The Garden - Melissa Scott [65]
hope for; there weren't many captains who'd trust him with their ships, not with his record. Home could well be a change for the worse for him. Yeah, he thought, with another bitter smile, I understand you, Thilo Revek, or at least I can sympathize with your motives. From everything Chakotay said about you, from everything that's in the records, you weren't much better liked than I was among the Maquis. No wonder you jumped at the chance to stay. I wonder if I'd do the same. He shoved that thought away, appalled and annoyed at his own descent into self-pity. No, I wouldn 't, not now. I have friends on Voyager, and a chance to do the work I love for a captain I genuinely respect. That doesn't change-I won't let it change.
The rest of the flight back to the citadel was uneventful, and Grayrose set the shuttle down with demure skill, barely bouncing the heavy craft. Kim and his Kirse-Harp, Paris reminded himself-were waiting in one of the arched doors, but came out from its shelter as the shuttle rolled to a stop. Paris wrestled himself out of the safety harness, and was second out of the shuttle, almost stepping on Grayrose's heels. Kim gave him a friendly wave, and stepped forward.
"So how'd it go?"
"All right," Paris answered. "We got all the samples we needed, but we had a run-in with a couple of those gardener-creatures." And we-well, Revek-killed one of them, but there's no need to mention that yet. "How about you?"
"One of the gardeners attacked you?" Kim sounded genuinely shocked.
"Yeah. Grayrose says they're different from the ones around here," Paris answered.
"That's correct," Harp said. "Here they're more securely adapted."
And I don't think we ought to be discussing that in
any more detail, Paris thought. He said, "So, did you get your samples, Harry?"
"Um, yes." Kim nodded brightly. "Everything's recorded."
"Right." Paris looked at Grayrose. "Then we should get them back to the ship. Thank you very much for your help, all of you." He touched his communicator. "Paris to Voyager. Two to beam up."
Chakotay was waiting in the transporter chamber, unobtrusively watching over the technician's shoulder, but looked up as the away team materialized in the chamber.
"Gentlemen," he said. "The captain wants to see you."
What've I done this time? Paris suppressed that answer-Chakotay had never much cared for his sense of humor-and Kim spoke quickly, stepping off the platform.
"Shall we download the tricorder readings first?"
"Bring them along," Chakotay answered. "We can get a preliminary look at them in the ready room while you download."
And that settles that, Paris thought. He fell into step at the first officer's side, and was not surprised to find a turbolift waiting for them, doors open. "Is something wrong?"
Chakotay shook his head. "No more than there has been. But if we're going to trade, the captain wants to get negotiations under way as soon as possible."
"So that we have room to maneuver," Paris translated, and immediately wished he hadn't.
Chakotay lifted an eyebrow at him. "A position you should understand." The first officer sighed then, looking into the distance. "And we may need all the room we can get."
The rest of the senior officers were already waiting
in the ready room, and a viewscreen was lit as well, displaying the doctor's perpetually frowning visage. The captain looked up at their entrance, and Paris was startled to smell coffee, and to see a small cup in front of her. Either things were going better, he thought, or much worse.
"Gentlemen,"