Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [40]
B’Elanna covered her mouth with her hand to conceal her grin. “Right,” she said. “I’ll go take a look at the power grid.”
“Thanks. It’ll probably help if I send you the schedule and my notes. I don’t think we’ll need real lights but for one or two acts, but any time you could give me…”
“All right,” B’Elanna said, finding herself strangely pleased by this opportunity to participate in a manner that did not offend her. “Anything else?”
Tom considered, then shook his head. “Not really. Just keep this in mind: ‘There’s no business like show business.’ “
“Really?”
“Like no business I know.”
“It was an uncommonly decent thing he did,” B’Elanna said to Neelix, who was supporting the work lights while she bolted the unit to a tripod. “I mean, especially for Tom.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Neelix said. “Tom is usually a decent fellow.”
“I’m a little surprised to hear you say that,” B’Elanna said. “I had heard that you two have had problems.” Though she had never talked to the Talaxian about the temporary triangle between him, Tom, and Kes, she had certainly heard about it from Harry.
“Oh, well,” Neelix demurred. “That’s all in the past. Tom and I are the best of friends now. Look at how much he’s helping me with the talent show.” The Talaxian’s efforts at bonhomie sounded a little forced to B’Elanna. Though she was fairly certain nothing had ever happened between Tom and Kes, there had definitely been some heat between them for a while and the subsequent cooling between Kes and Neelix couldn’t be coincidental.
B’Elanna tightened the last bolt, then stood and looked around the holodeck. All around them, she saw men and women scurrying from edge to edge. As she watched, pieces of scenery and characters-an armored horse here, a front porch swing there-flickered into and out of existence. Squarely at the center of this whirling, chaotic scene stood Tom Paris, pointing, directing, cajoling, and even shouting when necessary. Not so much “helping” as doing everything, B’Elanna thought. “Yeah,” she said. “He seems to have really taken an interest.”
“And not just in the production aspects, either,” Neelix added while wiping his hands on a cloth that dangled out of his suit pocket. “Tom has brought a couple of acts to my attention. Do you know Ensign Lauren MacTaggart?”
B’Elanna searched her memory, but couldn’t put a name to the face. Shaking her head, she said, “Can’t have been one of the Maquis.”
“Oh, goodness, no. Lauren was just out of the Academy. She’s probably the youngest member of the crew if you don’t count Kes.” The Ocampan was, if B’Elanna was counting correctly, between three and four years old, though because of her speeded-up metabolism, she looked much older. “There she is over there.”
B’Elanna glanced in the direction Neelix pointed, half-expecting, from the way the Talaxian described the ensign, to see a gawky, awkward girl. She was surprised, therefore, to find herself looking at an elegantly slim young woman with long red hair pulled back into a thick ponytail. Lauren had high, angular cheekbones, a pert nose, a spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and piercing green eyes. How have I missed her all these months? “I can’t remember ever seeing her,” B’Elanna said.
“She works gamma shift in the airponics and environmental sections,” Neelix said. “You two probably sleep when the other one is awake.”
“How does Tom know her then?”
“How does Tom know anyone?” Neelix asked. “He’s an outgoing soul.”
Right, B’Elanna thought spitefully. “Outgoing.” Is that the new word for it? “And Tom brought her to your attention?”
“Absolutely,” Neelix said, speaking rapidly, as he did when he became excited. “He said she has a lovely voice. ‘Great set of lungs’ is what I believe he said. She’s very shy, he says, so she won’t sing when anyone else is in here. I expect he’s going to have a difficult time getting her to perform in front of the whole crew, but he said he’ll do his best to coax her on stage.”
“Good for him,” B’Elanna said as she saw