our
family life."
His voice softened. "We're going to have a
baby, *DevwI',* and these traditions--they're
important; I know they are. Important to
B'Elanna, sure, but even more so to our
daughter. And to me. I haven't always been the
kind of guy a nice Klingon girl brings home to
mother. I've changed a lot, but I know I've
got farther to go. I hope this can help."
Tom stopped his restless pacing. Slowly, he
turned to face the guide, not sure what his
reception would be. Tom had heard nothing more
than a few grunts from the guide throughout his
narrative. The guide looked at him
thoughtfully, but not in anger, as Tom had
half-expected. Slowly the Klingon stood up and
walked towards Tom.
"Truth and honor are intertwined with each
other, Thomas; and what I have heard from you
now is surely the truth. It is as you say. You
must observe the rituals to help your coming
child to be strong in her Klingon heritage and
to enrich your family life. I know a simple
ritual that B'Elanna must surely have followed
with her mother. From what you have just told
me the mother of your B'Elanna dwells now in
*Sto-Vo-Kor*, but the dead cannot rest unless
the living remember their sacrifices and honor
their memories."
As the guide described the traditional prayer
to him, Tom breathed easier. This was right.
It felt right. He knew he had done the right
thing by coming here, for himself, as well as
for B'Elanna.
Act 4
B'Elanna walked into the mess hall just before
the dinner rush. She'd finished her shift on
time today, with the intention of getting home
early. Then Tom had called to let her know
that he'd be working an hour late finishing his
navigation reports. It wasn't exactly unusual
for Tom to put off reports until the last
minute, but she knew the events of the past
couple days--or, more accurately, what she'd
put him through--had contributed to his mind
being otherwise occupied. It was definitely
her turn to handle replicating dinner tonight,
as soon as she found out why she'd been called
to the mess hall.
Neelix was tending to a large, steaming pot on
the stove, but he turned immediately as she
approached and greeted her with a wide smile.
"Lieutenant Torres! I was hoping you'd show up
a little early for dinner."
"Actually, Tom and I plan to have dinner in our
quarters tonight."
Neelix nodded sagely. "Ah, I understand.
Still celebrating the wonderful news."
Finally celebrating the wonderful news was
closer to the truth, but B'Elanna simply
agreed with Neelix. "Yes."
"If you're considering names for your daughter,
I think Alixia is a beautiful name."
B'Elanna knew Alixia had been his sister's
name. "It is a beautiful name. I'll put it
on the list."
Neelix looked pleased. "Oh. I guess you're
curious about why I called you."
She was, and as Neelix turned back to the
stove, she asked, "What is it this time? Oven
coil conductors? Replicator circuits?"
"Nothing like that," Neelix replied, removing
the kettle of hot water he always kept on the
warmer. He rummaged for a cup. "I know
you'll have to cut down on stimulants--I
remember Samantha Wildman complaining about
that when she was pregnant. So I came up with
a new herbal tea blend I think you might enjoy
as a substitute."
B'Elanna was already a little annoyed that
she'd have to give up coffee and raktajino,
and she wasn't particular fond of herbal tea,
particularly some of the "special" blends
Neelix had concocted in his tea-making career.
"I appreciate your effort, Neelix, but--"
"Don't mention it," Neelix said cheerfully, as
he prepared the tea. "I prepared this blend
especially to soothe the aches and stresses of
pregnancy--not that pregnancy is an affliction
of course, but it can be a little exhausting.
I used several herbs with restorative
properties, including one from Rynax that is
known to bestow a pleasant sense of calm and
serenity upon expectant mothers."
B'Elanna started to tell Neelix indignantly
that she'd didn't want to be treated
differently because she was pregnant, but she
stopped herself. Instead she accepted the
steaming cup he offered her as the gesture of
kindness and friendship she knew he intended.
Neelix watched her as she took a cautious sip.
Her eyebrows rose at the strong, sweet taste.
She liked it. "This is . . . good."
Neelix beamed at B'Elanna's assessment. "I'll
whip up a batch for you to keep in your
quarters. I'm about to serve dinner, but I
can get it to you later tonight."
"Why don't I pick it up tomorrow?" B'Elanna
suggested. She didn't really want Neelix
showing up at her and Tom's door tonight.
"And thanks, Neelix. I really appreciate
this."
"You're very welcome, Lieutenant," Neelix said.
He clapped his hands together as if a thought
had just occurred to him. "I'd better add
this blend to my recipe database. At the
moment you and Tom are the only couple
expecting, but who knows? There may be others
following in your wake, and I may as well be
prepared."
B'Elanna smiled at Neelix's frank anticipation
of such a potential development. "Could be,"
she agreed. "I see Chakotay over in the
corner. I think I'll join him for a minute."
Neelix nodded, and turned his attention to the
pot on the stove. It looked close to boiling
over and he scampered toward it, calling over
his shoulder to her, "I'll have that blend for
you tomorrow morning at breakfast."
B'Elanna watched Neelix wrestle momentarily
with the pot, and then she crossed the mess
hall. Chakotay was studying a PADD intently,
but when she sat down at his table, he looked
up and smiled. "Hello, B'Elanna. Or shall I
start calling you 'mom'?"
B'Elanna gave him a mock scowl. She wasn't
sure why everyone found variations of that
question so amusing. "You and everyone else
can call me Lieutenant Torres," she said
sharply as took a sip of her tea.
Chakotay wasn't fazed by her annoyance. "What
are you drinking?"
"Neelix prepared a special blend of herbal tea
for me."
"Really." Chakotay looked at the cup
dubiously. "How does it taste?"
"Very good actually. And, according to Neelix,
drinking it will give me a sense of calm and
serenity appropriate for a mother-to-be."
Chakotay erupted into laughter, and B'Elanna
speared him with a hard look. "Is that funny,
Chakotay?"
Chakotay cleared his throat, though humor still
lingered in his eyes. "I was just picturing
you gliding calmly and serenely through
engineering, with a beatific smile on your
face. I have a feeling the resulting shock
and confusion would prevent any real work from
being accomplished."
B'Elanna's lips twitched. "You don't have to
worry about that happening."
"Good. I like our quick-tempered, dedicated
chief engineer just the way she is." Chakotay
voice held only genuine affection, and he
studied her as he took a sip from his cup of
coffee. "However, you are looking very pleased
with yourself today. I take it you're
completely happy with the idea of being
pregnant now."
B'Elanna didn't miss the implication that she
hadn't been happy about it all along. She
remembered how she'd rushed past him last
night in Engineering when he'd tried to talk to
her. "I'm sorry I brushed you off yesterday."
Chakotay shrugged. "I'm used to it," he said,
Truthfully. They both knew B'Elanna had a long
habit of closing people out when she was
troubled, even those closest to her. "I was
worried about you though. You looked
. . . upset."
"I was upset about something," B'Elanna
admitted. "But Tom and I worked it out.
Everything's fine now."
Chakotay didn't press her for details. "Then
I'm glad," he said. "For both of you."
"I am happy about this baby, Chakotay,"
B'Elanna told him earnestly. "Very happy.
Tom and I both are."
Chakotay reached out squeezed her hand.
"That's all I wanted to hear." He released
her hand and gave her a speculative look.
"So, have you and Tom discussed names yet?"
B'Elanna groaned good-naturedly. "Not you too,
Chakotay."
"I just thought I'd mention that the feminine
version of my name is Chakotaya. Or Taya for
short. Has quite a ring to it, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yeah," B'Elanna said dryly, hoping the sly
grin at Chakotay's face meant that he was
mostly teasing. She repeated what was
becoming a mantra, "I'll add it to the list."
Chakotay was nodding, the grin still on his
face, when his commbadge beeped.
"Ensign Lang to Commander Chakotay."
"Chakotay here."
"Commander, that sensor ghost has appeared
again."
Ensign Lang, who was manning the helm for the
beta shift, sounded uneasy, and Chakotay looked
at B'Elanna. The sensor ghost had first
appeared this morning. After a sensor
recalibration it had disappeared and several
subsequent sweeps had found no trace of it.
"I'll relay the message. Carry on with your
duties, Ensign. Chakotay out."
B'Elanna tapped her commbadge. "Torres to
Carey."
The reply was almost immediate. "Carey here."
"The sensor ghost is back. Let Seven know, and
get a team to work on it. Do a level one
diagnostic and *find* the problem."
"I'll take care of it. Carey out."
Chakotay shook his head. "There's nothing like
a sensor ghost to spook the crew."
B'Elanna snorted. "Nice play on words,
Chakotay, but you know those things always turn
out to be sensor glitches."
"Almost always," Chakotay agreed.
B'Elanna didn't like them either. Nothing was
more annoying than something that stayed just
out of the range of detection, but it usually
turned out to be a false alarm. "By tomorrow,
the glitch will be gone, and so will the
ghost."
Chakotay's attention was diverted as someone
approached their table. "Hello, Naomi,
Samantha."
"Lieutenant, I never got to offer my
congratulations," Sam said as B'Elanna looked
up. "I'm very happy for you and Tom." She
squeezed Naomi's shoulder. "I'm not an expert,
but having been through it, if there's
anything you ever want to ask me, feel free."
"Thanks," B'Elanna said sincerely. "If it will
help me escape some of the doctor's expert
advice, I'm sure I'll take you up on that."
Sam and B'Elanna shared a knowing smile before
Naomi spoke. "Lieutenant Torres, I wanted to
let you know that I'm available to babysit
once your baby is born."
"Babysit?" B'Elanna echoed, meeting Naomi's
eager gaze.
"I have a lot of experience. I helped the
doctor take care of the baby we rescued from
the Borg, until we found her people again."
B'Elanna nodded. "I remember, Naomi." She
regretted for a moment that she hadn't spent
any time with the baby. She could have used
the experience.
"So many people on Voyager helped take care of
me when I was a child, and taught me things,
like Tom--Lieutenant Paris--teaching me how to
fly a shuttle. I feel like it's my turn to
give something back."
B'Elanna saw Sam's eyebrows rise at Naomi's
words, probably at her daughter's past tense
reference to being a child. B'Elanna was just
noticing herself that Naomi was starting to
blossom into a young woman, at an impossibly
young age for anyone who didn't have Ktarian
blood in her veins. Sam looked at B'Elanna and
nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I know Tom and I will be happy to take you up
on your offer when the time comes," B'Elanna
told Naomi. "Thank you."
Naomi smiled happily. "When will she be born?"
"In about six months, give or take a couple of
weeks," B'Elanna said. That was the doctor's
best guess anyway.
Naomi looked disappointed. "That long?"
Sam laughed. "It does take a while, Naomi."
Her daughter rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"I *know.*"
"In fact, you took over a month longer to be
born than the doctor originally estimated,"
Sam noted. She gave B'Elanna a wry smile.
"Having a baby with a hybrid nature is a little
more . . .adventurous than a normal pregnancy."
Then she returned her gaze to her daughter.
"But the payoff is worth it."
Naomi returned her mother's fond look, the
previous moment of chagrin clearly forgiven.
Then she grinned at B'Elanna. "Isn't being a
hybrid wonderful?" she asked, giving B'Elanna
no chance to answer. "I love being human and
Ktarian, because I get to have the best of
both heritages. I'm glad your baby's going to
be special too."
B'Elanna glanced at Chakotay, who'd been
listening silently to the conversation. Then
she smiled at Naomi. "So am I," she said
softly. She meant that with full sincerity,
which made her even gladder.
"Hey, here comes Icheb," Naomi announced. She
motioned to the young man who had just entered
the mess hall, waving him over. "Mom, can
Icheb eat dinner with us? We want to talk
some more about the Starfleet Academy entrance
requirements."
Sam nodded, though her gaze on her daughter was
sharp as Naomi greeted Icheb.
"Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Torres," Icheb
said, including them in the general greetings.
"Lieutenant, I hope the genetic information I
provided to you proved useful."
"It did answer my questions," B'Elanna said
quickly. "I appreciate your help, but
everything turned out to be just fine."
"I am pleased to hear that, Lieutenant," Icheb
replied.
"The spinal procedure was successful, wasn't
it?" Sam asked, looking mildly concerned.
"Yes," B'Elanna assured her. "My baby's
completely healthy now."
Sam smiled. "I'm glad, for you and for
Lieutenant Paris. Have a nice evening,
Lieutenant, and Commander." She waved a hand
at Naomi and Icheb. "All right, kids, let's
go."
Icheb's eyebrow rose at Sam's form of address.
He looked vaguely insulted, but before he
could reply Naomi hooked an arm in his. They
followed Sam toward the kitchen where Neelix
had begun serving dinner.
Chakotay watched them depart and shook his
head. "Give it another year, and I predict
we're going to have two lovesick teenagers on
board."
"Naomi's not a teenager," B'Elanna said
automatically, though she realized on second
glance that if Naomi wasn't there yet, she was
right on the cusp. No wonder Sam was giving
her daughter such apprehensive looks.
"Poor Sam," B'Elanna murmured, meeting
Chakotay's astute gaze. "I'm glad human and
Klingon maturation rates are so similar." She
wanted as long a period as possible before
she'd have to deal with her daughter's
puberty. She remembered making her own
mother's life very difficult at that time.
"I'd say Icheb's also well aware of Naomi's
maturity," Chakotay said dryly.
B'Elanna frowned. "I haven't noticed him
acting any differently." Though she honestly
hadn't notice when Icheb had a crush on her a
couple months ago--
"That's because you're not a man," Chakotay
said. He smiled at B'Elanna's irritated look.
"Believe me, I've seen his eyes follow her.
Not unlike the way Tom's eyes followed you for
several months before he ever actually started
pursuing you."
"Really?"
"Yes. I had the urge to punch him more than
once at the time, hard. But I guess it turned
out okay in the end."
B'Elanna smiled at Chakotay's blithe
assessment. "Yes, it did."
Chakotay stood, picking up his cup and PADD.
"I have to get going."
B'Elanna stood too. She'd finished her tea,
and she wanted to get back to her quarters.
"You're not eating dinner here tonight?"
"I'm having dinner with the captain," Chakotay
said, as they both walked toward the doors.
"Again?"
Chakotay gave B'Elanna a sharp look. "Don't
start."
"Are you bringing the cider, or is she
supplying it this time?" B'Elanna asked
innocently.
Chakotay sighed as he set his cup on the
counter a distance away from where Neelix was
filling plates for his waiting customers.
"It's a work meeting. We need to go over next
week's duty rosters."
"You two have to do that a lot, don't you? Most
night's, in fact . . ."
"Goodnight," Chakotay said meaningfully. She
was still smiling as he kissed her cheek. "If
I haven't said it, I'm happy for you,
B'Elanna. And for Tom."
"Thanks," B'Elanna murmured, though Chakotay
was already striding past the line of crew
waiting to fill their plates. She followed
several steps behind, nodding to Neelix, who
glanced up from his work and smiled. As she
passed, she glanced at one of the plates being
carried away from the kitchen, generously
laden with some sort of stew. She wondered
what she should replicate for dinner, but
before she could come up with a menu plan she
nearly ran into Harry as he entered the mess
hall.
Harry apologized immediately. "Hey, Maquis.
Sorry--"
B'Elanna pulled him out into the corridor.
"Did Tom talk to you at lunch?"
Harry looked surprised by her question, but he
shook his head. "Tom didn't come to the mess
hall for lunch. I think he had to finish a
late report in sickbay."
Though the two of them freely harassed each
other, Harry didn't smirk as he usually would
about Tom's tardiness, and B'Elanna assumed it
was because Harry understood the nature of
Tom's recent preoccupation.
"I guess Tom and I have both had a few things
to deal with over the past couple of days,"
B'Elanna said ruefully.
"Seems like everything's fine now," Harry said.
"Tom was his cheerful self on the bridge
today, and you look pretty happy."
B'Elanna smiled. "Everything is fine, Harry.
Better than fine. Except that I have to ask
you for a favor."
Harry looked at her curiously. "Shoot."
"Tom and I talked about it this morning, and
we'd both like you to be our baby's
godfather."
Harry's eyes widened, and he stared at B'Elanna
mutely.
B'Elanna snorted with amusement after several
seconds. "Harry, I hope you're speechless
with delight."
Harry managed to stutter a few words, "Uh,
well, yeah--"
"Why are you so shocked? You're our best
friend. You've been there for us both through
some pretty trying times. Who else would we
chose?"
A brilliant smile lit Harry's face, and he gave
B'Elanna an impulsive, hard hug. A moment
later he pulled away and patted her arm as if
he was worried he'd injured her. "Sorry--"
"Harry, do you think I couldn't still slam you
to the ground in a nanosecond, twist your arm
behind your back, and make you cry 'uncle'
four hundred times, all without breaking a
sweat?"
Harry laughed at B'Elanna's irritated question.
"I know you could. And, for the record, I'd
be very honored to be your daughter's
godfather, even if she'll probably be able to
beat me up by the time she's three."
B'Elanna smiled, mollified. "Good. And she
may not be able to beat you up until she's
five."
"That's a comfort," Harry said with mock
relief. Then he motioned toward the mess hall
door. "You meeting Tom here?"
"No. We're going to try once again to have a
private celebration in our quarters."
Harry smiled. "Make sure you disable the comm
line into your quarters," he said, referring
to the fact that B'Elanna got summoned more
often while off duty than anyone else on the
ship. "And have a good time."
"Thanks."
Harry started to turn toward the mess hall,
then stopped. "Oh, one more thing--"
"You have a suggestion for the baby's name, or
you want to start calling me 'mom,'" B'Elanna
guessed.
Harry gave her a perplexed look. "No.
Neither."
B'Elanna sighed with relief. "I knew there was
a reason I'm so fond of you, Harry."
"Uh, thanks," Harry said, still looking
confused. "I just want you to tell Tom that
I'm really honored to be your baby's
godfather. I promise I'll do a great job, and
I'll teach her everything I know."
"You mean you'll make sure she's familiar with
every Captain Proton episode you and Tom have
ever programmed?" B'Elanna asked facetiously.
Harry grinned. "That too."
B'Elanna smiled and shook her head as Harry
disappeared into the mess hall. Then she
turned and headed home.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*
As B'Elanna entered their quarters, she
realized immediately that Tom had beat her
here. And from her first glance around she
could see that he'd done so intentionally.
"What happened to those navigation reports?"
she asked, as he walked toward her.
"I worked fast," he said.
Looking past him curiously, she noted that the
toaster had been spirited away out of sight. A
simple red banner hung in the corner, above
the television set. A low table in the middle
of the room bore a large candle which burned on
a flat plate set upon a table cloth that
matched the banner. The only things she
acknowledged, however, was another object.
"What's this? A bat'leth? I don't know if the
Doctor is going to approve of me working out
with you on the holodeck in one of your
bat'leth programs."
He grinned. "This is a special one. This is an
heirloom bat'leth."
B'Elanna laughed. "And where did you get hold
of an 'heirloom' bat'leth out here?"
"I replicated it."
She laughed harder. "Some heirloom."
"Every heirloom was new once, B'Elanna. Just
think of it as the first emblem of our house.
Something for our daughter to take pride in."
B'Elanna picked up the blade gingerly. It was
engraved along the edge of the blade next to
the inner handle, in a flowing script version
of Federation Standard that complemented the
Klingon text alongside it: "The House of
Paris," "B'Elanna, daughter of Miral,"
"Thomas, son of Owen." The weapon was
classically proportioned, perfectly balanced,
lethally beautiful. A fitting blade to pass on
to their progeny.
"The House of *Paris*?" B'Elanna asked dryly.
Tom shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "If you
insist, we can use your last name."
Her father's name. B'Elanna had kept it for
various reasons, but she preferred her
daughter carry the name of her own father,
rather than her human grandfather who would
never be a part of her life. It was the best
name for their "house" too, and for any
progeny to come. "We'll use Paris."
Tom grinned, and B'Elanna didn't begrudge him
it.
"We should hang this on the wall."
"I hope you don't mind, B'Elanna, but I took
the liberty of inserting several hangers over
the credenza. We can move them if it doesn't
look right . . ."
"Let's try it." Carefully, with Tom's help,
B'Elanna suspended the curved blade upon the
wall and stepped back to examine the effect.
"It looks good there," she admitted, a little
grudgingly.
"Do you think our daughter would mind if the
old man borrowed it every now and then?"
"Use your own blade on the holodeck, Tom. This
one stays here."
Tom sighed dramatically. She wanted to punch
him, or maybe bite him, but she felt an odd
sensation that startled her. She pressed a
hand to her abdomen. "Tom . . ."
Tom picked up on her distraction immediately.
"What's wrong?"
"I felt something. A twinge, but I think it's
gone now--"
B'Elanna quit speaking as Tom turned and moved
toward the dresser at a jog. He pulled open a
drawer--his underwear drawer--and began
tossing items on the floor. "What are you
doing?"
Tom didn't answer her question. He pulled
something from the drawer, and he was by her
side again before she recognized what he was
holding.
"A medical scanner? How did you--"
"I took it from Sickbay," Tom said as he turned
on the scanner. "I thought we should probably
keep one here now--"
"You're not planning on pulling that out every
time I feel a little twinge, are you?"
B'Elanna asked. It was as much a warning as a
question.
"Well . . ."
B'Elanna jumped as she felt the sensation
again. "There it is!" It felt like something
was . . .moving . . .
Tom met her wide-eyed gaze, and they both
stared at each other in astonishment. for
several seconds before he confirmed what
they'd both realized. "The baby is kicking."
"Isn't it too soon?"
Tom looked at her nearly flat belly. "Well,
she is part Klingon." He turned off the
scanner. "And with us for parents, I guess
there's no chance she's going to be naturally
timid, even in utero."
B'Elanna shook her head at Tom's grin. "I
suppose not." Then she grabbed his hand as
the baby kicked again and pressed it to the
spot. They both smiled at each other
foolishly, caught up in the wonder of the
moment. Then Tom surprised her by pulling his
hand away and wrapping his arms tightly around
her. He kissed her soundly, then whispered in
her ear, "I love you."
"Me, too," she murmured. She was about to
follow up on Tom's action, but he diverted her
attention by slipping his hand beneath her
elbow and guiding her to the table where the
candle burned.
"There's something else we need to do first,"
Tom said.
As she sank to her knees, supported by his hand
steadying her arm as he knelt beside her, she
had a hunch what he was going to suggest.
"The *DevwI'* told me about the Prayer of
Remembrance. It sounded like a good tradition
for us to follow. Do you know it?"
"It's been a long time. My mother and I always
prayed for my grandmother. L'naan, daughter of
Krelik."
"L'naan. That's a very pretty name. So is Miral
. . ."
"We'll add them to the list," she said with an
exaggerated sigh, although she was not
displeased. "If we're going to do this, shall
we do it now?"
Without further discussion, Tom began, "Kahless
. . . We implore you to remember those
warriors who have fallen in your name. Lift
them out of the cavern of despair and reveal
yourself to them in all your glory." B'Elanna
repeated the words with him, stumbling a bit,
until he paused after saying, "Remember . . .
"
She supplied what she thought would be the
final words: "Miral, daughter of L'naan.
Remember L'naan, daughter of Krelik."
She was wrong. Tom added three other names
which everyone on the ship knew, although
B'Elanna had never heard them uttered by Tom
before. She was sure that no one else on
Voyager ever had, either.
"Remember Brunolf Katajavuori. Remember Charles
Day. Remember Odile Launay."
His voice broke on the last name, and the
silence that followed was deep. She reached
out and covered Tom's hand with her own,
seeking out his face with her gaze. Tom's blue
eyes, highlighted by reflections from the
candle's flames and brimming with emotion, met
hers. B'Elanna understood, as she never had as
a child, what the simple words of the prayer
truly meant. But more importantly, she
realized that Tom understood them, too.
Epilogue
Space, vast and impersonal, as far as eyes--or
sensors--can reach. As the two who have formed
a new family embark upon a personal ritual to
strengthen the bonds between them, they are
unaware that their starship, no more than a
mere speck in the vastness, is not the only
object following the same heading towards
Sector 0-0-0.
Light deforms so slightly around the invisible
gravitic anomaly that it could barely be
detected by the most sophisticated means
possible. If it were, it would register as a
"glitch" in the systems of the vessel doing the
tracking--barely enough to raise suspicions . .
.
Within the anomaly, light glows a sickly
greenish hue. The voices of the beings are
silent. They have no need to communicate in
words, for they are linked in a far more
intimate way.
They are the eyes, ears, and hands of one who
never forgets anything, especially a defeat.
One who desires above all things to conquer the
crew of Voyager--particularly its captain.
No reprieves this time. No escape.
Note: *d'k tahg* and *mek'leth* refer to two
kinds of Klingon dagger.
Coming Next: A short fill piece. We're taking advantage of the upcoming 3 day weekend to polish our next story, Escalation.
As we mentioned in the introductory note to
this episode, the Paris and Torres marriage
actually began in "Lineage," not in "Drive."
In
"Lineage," B'Elanna at last revealed to her
husband a critical secret that had blighted her
entire life, threatening to ruin both her
marriage and her ability to become a loving
parent. She needed to come to terms with her
abandonment by her father; with Tom's love and
support, she did. Tom's stepping up and
becoming a responsible husband in that episode
was something we didn't want to lose.
Prior to "Lineage," B'Elanna Torres and Tom
Paris often didn't act like a couple that had
a future together. B'Elanna still pushed Tom
away whenever he threatened to get close,
while Tom seemed to prefer going off with
Harry, developing and playing games on the
holodeck to spending time with his alleged
girlfriend. After "Lineage," however, the two
actually behaved like a committed couple. While
not seeing them exchange their wedding vows in
"Drive" was disappointing, in a sense, we did
see them marry in "Lineage." Tom pledged his
love to his bride in even more personal and
powerful terms than we saw his Demon-planet
counterpart do in "Course: Oblivion," during
Voyager's fifth season (presumably in the same
setting and words the "real" Paris and Torres
did).
B'Elanna's questioning of her Klingon heritage
in "Lineage" had bothered many of us, too.
Hadn't she finally laid that to rest at the end
of "Barge of the Dead"? Well, she did, in part,
at least. B'Elanna understood she had been
rejecting her mother's attempts to help her
appreciate Klingon culture, and that her mother
had, indeed, always loved her. B'Elanna
certainly appeared to accept her Klingon
traits better afterwards. However, it does not
necessarily follow that B'Elanna would want her
own child going through what she herself went
through. The rejection she suffered from her
father was a terrible blow to B'Elanna's self-
esteem. Learning to accept her mother's love
didn't mean she didn't want to spare her
daughter the pain of losing her father's. She
wasn't giving Tom much credit, it's true, but
until then, his behavior as a boyfriend had
given her ample cause to worry about how much
he'd be there as a parent to any child,
perhaps, not only one who was as visibly
Klingon as she herself.
Human (and, presumably, Klingon) development
does not necessarily proceed in a straight
line, like making a frontal assault when
climbing a mountain. Especially when it comes
to emotional development, it's a bit more like
a spiral--a winding road encircles a mountain,
where previous stages are revisited and the
lessons learned and relearned until true
independence has been reached.
The two year old learns to make autonomous
choices through the power of the simple word,
"No," using it even when the child would be
happier saying, "Yes." In adolescence, young
people strike out on their own, making choices
that can make a parent turn pale with fear.
Young adults make independent choices for
themselves, becoming young parents guiding
their children on how to make choices.
Ultimately, mature adults may have to make
difficult choices for their parents who have
lost the ability to act independently.
At each step, we confront similar issues.
Events as devastating as abandonment by a
parent, which B'Elanna experienced, can and
will have an affect on every succeeding stage.
B'Elanna's appearing to "backslide" in
"Lineage," therefore, is something which could
almost be expected to happen. Tom's commitment
to B'Elanna and their daughter was a very
welcome development.
That doesn't mean that everything that occurred
in "Lineage" was okay with us. If it were, we
would have included it upon the list of 7.5
canon episodes and would have gone on to write
something else. We felt that B'Elanna went
pretty far, for starters. We also wanted to
see Tom confront some things about his own
past which Voyager never showed him do. This
segment of Season 7.5 provided us with the
opportunity to do just that. We weren't about
to let the chance slip by us, the way it did
TPTB.
J & J