Part 7

Tuvok observed Tom Paris tumbling out of a Jeffrey's Tube, landing none too gently on the floor of the corridor. He swore upon landing. He swore again when he lifted his head up and saw Tuvok.

"Mr. Paris," Tuvok greeted, peering down at him

"Tuvok." Tom struggled to turn over and get to his feet.

Tuvok extended his hand. Tom grasped it and allowed the strong Vulcan to pull him upright. How the hell was he going to explain this?

"I guess you're wondering what I was doing up there," Tom began, brushing himself off.

"You may explain that, as well as your activities in the mess hall, to the Captain," Tuvok stated.

Tuvok took hold of Tom's bicep, and forcibly began to lead him toward the turbo lift. Tom didn't resist, like he had any chance of getting away from Tuvok.

Of all the inopportune times for Harry to be right twice....

Captain Janeway was sitting at her desk when Tuvok escorted Tom into her ready room. She motioned him over. Once he stood in front of her, he realized she truly looked dangerous for the first time.

"Tom." Her voice was dangerous, too.

This was not good.

She picked up a PADD from the surface of her desk. She activated it, and began to read from the displayed text.

"Leola Root Stew, contaminated with syrup of ipecac."

She paused, looking up to meet his eyes. He could swear her eyes were snarling.

"Tomato Soup, contaminated with digitalis."

Her words were slow and deadly. The woman was pissed.

"Bajoran Hasperat, contaminated with Gelsemium."

The words were smooth and precise, yet it still sounded like she was growling.

"Tuwalli Pie, contaminated with Pycrotoxin."

Apparently she knew the effects of every poison, judging by her rising fury. Or maybe she was just that mad.

"Rajivian vegetables, injected with Rajivian poison."

Well, atleast she didn't have all his offenses. Unless she was skipping all the ones she couldn't pronounce.

"Peach Pie, with syrup of T'y'Lyhek'Ra."

She butchered the pronunciation.

And she was going to butcher him.

She swiveled in her chair, looking out at the stars. She'd rather speak to them, than to him.

"You are guilty of endangering this crew, of harmfully altering the food supplies of this ship, and of conduct unbecoming a-"

Well, he wasn't a Star Fleet Officer, she seemed to have forgotten.

"-paroled inmate."

But she found a perfectly suitable phrase to substitute.

"Do you have anything to say in you defense?"

Nothing that wouldn't get him into even deeper shit.

He shook his head.

"Tom Paris, I sentence you to ninety days in the brig," she ground out between clenched teeth.

Oh shit. And he hadn't said anything.

"Take Mr. Paris to the brig," she ordered Tuvok.

Tuvok grasped his arm again. This time he had to pull Tom in the desired direction.

Tom let him, but at the open door, he halted.

"Jeez," he tossed over his shoulder, "You'd think I was planning mutiny or something!"

And he was pleased to see that the entire Bridge crew heard him. Especially Ayala at Tactical, whose head shot up to stare at him.

Yeah, he thought. Go tell Chakotay. Get him nervous.

That was him, Tom Paris, arrogant to the end.

And if he was in the Brig in five days, while the Maquis mutinied, it really was his end.

Part 8 | Index page