Chakotay shook himself loose of Ayala's desperate grasp.
Of all the inconvenient things to happen.
He motioned for Ayala to accompany him back to B'Elanna's quarters. Time for another poker game. This one would definitely allow for discussion of violence.
B'Elanne looked up when the two men entered. There were still a few stragglers inside, raiding her Replicator rations, to her intense displeasure. She noticed the look of irritation on Chakotay's face. What the hell could he have learned after three minutes in the hallway to produce an expression like that?
Ayala provided her answer. "Tom Paris knows."
Well, she knew what had produced that expression, now. Little did she know, at the moment, she was mirroring it.
As much as she had wanted Chakotay to understand the necessity of dealing with that little runt, this was not how she wanted it to come around. Still, it wasn't an impossible obstacle. Her eyes shot to the Klingon Ceremonial Dagger on the wall. Ceremonial? Well, she'd say a little prayer after it was done. She'd replicated the weapon during their first weeks on Voyager. Tuvok the traitor had wanted to confiscate it. She'd thrown a fit and claimed one just like it had been destroyed on Chakotay's ship. He'd never entered her quarters on that ship, and couldn't disprove the outright lie. She'd insisted it held cultural significance to her. She got to keep it, but had never put it to its intended use. She'd had to correlate the rest of the decor around it. The other Klingon items in her quarters helped destroy the thought that she was storing it for later use.
Well, better late than never.
B'Elanna's face went from irked to feral.
"Where is he?" She inquired, the tone of her voice communicating her intentions.
Chakotay dropped heavily into a chair. "Inaccessible. The brig."
"His kitchen activities?"
"Has he told anyone?"
Anyone who might not be in the Brig, and who might be perfectly accessible?
"Not to my knowledge," said Ayala. "He just stood in the doorway of the Bitch's Ready Room, and said really loudly that one would think he was planning a mutiny. I guess he was talking about the time he's been sentenced to in the Brig, but no way was he talking to Janeway. He looked straight at me when he said it. He was letting me know that he knows."
"Why would he do that?" asked B'Elanna. "Did he think we'd take the hint and just stop?"
"No," replied Chakotay. "Paris thought he'd get a dig in, and let us know he's got something on us. But you're right, it was a stupid choice for him to make."
"Because we're going to kill him."
Chakotay turned his head toward the other Maquis in B'Elanna's quarters.
"Jarvin," he called. "Who's the next one of us on duty in the Brig?"
Jarvin sat down at B'Elanna's terminal and called up the upcoming duty schedule.
"Dalby," he replied.
"Three days. Duty shift Alpha."
"What if Paris talks in the meantime?" asked B'Elanna.
"We need to monitor the Brig. B'Elanna, get a repair crew in there under any circumstances you can. Plant it and patch the vid and sound to these quarters. If Paris says anything..."
Chakotay didn't finish his sentence, but B'Elanna had already decided to sharpen the blade on that dagger.
Chakotay rose to leave.
"I'll let Dalby know what he has to do, if you don't have to do it first."
After Chakotay's departure, Jarvin and the other Maquis soon left.
B'Elanna took a seat at her terminal. She tapped into Jarvin's replicator account and stole back what he had used of hers.
A full account of Replicator credits. Three days until Paris was dead. Five days until Voyager was theirs. This was going to be a good week.
Just inside Dalby's quarters, Chakotay spoke to him in hushed tones. Dalby nodded, as he was dictated his duty. When the Commander left, Dalby returned to his bedroom, even though it was still early in the evening.
He wrapped himself around the slick, feminine body in his bed. She stirred at his touch, and felt the tension in the arms that encircled her.
"What is it?" She asked, knowing he wouldn't tell her.
I have to kill Tom Paris in three days.
He kissed her.
"Nothing at all."
Part 11 | Index page