Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [63]
"How are you doing?" Paris asked.
"This isn't anything like the simulations we had at the academy. I remember them feeling peaceful-"
"Like floating in the womb."
"Yes."
She was getting a queasy look on her face. Clearly, he thought, she wasn't enjoying this as much as he was. He would have to distract her.
"Harry once told me he could remember being in his mother's womb."
No reaction.
"But then," Paris added, "he also told me Susan Nicoletti had a crush on him."
That got B'Elanna's attention. "Why do you say that as though it's ridiculous?"
Paris shrugged. "Well ... I mean Harry's a greatlooking young man and all, or so I've heard ...
but ..."
"But what?" asked B'Elanna, her nausea apparently forgotten, driven off by indignation. "He's no Tom Paris?"
"It was a long time ago," Paris explained patiently. "But yes, I'd been pursuing Susan rather vigorously, and she wouldn't so much as have a cup of coffee with me."
"And it was impossible that she might have taken a liking to Harry instead. Is that what you're saying.?"
He frowned. "You're making this sound like something it isn't. I'm not putting Harry down. But at that point, he was naive. Inexperienced. Green, I'd guess you'd say."
"And at that point," B'Elanna noted, "I remember you She stopped suddenly. Her queasiness seemed to be coming back.
"I think I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach," she said.
Paris darted to the rescue. "That's because you dropped out of the academy too soon. In the third year there's a six-week program of actual space walks-so you can get used to them."
B'Elanna grunted. "I never would have lasted to the third year. If I hadn't dropped out, they would have asked me to leave."
He chuckled. "I can't believe you were as bad as you say you were."
She scowled. "I was worse. Always getting into trouble, arguing ... fighting. I don't know why they put up with me as long as they did."
"Big, bad B'Elanna. I wish I'd known you then."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "You'd have hated me."
Paris shook his head. "I can't imagine a time when I wouldn't have found you fascinating."
B'Elanna turned to him, not knowing what to say. Obviously, she was unaccustomed to fielding compliments.
Before she could respond, he heard a sound like
comm static. A curtain of light seemed to ripple around them for a moment.
"What the hell was that?" Paris wondered.
B'Elanna checked the sensors on her padd. "More ion turbulence," she told him.
Suddenly, he heard something else-a series of shrill alarm beeps. Paris checked his padd and felt a chill climb his spine.
Looking at his companion, he said, "My oxygen supply is leaking."
He'd barely gotten the words out when a computer voice confirmed them. "Warning. Oxygen level at one hundred fourteen millibars and failing."
Paris started pushing controls on his sleeve, but nothing he did seemed to help. "I can't stop it," he groaned.
The computer spoke up again. "Warning. Oxygen level at ninety-three millibars and falling."
B'Elanna looked at him, her face a mirror for his dismay. Then her eyes hardened with resolve. "We'll have to share my oxygen."
"Yours?" Paris asked.
"Mine," she confirmed. "It's the only chance you've got."
Before he could protest, B'Elanna pulled him close again. Then she worked at her neck to open a small compartment.
"Warning," the computer voice in the flight controller's suit announced. "Oxygen level at seventynine millibars."
Paris could feel his air thinning quickly. He had to draw painfully deep breaths to get what he needed from it.
B'Elanna pulled out an air hose from the vicinity of her neck. Then she attached it to a like compartment in Paris's suit.
"Are you getting air now?" she asked him.
At first, he wasn't. Despite his efforts to remain calm, to breathe evenly, he felt himself gasping, on the edge of panic.
Then, as his lungs filled, he was able to control his breathing better. He was able to relax, at least a little.
"Yeah," Paris rasped. "Much better. Thanks."
'Don't mention it."
B'Elanna turned to the controls on her sleeve-and