NEW Leadership [PG] VOY AU (P)

Title: Leadership
Author: Dave Rogers (daverogers@geocities.com)
Series: VOY AU (Virtues series, 5/?)
Part: NEW 1/1
Date: 
Rating: [PG]
Codes: P
Warning: Some swearing, some corpses.

Summary: Sequel to "Justice", fifth in the Virtues series. Tom 
Paris needs to regain both the crew's confidence, and his own.

Disclaimer: Paramount leads, I follow.

Acknowledgements: Jeri Taylor's "Pathways" for background
material.



Leadership


A week may be a long time in politics, as a long-forgotten national 
leader had once said; but four months is an eternity on Kennar III. 
The USS Bohr, investigating the rather high probability that the Borg 
had been involved in the disappearance of the system's two Romulan 
colonies, had enough to do for several such eternities, though, so 
there was to be no respite for Tom Paris from the numbing boredom of 
it all.

It was at times like this that Captain Culbertson came into his own. A 
modest man, with much to be modest about, his talent was for the finer 
points of organisation and management, not to mention bidding 
conventions and suit preference signals, and in the presence of three 
like-minded souls and the regulation red and blue packs of cards, his 
long term happiness was assured. While on duty, he alternated between 
slowly and meticulously inspecting the ship to ensure that all the 
crew were carrying out their duties willingly, slowly and meticulously 
inspecting the investigation sites to ensure that all the science team 
were carrying out their duties willingly, and slowly and meticulously 
writing reports to Starfleet that somehow minimised the importance of 
the will of the crew and the science team to carry out those duties. 
While off duty, he immersed himself so deeply in the eternal bridge 
school as to fail to notice the relief of the crew and the science 
team at his absence. And in the resulting power vacuum, two lesser 
beings vied amicably for control of an increasingly easy-going crew.

Nasir, like any good First Officer, was practically obsessed with the 
ability of the crew to perform any and every standard drill in less 
time than any other ship of the same class. Quite where he got his 
information, nobody in the crew knew - none dared suggest he simply 
made it up - but he was able to construct a league table for all 
Einstein class science vessels and rank the Bohr on it day by day. The
aim was obvious, but still compelling, and it became a matter of pride 
in the whole crew that they could assemble and beam out an away team 
of six in three seconds less that the USS Fermi, or drop, recover and 
refit the warp core in two minutes less than the USS Heisenberg - 
although, based on one of Paris' more unbearable jokes, where the 
Heisenberg's times were concerned, Nasir wasn't certain.

Paris, on the other hand, found routine drills rather tedious, and 
preferred the excitement of battle exercises. Whenever Nasir was down 
on the surface, therefore, the Bohr was usually executing high-gee 
turns with the shields at maximum, phasers fully charged and photon 
torpedo - there was only one launcher - at the ready. The Bohr dragged 
its aged hull around the Kennar system with the grace of a hyperactive 
elephant, and had any enemy of appropriate ability been available - a 
Klingon warbird with seventy per cent of its systems disabled, say, or 
the stern half of a bisected Ferengi attack launch - their days would 
have been numbered. All in all, the crew couldn't form any consensus 
as to who irritated them more.

Matters came to a head, though, when Tom took the Bohr through the 
asteroid belt, an insanely dangerous jumble of rock that was all the 
Borg had left of Kennar IV, while Culbertson, Nasir, Mulholland and 
Shabeer were all away at the investigation sites. An hour of tension, 
fear and lightning-fast reflexes left Tom exhilarated and most of the 
crew suffering from nervous exhaustion. The next day, Tom was off 
duty, idly setting up trick shots on the pool table, when Shabeer 
sidled in with Mulholland in tow.

Ali Shabeer coughed nervously, and began, "Tom, some of the crew have 
asked me to speak to you."

"Is this about the pool tournament?" asked Tom, his mind on his latest 
idea for crew recreation. "Nasir's handling most of the details now, 
maybe you should ask him."

"No, it's not the pool tournament." Shabeer gave the strong impression 
that he would rather be just about anywhere else right now. "There 
have been some rumours, Tom, about your past..."

Tom turned to face him, and fixed him with an icy stare. "My past's no 
secret, Ali. The shuttle accident's on record, and yes, it was my 
fault, and yes, my three best friends died. Was there anything else?"
His words were harsher than he'd intended, but the wounds Shabeer had 
re-opened were still too fresh.

Shabeer's mouth opened and shut for a few seconds, but no sound came 
out. Tom realised, with a slight pang of guilt, that this must be very 
hard for Shabeer, normally the most polite man on board; he couldn't, 
offhand, ever remember him speaking an unkind word to anyone. Dermot 
Mulholland, though, was cast in a very different mould, and he stepped 
in to rescue Shabeer with his characteristic Old Etonian confidence.

"Look, Paris, stop chucking the bloody ship around so much, will you? 
And stay out of the asteroid belt, you're scaring the shit out of the 
poor bloody crew."

"You mean they don't trust me?" Tom's hands were still at his sides, 
but his fists were clenched and anger showed in his eyes. "Did they 
think I'd crash them into an asteroid too?"

"Tom, no offence was intended," Shabeer said with a pleading note in 
his voice. "This is an old ship, if something broke down..."

"Don't be such an arse, Paris. Give the poor sods a break. Save it for 
when you need it." Mulholland seemed to have a gift for using the most 
insulting language possible, yet still sounding like Tom's best 
friend. Tom idly wondered whether amicable swearing was on the 
syllabus at English public schools. The thought of a schoolteacher 
formally instructing the English aristocracy in obscene language 
cheered him a little, and he found his anger retreating.

"Okay, okay, I'll take it easy. Maybe I'll stick to weapons drill, or 
something. But I'll have to do some flying, sometimes," he insisted, 
smiling, "or I'll go insane. It gets so boring round here."

"Too bloody right there," agreed Mulholland. "Just cut down a bit, 
there's a good chap."

Tom kept up the air of easy-going charm until he was alone; then, he 
sank into black despair. Nasir's lesson, when they first arrived at 
Kennar III, had gone deep, and he'd been working hard since then - 
for all the appearance of a reckless thrill-seeker that his battle 
exercises might have conveyed - to understand the people under his 
command, and gain their trust. The thought that he had so quickly lost 
the crew's confidence left him wondering whether he would ever be fit 
to lead men again. Despair began to give way to depression; after all 
he'd come to know in the last year, was there any point anyway?

Slowly, though, his training and upbringing took over. If a Paris had 
a problem, he faced it, Tom thought; broke it down into manageable 
pieces and work through them one at a time. The first step was to 
regain the confidence of this crew, here and now. The confidence of 
any other hypothetical crews could wait.

So a week later, when all the senior staff were again on the planet, 
Tom instigated a shipwide weapons drill, and picked a near-approach 
asteroid for some target practice. A few gentle manoeuvres wouldn't 
upset anyone, there were no real hazards involved, and everybody 
always loved blowing things up. Tom suspected that was why most 
crewmen joined up.

"Cardassian attack cruiser approaching to starboard," announced Petty 
Officer Roberts at the science station. 

"Red alert. All crew to battle stations," ordered Tom, trying hard to 
sound interested. "Shields to maximum. Charge phaser banks, load 
photon torpedo tube. Engineering, prepare to re-route warp power to 
the forward shields."

"Shields at maximum, all weapons ready," chimed in Crewman Andri at 
tactical. "Ready to fire on your command, Captain."

Tom stifled a chuckle. He'd told Andri not to call him that, but she 
insisted on doing it, then pretended it was a mistake if he objected. 
He was sure she was doing it on purpose, but he let it go usually 
because it seemed fairly good-natured. Anyway, she was Betazoid, very 
attractive and not much older than him, and he was starting to realise 
that maybe Odile hadn't been the only woman in the world.

"Three Romulan warbirds decloaking on the port bow, sir!" exclaimed 
Roberts suddenly.

Tom frowned. Roberts wasn't supposed to improvise like that. He 
turned to reprimand him, but realised immediately that Roberts wasn't 
looking at him. The entire bridge crew was staring at the forward 
viewscreen. Tom spun round, and froze for an instant as he saw the 
three huge green monsters shimmer into vision, any one of them capable 
of swatting aside the Bohr like a troublesome insect. Part of his mind 
heard Roberts continue, "Lead ship is charging weapons, sir," as he 
leapt for the pilot's seat, pushing aside Crewman Martelli, and then 
the ship was under his control, lurching to one side as the Romulan 
disrupter bolt tore up the empty space where the Bohr had been an 
instant earlier. Then he was issuing orders.

"Martelli, take the Captain's chair, prepare to relay my orders from 
there. Paris to crew: Battle stations, we are under attack. This is 
not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Engineering, I need all the 
power you can give me. Akell, hail the Captain and warn everyone down 
there they may have company. Hold on, everyone, this is going to get 
rough."

As the lead warbird charged up for a second shot, Tom took the Bohr 
under full impulse power around the planet, and for a moment the 
horizon came between them. Then there were two shapes visible, and 
Roberts was relaying more information.

"Two warbirds following us, sir. They're scout ships, type unknown, 
look like about three times our size. The third has dropped shields - 
I think they're beaming down an away team."

"Damn. Let's see if we can change their minds about that." There were 
seventeen people on the surface, armed but unwarned; if the Romulan 
ship had time to beam down enough troops they would be defenceless. 
Angling the thrust of the impulse engines outwards, Tom flung the Bohr 
round the planet, almost grazing the atmosphere as he did so. The two 
following warbirds held back, unwilling to risk quite such a hazardous 
manoeuvre, and in a few moments were gone from sight again. "Andri, 
prepare to fire photon torpedo. Martelli, tell weapons to stand by to 
reload."

Andri frowned. There wasn't anything to fire a torpedo at. But scant 
seconds later, the Bohr completed its forced orbit, and there above 
them was the third warbird, shields still down for transporting. 
"Ready to fire, sir."

"Target their warp engines. Fire!" 

The torpedo sped away, and at once Tom threw the Bohr round in a tight 
turn, heading out of orbit and towards the asteroid belt. As the first 
two warbirds reappeared around the curve of Kennar III, Roberts 
announced, "Direct hit on their warp engines, sir. They're raising 
shields and pursuing." Good; that meant the senior staff and the 
science team had a fighting chance. Roberts confirmed his conjecture. 
"Transporter signatures indicate they've beamed down ten to twenty, 
sir." Ten to twenty against seventeen; maybe a fair fight. Then, 
quietly, Roberts added "Thanks, sir." Maybe Roberts had a good 
friend down there; anyway, the rest of the bridge crew seemed to share 
his approval.

Tom remembered his next duty. "Akell, send a subspace message to 
Starbase 718. Tell them our situation and request support." Support 
was a forlorn hope; even if a pair of Galaxy class starships happened 
to be visiting, an unlikely scenario but one that would provide about 
the minimum force to counter this threat, the Romulans would have 
finished off the Bohr and had plenty of time to deal with the 
officers and scientists before they could get to Kennar III even at 
maximum warp. But Starfleet had to be informed, at the very least; 
and as he finished the thought, the Bolian replied, "Message sent, 
sir."

"Prepare logs for jettisoning," added Tom, remembering another duty of 
the captain whose starship was doomed to defeat and destruction. Not 
yet, though; she still flew, and with, Tom believed, the best pilot in 
Starfleet at the conn, there was a ghost of a chance. If only he could 
make it to the asteroid belt.

Kennar III receded behind them as the Bohr drove outwards towards a 
place of relative safety. The two trailing Romulan ships were gaining 
now, but the leader was clearly inconvenienced by the damage to its 
engines, and the Bohr's lead was maintained. Minutes after leaving 
orbit, though, the undamaged ships passed their consort and took over 
the chase. They spread out slightly, cutting off any line of escape.

"Roberts, monitor their weapons systems. I want some warning when 
they fire." Tom's left hand was tapping in a prepared course 
correction as his right set up an automated response to the 
appropriate signal from the science station. "Engineering, prepare to 
engage warp engines."

The bridge crew looked nervously at one another. Warp speed, this deep 
in a solar system and this close to an asteroid belt, was an insanely 
dangerous measure. But the odds were insane, so maybe it was the only 
way.

"Weapons charging," shouted Roberts. As he did so, the Bohr lurched 
sideways again, and evaded another bolt.

"Engage warp engines, warp factor one," ordered Tom. Then: 
"Disengage."

In a perfectly executed Picard Manoeuvre, the Bohr jumped instantly to 
the edge of the asteroid belt, leaving an afterimage behind which was 
instantly surrounded by the three warbirds. Disrupter bolts blazed in 
empty space at the very moment the afterimage vanished, and for a few 
seconds the Romulan ships were still, looking for the wreckage their 
fire must have left behind.

Meanwhile, on the real Bohr, Tom's leadership was about to be tested. 
"Sir, we can't go in there!", insisted Martelli from the command 
chair. "We'll never make it, it's too dangerous..."

"Do you have a better plan?" asked Paris curtly. "If we don't go in, 
we're dead. Those three aren't looking for prisoners."

Andri and Akell were silent, looking back and forth between Paris 
and Martelli, uncertain which way to turn. Looking back, Paris 
noted that Akell was looking more at Martelli, and Andri more at 
him. Suddenly, though, another voice spoke, and the deadlock was 
broken.

"Martelli, get down to the weapons deck and help out there. Akell, 
take the Captain's chair. Andri, watch for debris and take out 
anything that's going to bother us. Carry out your orders, all of 
you." It was Roberts' voice, and as the Petty Officer backed up Tom's 
authority he breathed a silent sigh of thanks. No more time to decide 
now; with a brief "Look sharp, everyone, this is going to be rough," 
he took the Bohr in.

Moments later, three Romulan warbirds followed.

Once inside the asteroid belt, there was no more time for dissent, no 
more time for orders, no more time. Tom felt the familiar sensation of 
the moments slowing and spreading out, and he disconnected his fingers 
from his conscious mind and simply thought of where the ship was to 
go, leaving it to a different part of his mind, one that worked 
silently without interrupting his thoughts, to translate the wish into 
commands, and the finger movements to carry them out. Ahead, two 
jagged rocks converged on the Bohr's path, and a third, smoother 
fragment lay beyond. Delicately squeezing the Bohr through the closing 
gap, Tom briefly checked the rear viewscreens. Good. All three 
warbirds had had to go round, and he'd gained a few more seconds. 
Here, in the midst of chaos, on the very brink of destruction, he had 
an edge. The warbirds were bigger, stronger, faster, for sure, but 
only in open space and at warp speeds. In the asteroid belt, one 
impulse engine was much the same as another; but the Bohr was shorter, 
stubbier than the elegant warbirds, and could turn on a dime - 
whatever a dime was; the original 20th century meaning had been lost.

Now, he needed a distraction. "Roberts, check for a subspace homing 
signal, frequency band C-three," he ordered, as his hands, acting on 
their own, hit a series of control pads, the lateral thrusters 
fired and a long spike of rock appeared to move off the edge of the 
forward viewscreen.

"Picking up a signal, sir; fourteen degrees left, five degrees up, 
seven hundred kilometres distant." Roberts answered quickly, without 
questioning Tom's intentions.

The asteroid looked familiar, and there was a dark spot on its near 
face; the same ruined city that had so shocked Tom before. He could 
find another momentary advantage here, if not a pleasant one. This was 
life or death, though, and there was no time for scruples.

"Andri, target forward phasers on the city." At first she just 
stared, puzzled; then her mouth and eyes opened wide in horror as she 
experienced the same perspective change that had chilled Tom, months 
earlier. Still not realising Tom's plan, she fired, and the ruins of 
the city exploded into space around them.

"Look away from the viewscreen," Tom said quickly. But as Roberts, 
Andri and Akell averted their eyes, Tom forced himself to watch. 
As he'd suspected, the Borg had not assimilated Kennar IV, but simply 
destroyed it with all its inhabitants - and the inhabitants were still
there. Their corpses were scattered among the debris as the city 
exploded, and for a few macabre seconds the colony seemed to return to 
life. Shrunken, shrivelled corpses, well preserved by the cold and 
vacuum of space, swirled around in a gruesome dance, mixed among the 
slabs of rock and lighter wreckage. One woman seemed about to burst 
through the main viewscreen, her open eyes staring sightlessly into 
Tom's soul, shouting a silent accusation at the one who had disturbed 
her rest. There were children, too, and men old and young; and every 
one of them clearly, recognisably Romulan. Tom felt the sting of tears
on his cheeks, and knew that whatever effect this might have on him, 
for his pursuers it would be multiplied tenfold.

The viewscreen cleared, and the horror abated. "You can look now," 
said Tom quietly. "Andri, phasers and photon torpedo ready. I want 
you to fire phasers on a tight beam, overload the shields locally, 
and put a photon torpedo through the hole. We'll only get one shot."

"Ready, sir," replied Andri, waiting for a target.

Again Tom pulled the Bohr round in a high-gee turn, this time dropping 
behind the asteroid. Just before he lost sight of the Romulans in the 
rear viewscreen, he checked that the damaged ship was still lagging 
behind a little. Then they were gone, and he prayed silently that they 
would be just distracted enough not to anticipate his actions. If one 
of the undamaged warbirds turned back or slowed, the Bohr was dead.

Suddenly, they were round, and the stern of the damaged warbird almost
filled the main viewscreen. "Andri, fire when...", began Tom. Before 
he could finish, the phasers whined, the warbird's rear screen glowed 
into incandescence and faded, and a photon torpedo shot straight into 
the darker gap. Then there was the flash of a thousand suns, and 
fragments of hull spinning through empty space. "...ready," finished 
Tom, unable to stop himself.

"Direct hit - we triggered a warp core overload," announced Roberts. 
"Warbird destroyed. No life signs."

"Nice shooting," commented Tom, and added, too quietly to be heard, 
"One for you, Charlie." Then, audibly again, "Recharge phasers. There 
are still two more. And get the torpedo tube reloaded. " He thought 
for a moment. "Cancel that. Martelli, get back up here."

The two surviving warbirds had already spotted the Bohr, and were 
again in pursuit. They were holding their distance now, as their 
pilots learned to cope with an environment where death was a matter of 
a momentary lapse of attention. Seeing another chance, Tom pulled the 
Bohr tightly round a cratered, honeycombed asteroid to keep it between 
him and the Romulans - then saw the rear viewscreens light up. Instead 
of going round, the warbirds had simply fired a salvo of plasma 
torpedoes, vaporising the asteroid, and their straighter path meant 
they had closed slightly on him. And they could do so again, with 
their firepower. Catching the Bohr was now only a matter of time.

"Over here, Martelli," rapped Tom as the crewman stepped out of the 
turbolift. "I need a photon torpedo rigged to emit an intense 
magneton pulse just ahead of us. Can you make the modifications?"

"Sir, that'll shut down our viewscreens!" exclaimed Andri from 
behind him. "How can we get through this if we can't see?"

"I know what it'll do," replied Tom, as his fingers danced across the 
controls and the Bohr sideslipped between two enormous discs of 
basalt. "It'll shut down their viewscreens too. Martelli, can you do 
it?"

Martelli was clearly almost paralysed with indecision, and his hands, 
hanging loosely by his sides, were shaking. As Roberts opened his 
mouth, Tom silenced him with a glance; he needed to win Martelli over 
himself. "Come on, Adrian," he said gently. "There's not much time. 
Trust me, I can get us through this."

Martelli swallowed, blinked twice, then took a breath. "It'll take 
about five minutes, sir. I'll get right on to it."

"When you're done, load it and tell me." Tom's voice was more relaxed 
now, even as he flung the Bohr round in another impossibly tight turn.
"I can just about hold them off that long."

Over the next five minutes, he began to doubt whether he, the rest of 
the bridge crew, or the Bohr itself could last that long. Twice 
Andri, who had previously only fired on the Romulans, had to react 
quickly to destroy asteroids that Tom simply couldn't avoid, and three 
times salvoes of plasma torpedoes from behind announced that the two 
warbirds had created another short cut. At last, though, Martelli's 
welcome voice announced, "Torpedo loaded, sir," over the intercom.

Now it was simply a matter of picking the right moment. For a few 
seconds the viewscreen was clear, then suddenly seven asteroids of 
different shapes, sizes and trajectories entered their view, and Tom 
knew that this was the best chance he would ever get. Slowing time 
again, he took the space between the moments to study every last 
detail of the picture before him; then he ordered, "Andri, fire the 
photon torpedo," shut his eyes, and let that other part of his mind 
take over.

Andri, Roberts and Akell were quiet as the seconds stretched into 
an eternity. Tom thought he heard someone praying. Three times, some 
command was entered, as if by a stranger, and the Bohr lurched into a 
tight turn; and once the impulse engines were momentarily switched 
into reverse thrust, then restored as something unseen passed the 
bows. Then, from behind closed eyelids, Tom became aware of a change 
in the light levels on the bridge, and Roberts was saying, "Main 
viewscreen is back on line."

Looking into the rear viewscreen, Tom could immediately see the 
absence of anything Romulan. "Roberts, scan the area - where are 
they?", he asked nervously.

"I'm picking up debris, and there's a residual signature of a warp 
core explosion, sir," replied Roberts. "Hang on, sir - one warbird, 
moving at quarter impulse, distance of - they're heading out of the 
asteroid belt! You shook them off!" His voice, for the first time, 
lost its professional coolness, and rang with triumphant excitement.

"And the other one?" Tom still needed to be sure.

"No other vessels in maximum sensor range," answered Roberts, his 
voice still slightly raised. "There's enough debris to account for a 
vessel the size of a warbird, sir."
 
"One for you, Bruno," whispered Tom. His conscious mind took back 
control over his hands as he slowed the Bohr to one quarter impulse, 
then turned to follow the surviving warbird at a safe distance.

"Sir," Akell's voice cut the disciplined silence of the bridge. "Why 
are we following? Can't we just hide out in here till they've gone?"

"I'm not leaving the Captain and the others," Tom replied, eyes still 
fixed on the viewscreen. "They've only got to head for the planet, and 
then we'll have to follow. It won't take them long to figure that out, 
then they can smoke us out any time they like. We've got to do 
something while they're still off balance."

"No!" Akell leapt up from the command chair, his skin tone lightening 
from its normal blue to a pale grey, and strode round to the front of 
the conn station. Putting his hands on the front, he leaned over so 
his face was close to Tom's, and hissed, "Listen, *sir*, that warbird 
can take us out without trying. We're safe here. We can wait for help, 
and the others can look after themselves. Don't try to be a hero!"

"All stop." Tom stood up, and looked down on Akell. "Starfleet 
doesn't work that way, crewman." And even as he said the words, he 
felt himself believing them, believing for the first time in nearly a 
year that there was some truth in the ideals he was serving. "We go 
back for them, Akell. We'll deal with this warbird the way we dealt 
with the other two. Get back to your station." He sat down again, and 
started to study the navigational display.

"We got lucky!" Akell was shouting now. "You're insane, Paris! You 
took some mad risks and you got lucky!" He grabbed Paris' jacket and 
pulled him to his feet, as Tom punched a command into the panel. "I'm 
not letting you... What did you just do?"

"We're moving at half impulse, and nobody's at the wheel. You'd 
better let go, Akell, before we hit something. We're going after that 
warbird. How many men do you think they can beam down? A hundred? Two 
hundred? The others back on Kennar III won't have a chance. We have to 
stop them."

The Bolian stepped back in confusion, as Roberts hit his commbadge and 
called, "Security to the bridge. One to escort to the brig."

"Paris to security, cancel that," Tom countered. "Remain at battle 
stations, everyone. Akell, get back to the comms station. Martelli to 
the bridge." Sitting down at the conn again, he threaded the Bohr 
delicately through the chaos while his mind worked furiously. He 
vaguely noticed the Bolian going back to his post, and hoped that at 
least that little crisis was over.

Was Akell right? Was it just luck? If so, he felt, he had some luck 
due. But as he thought back over the last hour, he knew that there had 
been more, that he'd faced each situation as it arose and found a way 
to make the most of it, that he'd used his skills and his training to 
good effect, and that all along he'd been in control. And even as his 
faith in Starfleet began to resurface, so did his faith in himself. He 
was, after all, he reminded himself, the best pilot in Starfleet. Then  
suddenly he laughed as he imagined his father's reaction if he gave up
now. "You faced three warbirds with an underarmed garbage scow, and 
you only destroyed two of them? Not bad, I suppose, but you could have 
done better. I'm disappointed in you, Thomas." He could almost picture 
the shaking head, the furrowed brow, and the look of disapproval. To 
hell with you, Admiral Paris, he thought. I'll do it, sure, but I'll 
do it for my reasons, for my ship and my crew. And with a lighter 
heart, he started planning for the final round.



THE END