Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [36]
Her lips drawn back, B'Elanna confronted Moklor's other helper. He seemed less eager to tackle her than the first one.
The engineer gjared at Moklor. "Thanks so much," she told him. "It's been lovely. But we won't be doing it again some time."
The interrogator's mouth twisted with anger. He pointed a long, gnarled finger at her. "You cannot leave! You have yet to complete the ceremony!"
But B'Elanna stalked out of the place. She'd had dumb ideas before, she told herself, but this was by far the dumbest.
B'ELANNA WAS LYING IN A FETAL POSITION ON THE COUCH in her quarters when she heard the door chime. Go away, she thought.
But what she said was, "Come in."
The door slid aside, revealing her visitor. It was Tom.
He looked at her lying there. "Are you all right?" he asked.
With an effort, B'Elanna sat up. "I'm fine."
"I tried to find you before," Tom explained. "But you were in the holodeck."
"That's right."
Tom frowned. "I gathered as much. You know you left it running.? There was a Klingon in there who didn't look too happy."
B'Elanna grunted. "Really."
"Yeah," said Tom. "He was nursing a whale of a black eye. Looks like he had a run-in with someone who's having a bad day."
She frowned at him. "Very funny."
Tom didn't say anything more for a while. It seemed to B'Elanna that he was waiting for her to talk about the program. Of course, that was the last thing she wanted to talk about.
"So," he said finally, "how did it go?"
"It didn't," the engineer replied, unable to keep the pique out of her voice. "Do you mind if we talk about something else?"
Tom regarded her-first with surprise, then with a certain resolve. "As a matter of fact,- he told her, "I do. You've been spitting like a cobra all day. And frankly, it's getting boring."
"Is it?" B'Elanna muttered, looking away.
"It sure as hell is. We designed that holodeck program together, if you recall, and I think you owe me the courtesy of telling me what happened."
She looked up at him. "It was ridiculous-a lot of meaningless posturing. Honor, dishonor ... what does it matter, anyway.?"
Tom's eyes narrowed. "It matters because it's part of who you are. You've been running away from that all your life."
Anger flared in her, sudden and white-hot. "Who are you to tell me that?" B'Elanna wondered.
"I care about you," the flight controller told her bluntly. "I care what happens to you. But if you keep pushing me away, there's not much point in my sticking around-is there?"
She shrugged. "Fine. Leave me alone, then." Purely out of spite, she gestured toward the door.
Tom darkened with rage. "Don't worry," he said. "If this is the way you treat people who try to be your friend, you'll be alone, all right. You'll be all alone."
Then, with a hard look, he turned and left her quarters. The door whispered closed in his wake.
Suddenly, B'Elanna realized what a child she had been. She let her head sink into her hands.
Good going, she thought. There's only one living being on the ship who has an outside chance of understanding what you're going through-and you just sent him away.
Maybe Moklor had been right. Maybe she was a p'tahk.
It. Carey put his tools away and massaged his shoulder where a muscle had tightened up on him. Then he replaced the bulkhead plate that covered the replicator circuitry.
For the last time, he thought. At least, I hope it's for the last time.
Tapping his commbadge, he said, "Carey to It.
Torres."
"Torres here," came the response.
"Listen," he said, "It. Paris mentioned that his replicator wasn't working. I could've waited until it turned up on the assignment list-" "But you didn't," said Torres. "You just fixed it.
Even though you're supposed to be off-duty."
"Basically, yes. I figured that's what you would have done."
"You figured right," she assured him. "Good work, Carey. Just don't rest on your laurels."
"I never do," he reminded her.
And that was that. Carey smiled and shook his head.
Before