Chapter 11 Two things nearly made Tom forget his desire to fly the Intrepid- class ship that was taking him to Earth. First was that Mack was on board, and second was that the passengers had been granted holodeck privileges. Within two days he had dusted off his programming skills enough to give them a pool table in a less- realized imitation of his favorite Marseilles bar. To Tom's delight, Mack knew how to play. To Mack's delight, Tom had also put together a version of his automobile mechanics program. At Mack's suggestion, the vehicle in the second program was something called a British sports car, a TR3 to be exact. It was a cranky piece of bad engineering, and they enjoyed the frustration of trying to get it to run. To make it realistic, Mack had insisted that Tom put in a random break function for the small parts of the car, and a day's delay for "ordering" parts. After six days of this, Tom protested that the details were merely annoying. The six days had given Tom a lot of time to think, however. It was early in their journey, over the first game of pool, that Mack handed Tom a padd. "What's this?" "A letter from Admiral Mom," Mack answered, lining up a shot. "I told you I'd find out what I could about that lieutenant." Tom looked at the small screen and began reading. "Dear Mack, "Can't wait to see you when you get back. Hope you have good company on this leg. "I looked up that lieutenant you mentioned. Can't imagine he's anything special from his record: Medical corps, no blotches, no commendations, just off the front lines. Personality profile says he's not your type for sure, son. "Aunt Sophie is doing fine, and she'll want to see you when you get here, I'd guess. You've got a little time before Command school starts, and I think you ought to take your leave someplace quiet. "See you soon. "Love, Mom." Looking up from the innocuous note, Tom saw Mack waiting patiently for him to finish. "Doesn't seem like much," he said, tapping the padd. Mack grinned over at him. "Nope. Doesn't seem like much to Starfleet censors, either." "So what does that mean?" Tom's voice was jokingly dismissive. "Your family have some sort of secret code?" "Something like that," Mack answered seriously. Tom handed the padd back. "You care to translate?" Mack took the data device in one of his beefy hands and stood next to Tom, pointing out phrases with one finger. "First, she called me 'Mack' instead of 'Son'. Means it's euphemism all the way. First bit's just chit-chat, always is, except the good company part. I had her check you out, and she says you're okay." Tom looked up with a raised eyebrow. "She doesn't know me very well, then." "Hush up, you." Mack put his finger next to the second paragraph. "This first sentence is the opposite -- this guy's pretty interesting. The second bit is his current overt record, which is no great shakes. It's the bit after that gets into the spooky stuff." "What, that he's not your type?" "Yeah. 'Personality profile' means records that are supposedly purged. If Mom'd said he was my type, that'd mean there was no match in the purge banks." Mack shook his head. "This guy's been busy. There were four different purged records that matched his face." "Four?" Tom asked. "How can you tell that?" Mack's slow voice was amused. "'Four sure.' She could have said, 'Two me,' or 'one opinion,' or used combinations. Anyway," he continued, "She set off somebody's alarms by even taking a look at the current record." Tom looked up at his big friend in amazed bewilderment, and Mack clarified, "We use names of relatives for certain departments. They're real relatives, but this time Mom's talking about Section Thirty-one." "Section Thirty-one? Never heard of it." "Not many have, and questions about it are, you might say, discouraged." Tom gave a short and bitter laugh. "It's like some twentieth century spy novel. So what is this Section Thirty-one?" "It's a line in the Starfleet budget. They don't report to anybody." Mack put down the padd. "Your shot, buddy." Tom cracked in two easy balls and missed the third. When he stood away from the table he asked, "What did it mean that Aunt Sophie wants to see you, that you should go someplace quiet?" Mack sighed as he circled the table looking for his shot, his easy humor somewhat dampened. "It means to go home, and to not go off alone. If an agent tries to talk to me, stick to the story that I thought the guy was cute and abused my position as an admiral's son to find out more about him." The rest of the conversation had been about what kind of car to use in the Grease Monkey program. Now, six days later Tom was pulling off the left rear brake, thinking about that conversation. The words, 'Mom set off alarms' echoed in his head, until he saw the caliper assembly. It was completely different from the right brake, and the parts he'd "ordered" based on the right side wouldn't fit the left. "Shit!" "What's wrong?" Mack asked in response to Tom's angry noises. The big man was on a rolling dolly under the jacked-up car, working on the transmission. "Why did we have to put in that subroutine for getting parts?" Tom complained, "I won't be able to fix this until tomorrow." "What's wrong?" Mack asked again. "The right and left brakes are totally different. What kind of crap engineering is that?" "Let's see." Mack rolled so that his head came out from under the car enough to see Tom. "We're fixing a 1930's car in a 1980's setting. Stands to reason that somewhere in between someone would've changed something." Tom grumbled, "I shouldn't have let you pick the car or put in that parts delay. Now I have to wait till tomorrow for the right replacement." "Hey now," Mack answered in a soothing voice edged with tease. "If we'd been totally realistic, you'd have to wait three to six weeks." "Ugh." Tom tossed a grease rag onto the work bench. "You need any help down there?" "Nah, I about got it." Mack slid himself back underneath. Tom walked around to where Mack's legs and lower torso protruded from under the little sports car. He couldn't imagine why Mack had picked this model, since he was probably too big to drive the thing, even if it was a convertible. As he waited, his mind turned back to the echoing words, and Mack's matter of fact voice telling him that part of the message from his mother meant for Mack to avoid contact with agents of this mysterious Section Thirty-one. Tom waited until his friend had stood up and gathered the scattered tools from the floor of the garage, and then he began, "Mack?" "Yeah." "How much trouble did I get you and your mom into, checking into Dahl for me?" Mack heaved a sigh as he put away his tools. "Can't tell until we get back to Earth, Tom." "I'm sorry I dragged you into this." "You didn't drag me. I walked." Mack grinned over at Tom. "Besides, I don't think you could drag me anywhere I didn't already want to go." "Yeah, yeah, you big lunk." Tom clapped his big friend on the back. "Ready for a beer?" "Tom?" "What?" "Why don't we sit down with that beer, and you tell me everything?" It was not really a question. "If I've walked into serious trouble, I want to know exactly what it is." *--* The beep of the comm system broke into a discussion of the coming battle tactics. "Captain, Federation shuttle Scaramouche is requesting permission to dock with one passenger to board." Chakotay looked up and tapped his comm badge. "Permission granted." Harry added, "Docking port two, Ensign." "Aye, sirs. Understood." Chakotay dismissed the senior staff. "We'll continue this at fifteen hundred." The officers rose to leave, and Chakotay called Harry back. "I'll go with you to the docking port." "Something I should know about?" "New medical officer." "I didn't know we needed any more medical officers." Harry's answering voice was slightly defensive. Chakotay sighed. "I know such requests usually go through you. This is different." "How so?" "He's here for you, Harry." The XO's eyes narrowed. "Dr. Srinak pronounced me fit for duty three days ago." "Physically, yes." Chakotay had been avoiding the unpleasant truth. Harry drew himself up. "What are you implying? Sir." Chakotay leaned back against the briefing table, purposefully relaxed, hands to his sides. "Harry, I know you were receiving neurotransmitter therapy for the last six months. I also know you've been off it for the last week. Frankly, I can see a difference. You've been withdrawn, a little edgy." Harry remained formal, refusing to follow Chakotay's lead. "Do you have any complaints about my performance, sir?" "No, Harry, absolutely not." Chakotay said firmly, then sighed. "I requested a psychiatrist for more than just you." He put on a conspiratorial look. "It's not as if you and I are the only ones who detest Counselor Fethat." Harry relaxed an inch. "I'll be all right, Captain. I've gotten through worse." "Yes, you have, but I don't see you getting through this one." Chakotay stepped over to his exec and put a hand on his shoulder. "This may be different, Harry." Harry's guard rose back into place. "With all due respect, sir, you don't know shit." Chakotay would not be budged. He raised his other hand so that he had Harry by both shoulders. "Harry, you tried to kill yourself." The body under his hands tensed. "That was a skiing accident, sir." Chakotay locked eyes with his old friend. "How did you know what I was talking about?" Harry pulled himself free and walked away, ending up facing the bulkhead. "Chakotay, if you ever thought I would endanger this ship or this crew..." Harry trailed off, and the captain could tell that he no longer trusted his voice. "Harry, I'm making sure that doesn't happen." Chakotay could see Harry react with a jolt, and he stepped over and turned Harry bodily around. "This new doctor is here for you, but Command doesn't know that. Talk to him. Srinak will probably suggest it, so go along with it." Kim nodded, resigned, and in part relieved, Chakotay thought. "Harry, if you want..." He let his words trail off, unsure. "What, to talk to you?" "That too. No," Chakotay took a breath and plunged. "No, I was going to offer for you to try the Akoonah." It was clearly not what Harry had expected. "You've never offered that before." Chakotay smiled wryly. "Of all people, you never seemed like you needed it before. Now, let's go meet this doctor." The ride in the turbolift was tense and finally in the corridor before the docking port, Harry broke the silence. "This is damned awkward." Chakotay knew what he meant, so he stopped and turned Harry by the shoulders. "First, only Srinak knows why we got a new medical officer. To everyone else, this is just a new crew member. Second, not even this doctor knows why a psychiatrist was requested. At this moment you are the XO, and everything is as it always is." Harry made no direct response, and Chakotay sighed. "Look, at this point I don't know any more than you do." He gave a subtle look of amusement. "In a day, I expect you'll know a lot more than me, and then I'll feel normal again." Harry chuckled a bit, allowing himself to be jollied. "Did you always know more than Janeway?" "About the crew? Of course." "Like what?" Chakotay's eyes crinkled with the smile that tugged the corners of his mouth. "Like you never got anywhere with Meagan Delaney that night in the Jeffries tube with the bottle of real wine." Harry's mouth dropped open for half a second, then he burst out laughing. "All right, all right. So you have no idea what Starfleet sent us?" "We went into long-range communications silence before anything more than a confirmation of my request could get through." "Well," Harry gestured toward the end of the corridor. "Let's see what Command has saddled us with this time." When they reached the door, Harry keyed the entry sequence and the hatchway slid aside. Chakotay was surprised that his first view of the new officer was of a shapely rear end. The figure straightened at the noise, and Chakotay's second impression was of curling red- gold hair, loosely bound. It was only when the new officer turned that he realized it was a man. Chakotay breathed an inward sigh of relief. His fear at having a woman psychiatrist was that Harry would fall for her. Still, Chakotay could only note that the man blushed -- prettily was the best word -- in his embarrassment, as he handed the captain a padd. The voice was a soft tenor as he said, "Ensign Nwateo Sehm, requesting permission to come aboard." "Permission granted," said Chakotay, handing the data device to Harry and giving his XO a way to cover his consternation. Harry's preference was firmly female, and Chakotay suspected that the male face that followed the first view had surprised him. "'Nwateo Sehm'?" he asked. "That's a Betazoid name, isn't it?" "Yes, sir." Chakotay thought the charcoal eyes were certainly Betazoid, though they looked a bit older than the single Ensign's pip would lead one to expect, particularly in wartime. Time enough to learn why later. "Dr. Sehm, this is my first officer, Harry Kim." "Commander." Harry looked up at the introduction, and took the offered hand. "Dr. Sehm, welcome aboard Wolf Raider. If you'll get your things I can show you to your quarters." Sehm turned back to the small pile behind him, and picked up a box to hand to Chakotay. "I was asked to give this to you sir." Chakotay took the package from him. It was wrapped in paper, and decorated with stylized images of running wolves. "Tom," he said aloud. "I wouldn't know, sir. The quartermaster of the last station I came through asked that I bring it." Sehm was now standing with his bags over his shoulder, ready to go. Chakotay led them down the corridor. His mind was mostly on the box in his hands, amazed that Paris had managed to get it sent into a war zone. Still, with one part of his attention, he listened to the conversation behind him. Harry apparently had learned a lot from his brief perusal of the new officer's record. "No offense, but you seem a little old to have just graduated from the Academy." Sehm's answer held an amused tone. "I wondered how long it would take for that question, sir. I was long past medical school and into private practice when I decided to apply." "With a professional degree you could have just gone to Officer Candidate's School." "I guess I don't like to do things by halves, sir." Chakotay was pleased that Harry's tone conveyed none of the discomfort he might be feeling. Harry was asking, "If you don't mind telling me, what made you decide to go into Starfleet?" "I was on BetaZed when the Dominion's forces landed. I managed to get off the planet within a few months." There was a short silence before Harry said, "I'll bet that's quite a story." "If you'll excuse me, It's not one I care to tell." Sehm paused and then added, "I will say this: The Runners are something amazing." "Yes, they are," was all Harry answered. They reached a corridor branch and Chakotay paused. "Harry, I'll be in my quarters. If you'll show Ensign Sehm his quarters, and introduce him to Dr. Srinak?" "Of course." Harry nodded. "When you're done in sick bay, please bring him by for a 'welcome aboard' chat." Chakotay held out his hand for the padd with the doctor's credentials and service record. Harry passed it over, and Chakotay balanced it on the box he carried. "Gentlemen," he said by way of goodbye, then tried not to hurry to his quarters. He perused the new officer's record as he walked. There wasn't much to see. He was just out of the Academy, and Wolf Raider was his first posting. The Betazoid had graduated with Honors, barely, and other than his age and pre-Academy experience, he seemed unremarkable. Once in his quarters, he set the padd aside and looked at the box. The wolves on the paper told him that Tom meant something by this gift, but what? Chakotay carefully opened the package and found inside a bowl and a note. He picked up the note first. On real paper and in Tom's scrawling hand it said: "Even if I broke what we had before, maybe this can hold the pieces." He set the note aside, and pulled out the bowl itself. It was replicated clay, but appeared to be hand-painted. Chakotay looked at the blue lines, and they resolved themselves into an interlocking pattern that could be interpreted as wings and wolf heads. Tom had done a good job, not reproducing the old bowl, but making something new. Chakotay set it on a table, and searched a drawer for the shards of the bowl that Tom had given him in the delta quadrant, and broken in the alpha quadrant. He unwrapped the cloth that bundled the remains. One of the pieces was still stained with blood where it had pierced Tom's hand. Chakotay emptied the cloth into his new bowl. Tom's words from Deep Space Nine came back to him, Tom calling himself a badly-set fracture that had needed re-breaking. Perhaps he was trying to tell Chakotay what he was becoming as he healed. Something new, but familiar. Or was that too sentimental for Tom? It didn't matter. The gift spoke volumes, and they were words Chakotay wanted to hear. The door chime rang. "Come," he called without thinking. "Captain?" The voice was hesitant, and Chakotay remembered the new doctor. He turned smiling in greeting. "Dr. Sehm. Can I get you something? Tea?" "Tea would be fine. Thank you, sir." When Chakotay turned from the replicator to hand Sehm his mug, he realized the small man hadn't moved. "At ease, Ensign." The Betazoid relaxed visibly, almost completely, and took the proffered mug with a shy smile. "Sorry, sir. I'm never quite sure what's the right thing to do. Even after four years of the Academy, I'm sure I'll make some breach of protocol." "Have a seat, Dr. Sehm." "My friends call me Te," he said as he sat in the indicated chair. Chakotay kept his face pleasant, but his voice was firm. "And your captain calls you Ensign or Doctor." The grey eyes widened a fraction. Even without exercising telepathy, the Betazoid would know his mood was not unfriendly. Chakotay was just establishing the boundaries. "Is this your first time out, Doctor?" Chakotay asked, to avoid the silence. "With Starfleet, yes, but I spent several months with the Runners before I went to Earth. I've been out here and under fire before, so you needn't worry about that, sir." "Glad to hear it." Chakotay took a sip. "I assume that Starfleet had you brush up on regular medical procedures and surgery before sending you out?" "Yes, Captain, but permission to speak freely, sir?" "Go ahead." The dark eyes watched his new crewman steadily. "You didn't request a psychiatrist for triage and surgery." Sehm's dark gray gaze was just as even. "No, but you'll be needed there." "I understand, sir, but may I assume my patient is Commander Kim?" Chakotay did not let his surprise show. "How do you figure that?" "Sir, with all due respect, personnel requests usually come from the XO. That was my first clue. Also, I just spent some time with the Commander, and," Sehm took a breath, "I am Betazoid. He's functioning, but there is something wrong, and you're worried about him." Chakotay sighed, and let down his guard a bit. Sehm might be better as an ally than as just a subordinant, but he was still an unknown. "Well, Doctor, any ideas as to what to do about it?" Sehm shrugged. "When I find out what the problem is, I'll have an idea how to fix it. When do you expect to be in battle again?" "Four days. Why?" The small man smiled, and Chakotay was struck by the Betazoid's physical beauty. "If the commander is at all cooperative, I'll have a report and prognosis for you the day after tomorrow." He put his mug down, and rose to leave. "If you'll excuse me, Captain, I'd like to get settled in." "Of course." Chakotay rose and showed the doctor to the door. Only after he left did Chakotay consider that it wasn't really an ensign's place to end the interview. He didn't let himself be bothered, and suspected the pretty man got away with a lot by looks and charm. Tom went far on looks and charm, too, but he had substance to back it up. Chakotay only hoped this doctor was the same. Glancing over at the bowl, Chakotay thought about the note that had arrived with it, and allowed himself to hope. The image from his Vision rose to his mind, the image of the wax and feather wings and the cost to Tom's skin when they were applied. Chakotay wondered if there would be a time when the cost of flying was too high, when Tom would let Chakotay teach him to run. It suddenly occurred to him that he might be the one to have to learn to fly.