Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [37]
For a while, Carey figured he was the only one capable of being in charge of engineering. Then Torres moved in, with her take-no-prisoners approach. Naturally, they banged heads.
He was just standing up for what he thought was best-not only for himself, but for everyone on the ship. Unfortunately for him, Torres wasn't buying any of it. Finally, she brought the matter to a boil.
She broke his nose in three places.
Naturally, Carey thought the captain would stand by him. After all, his Starfleet record was impeccable. But Janeway had her own problems to contend with. Voyager was no longer purely a Starfleet ship-not with a contingent of Maquis aboard.
When he heard the captain was even considering Torres for the engineering post, he nearly ruptured a blood vessel-and not in his nose. After all, she was an ex-Maquis-someone who had attended the Academy for a while but couldn't cut it. Or so he had heard.
In the end, the captain didn't give in to pressure from anyone. She picked the best person for the joband that person was B'Elanna Torres. Eventually, even Carey agreed with the choice.
Since that time, Torres had distinguished herself over and over again. And Carey, as her first assistant, had served her as loyally as he had ever served any Starfleet lifer.
He had also gotten to know her as a friend as well as a colleague-and he knew when one of his friends was having a monster of a bad day. That's why he didn't mind fixing the replicator, even if he was supposed to be resting his weary bones.
"Day of Honor," he said out loud. "More like Day of Horror."
Only Klingons would put each other through such torture, he thought, as he picked up his tool case and headed for his quarters.
When the Doctor had the ship's computer place him in the holodeck, he believed he was visiting the Talaxian resort environment that had become so popular over the last few months-not only with himself, but with a majority of the crew.
As it turned out, he was wrong.
He found himself in a cave full of torches and twisted, tapering candles that struggled against wisps of fog. The Doctor looked around and saw that the cave connected with other caves, both in front and behind him. The other caves were full of candles and fog as well.
The Doctor harrumphed. "Either someone's been tinkering with the resort program," he observed sardonically, "or the holodeck is malfunctioning again."
No doubt it was the latter.
Still, he mused, this milieu intrigued him. The Doctor wondered who had devised it and why. Unfortunately, there was no one present to provide answers to his questions. There were only the guttering candles, and they made no sound at all.
Then the Doctor heard what sounded like voices. Deep, gruff voices, speaking in some kind of rhythm. No doubt, the owners of those voices could shed some light on the situation.
"Well," he declared, "I'm not much of a spelunker.
However, my curiosity has been aroused."
With that, he made his way in the direction of the voices. As it turned out, their source was closer than he had imagined. By the time he had traversed his third cavern, he caught sight of three tall, swarthy figures. They glared at him from beneath bony brow ridges.
"Klingons," the Doctor concluded. "How charming."
His direct experience with the species had been limited to his interactions with Lieutenant Torres. Those interactions had been positive ones, for the most part.
However, the Doctor's program included a great many references to Klingon culture and psychology. It didn't require any mental gymnastics for him to realize he might have placed himself in a sticky situation.
Of course, this was only a holodeck program. He could stop it any time he liked. With that assurance in mind, he approached the Klingons and inclined his head.
"Greetings," said the Doctor. He flashed a smile.
"If I may ask, what exactly is your function here?"