String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [90]
This last thought struck B’Elanna as funny, what with all the complaining about Voyager she had been doing of late, but where had she ever lived that was any more her home than this ship? Back on Earth with her savage mother and emotionally damaged father? At the Academy? Even in the Maquis? None of these places had ever really felt right. B’Elanna Torres had never found a home because she didn’t know what home meant. But maybe here, she decided, feeling the soft cotton against her cheek and nose. Catching a whiff of Tom Paris on the pillow next to hers, she smiled. Maybe here.
Her door chimed and B’Elanna lifted her head. The lights were set low, but not off. Tom must have put her to bed after they picked her up, then gone back on duty. Where was her clock? Not in its usual place. “Computer?” she called, but nothing replied. Must be offline, B’Elanna thought, sighing. Gone for a few hours and everything goes to hell.
The door chimed again. “Door, unlock.” Again, no response. “Damn,” B’Elanna said, the pleasant sensation of justifiable pique creeping into her. She threw off the comforter and was surprised how chilly the air was against her skin. Environmental systems are off, too. This was not good. Voyager must have had a rough time wherever she had been after they disappeared. Of course, whatever had gone wrong, the situation mustn’t be too out of hand or the captain wouldn’t have let her sleep.
Sitting up, she felt a peculiar ache in her neck and shoulders. Touching herself just under the chin, B’Elanna found a tender spot, like the new skin grown with a dermal regenerator. Kaytok, she remembered. He attacked me. Why did he do that?
B’Elanna heard a dull thud: her visitor pounding on the door. Slipping out from under the covers, she found she was wearing clean undergarments, but nothing else. She wondered absently how Tom could have managed that and smiled at the thought. Bet he enjoyed that. The cool air raised goose bumps on her flesh and she ran across the floor, blood pumping effervescently through her veins.
When she pressed the manual override, the door slid open and revealed a slightly peeved Tom Paris holding a tray of food. “Hey,” he said. “I figured when I locked the door behind me I’d be able to open it again. Someone should fix this.”
Grinning, B’Elanna took an edge of the tray and drew Tom inside the doors. Then, taking the tray from his hands, she set it on the end table and stepped into the circle of his arms. “That’s breakfast,” he said.
“I’m not hungry,” she replied (a terrible lie, but food could wait), and threw her arms around his neck, joyful to feel his warmth against her. Arms closed around her waist and Tom lifted her so that her mouth was on a level with his own. They kissed, tenderly at first, but with increasing urgency, one of Tom’s hands at the back of her head and the other stroking her spine under her T-shirt. B’Elanna curled one of her legs around Tom’s upper thigh and gently bit his lower lip, a signal he knew well. Tom stooped, dropped his arm under her legs, stood with B’Elanna cradled against him, and walked to the bed.
Feeling her feet leave the floor, Seven of Nine flailed, kicked her legs, and squirmed like a small child who was being carried away to an early bedtime. Paris lost his grip and dropped her legs, but held on to her waist so that she fell awkwardly to the ground. “What’s wrong?” Paris asked.
Seven half-stood and crabwalked toward the bulkhead, too confused to respond. Where was she? How had she been transported back to Voyager without her remembering it? And what was she doing in B’Elanna Torres’s quarters? Paris approached her again, still smiling, but obviously confused. “Are you all right, hon?”
“Lieutenant Paris,” Seven said, taking another awkward step backwards. “I think there’s been a mistake…” She looked down at herself and felt her confusion grow even greater. She was wearing nothing