The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [57]
And then B’Elanna couldn’t help it. She was exhausted, drained physically and mentally. She let the tears come, tried to speak, failed, tried again.
[169] “We named her ... we named her Miral.”
And then her mother was in her arms, squeezing tightly, tightly, and Torres heard the sounds of sobs and wondered which of them was crying.
Candace Roske was a huge fan of the holodeck. She was grateful beyond words that the Voyager crew had clearly been fans as well. She imagined that the holodeck was a necessity, if you were lost out there in the Delta Quadrant. Probably kept more than a few crew members sane.
Just like it was keeping Roske sane. It was very, very boring on Voyager these days.
She’d tried out several of the already-programmed scenarios. Many were obviously designed simply to give the participant a good workout. Others were very restful—she particularly liked the Polynesian resort and the moonlight sail across Lake George. The governess one she abandoned after a few tries, and she’d really enjoyed visiting the oddly sunny Irish town of Fair Haven, although she thought the pub owner seemed a bit mopey.
But by far her favorite scenario was “The Adventures of Captain Proton.” As someone with a great deal of familiarity with designing holodeck programs herself, Candace found it easy to adjust Constance Goodheart’s program and insert herself as the character. Instead of being scantily clad and screaming all the time, “Constance,” as played by Candace, was as smart, cool, and fun as Proton himself.
She had gotten the message to report in and was a bit annoyed by it, but hey, Watson was in charge. She [170] wanted to finish up the firefight, though, and with an hour to report in, she thought she’d make it in time.
Candace ducked as laser blasts whizzed past her in all their black-and-white glory. She ducked behind a rock and returned fire. The flying saucer settled down, the small dome on its top glowing, and a ramp extended.
Candace couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. The aliens were hilarious. They had large eyes at the end of waving stalks, and these six cute little arms and legs—oh, this was a good one, all right. She wanted to pick them up and cuddle them.
That was, until they started firing. The rock beside her vaporized. Candace—Constance—dove for cover, rolling as she hit the powdery soil, firing as she went.
“Constance!” a voice cried, and she looked up to see the Captain himself waving frantically at her. “Over here!”
In this version, Captain Proton was a good-looking blond man with piercing blue eyes. She’d gotten to know that face ... and that body ... pretty well, as she’d programmed a slow-growing but sweet romance between the good Captain and his noble assistant.
He’d managed to erect some kind of shield that seemed to be deflecting the alien fire. Candace took a couple of deep breaths, readied herself, and sprinted the short distance. She dove for cover, and Captain Proton’s arms. As they landed hard on the soil, she thought he looked surprised.
They lay, heart to heart, eyes locked, breathing heavily from exertion. She lowered her head and kissed him. Normally, he liked that, but this time he seemed shocked and struggled away.
[171] Candace brushed at her long red hair, which had escaped from its braid and was now falling into her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Well,” said Captain Proton, reaching casually for her weapon and inspecting it, “don’t take it personally, but I don’t think my wife would approve. Sorry, Constance. Computer, disengage safety protocol.”
And before Candace could even form the question, Captain Proton lifted her laser weapon, now set on “Render Unconscious,” and fired point blank.
Tom Paris looked down at the limp form of the admittedly attractive “Constance Goodheart.” He thought of the pressure of her lips on his and shook his head wryly.
“No,” he said aloud as he tied up the unfortunate guard, making sure the knots were sufficiently tight to keep her bound but not painful and removing her comm