Pathways - Jeri Taylor [135]
“This is the U.S.S. Bradbury. State your purpose in this space.”
“My purpose?” Tom chuckled audibly, as he continued to enter commands. “I’m on my way to visit a lovely woman on Selka. My purpose, frankly, is—well, let’s just say it’s my own business. But you might wish me luck.”
“We’re investigating a series of explosions we detected about one light-year from here. Did you get any readings on them?”
“Sorry, Bradbury. I took off from Kripkin a couple of hours ago and came directly here. Haven’t detected any explosions. Frankly, my sensors are in about as good shape as my comm system.”
“We’re having no trouble hearing you.”
“Pardon? Repeat that?” Tom had completed his task— entering a deeply encrypted message to the colonists on Selka, giving them the location of the damaged Liberty and requesting immediate assistance. He now entered the transmission command, piggybacking the message onto thermal emissions from the nacelles, which would probably not get the attention of the Starfleet ship. The encryption would also make the source of the message undetectable, meaning Chakotay would never know that Tom had done what he said he would. He would be accused once more of betrayal and Chakotay would undoubtedly, as he had promised, hunt him down.
But he couldn’t worry about that. The ship was visible now, looming before him. He turned the nose of the shuttle directly toward the Starfleet vessel. The faceless voice was still barking at him, asking questions, demanding answers. “Sorry, Bradbury, you’re still garbled,” Tom muttered, gauging the distance between them carefully.
Finally within range. “Bradbury, this isn’t working. Let’s do this face-to-face. If you’ll drop your shields, I’ll transport on board.”
There was a hesitation, and Tom knew they had detected him power his phaser array. Oh, well—shields or not, the result would be the same. He fired a volley directly at the Starfleet ship and then veered sharply away from it.
The phasers impacted the Bradbury’s shields, jolting it but inflicting no real damage. Nonetheless, it behaved as Tom had anticipated: it changed course to pursue him.
He pushed the shuttle’s warp engines to their maximum, which was just over warp four. It wouldn’t take long for the Starfleet ship to overtake him. But he was leading it away from the destroyed Cardassian ships, and away from Chakotay’s helpless craft. The colonists of Selka would have time to rescue the Maquis and they would survive to continue their zealots’ cause.
Tom Paris, on the other hand, would probably be spending time in a Federation Rehabilitation Colony. What do you think of that, Dad? The plummet continues. Not only was your only son drummed out of Starfleet in disgrace, he now has a criminal record. Maybe you’d like a picture of him in a prison jumpsuit to include in your array of family pictures.
Tom uttered a mirthless laugh, and put the shuttle into a series of evasive maneuvers. He’d prolong the inevitable as long as possible, sending a clear message to the Starfleet officers on the Bradbury that Tom Paris could fly a ship with the best of them. And with that thought buoying him, he plunged into the black void of space.
New Zealand wasn’t the worst of places to serve out a sentence. The work was hard—restoring ancient ruins for a historical project—but Tom found the physical labor satisfying, especially in that it allowed him to sleep at night. That hadn’t been the case between the time he was taken in custody by the Bradbury and his eventual sentencing to the Federation Rehabilitation Colony. Those were the nights when he lay awake, imagining what his mother was going through as her only son was processed through the judicial system.
He didn’t wonder about his father; he could hear the admiral in his head, resounding like tympani. But he ached