Flashback - Diane Carey [41]
"So much for two hours. You have an alternative, I'll bet."
"Yes, I do. A shuttlecraft."
"You want me to send a shuttlecraft into turbulence so violent that a starship can't navigate it?" He said it, but sometimes stating the incredibly obvious was a command prerogative. He knew she had this all thought out, but making senior officers sweat was another one.
Torres kept the annoyance out of her voice on purpose, because she knew he was tightroping her on purpose. "A shuttlecraft has only a small fraction of the hull and mass of a starship. There's just less to kick around, and movements are quicker, compensations easier, and we can just go in and ride the waves without trying to fight them. We can pull a position scoop behind us, power into the nebula to the dense vein, then power down and just roll around, collecting sirillium. When we've got all we can carry, the ship can enable tractor beams and pull us out."
"Are you volunteering, B'Elanna?"
She crossed her arms, and her Klingon defiance bubbled to the top. "What else does 'us' mean?"
"Who's the other half of 'us'?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't matter, except I need a quick-fingered pilot."
At the helm, Chakotay could see Paris grin. "Mr. Paris?"
Paris shook his head, then swiveled around and stood up. "Sir," he said, "this is me volunteering."
Chakotay felt a smile tug, but resisted it. "Very well. We'll hold position here. You prepare the shuttlecraft and-"
"It's already mounted with the scoop and storage tanks," Torres told him. "I presumed you'd agree, so I had the work done an hour ago. All we have to do is launch."
Paris sighed. "No time to write a will, I guess, then?"
"Dismissed," Chakotay said.
As Torres went without a backward glance to the turbolift, Paris followed, muttering, "Doesn't matter . . . what've I got to leave to anybody? And who've I got to leave it to? Just a simple adventurer bequeathing to future generations a legacy of greatness and wonder . . ."
"Tom Paris," Chakotay finished. "Legend in his own mind."
As the turbolift opened, Harry Kim stepped out just in time to have his hand seized and shaken by Paris.
"Harry, old pal," Paris said. "Take care of the ship after I'm gone. I know you can do it. Remember me fondly, and give Lieutenant Nicoletti my fond regards, will you? Tell her it just wasn't meant to be."
"What?" Kim stared at the closing lift doors. "Tom?"
But the doors closed, clipping off one last look of sorrowful nobility from Paris and a roll of the eyes from Torres.
Baffled, Kim turned to Chakotay. "Sir? Why's Tom leaving the bridge? It's not change of watch yet."
"No," Chakotay said. "They're going out on a shuttlecraft into the nebula."
Kim's fresh-faced expression buckled. "Into that? We can't even get the Voyager through that!"
"Exactly why we're sending the shuttle. There's less bulk to knock around. I want you to monitor the shuttlecraft's every movement and have the tractor beam ready to pull them out. Also, adjust your sensor monitors to give us a reading of the amount and density of sirillium being transferred into the tanks. Be ready to move on a moment's notice. No matter how fast we work, it'll take several minutes to yank them back. I don't want any delays. Those two shouldn't stay out there any longer than absolutely necessary."
"Yes, sir... right away." Kim frowned and headed to his post as if wondering whether or not they really needed sirillium all this badly.
Chakotay felt sorry for the young officer as he watched Kim work his consoles. This was the risk of joining an outfit like Starfleet. Make a friend, send him out into risk, possibly lose him. Hesitate about making friends the next time.
Lose a friend, lose a captain-maybe both. Per-
haps this was why many Starfleet crews over the years had learned to keep an arm's length between each other.