Icestorm (part 1) written by Maddie Mumford

Note :
This story was originally printed in the 'We'll Always Have Paris', Vol. 2 fanzine available through Unicorn Press

Jerking his head upward with a start, he shook the fog from his mind, then blinked in the brilliant sunshine. Disoriented, he closed his eyes and lay back on the warm stone wondering what had startled him awake. Then he remembered, it had been a deep rumbling sound. His eyes shot open and he rolled his head to the left where she still sat, meticulously cataloguing plant samples, just as she had been doing when he had drifted.

"Awake?" Kes asked, not looking up from her work, her delicate fingers flitting across the padd in her hand. The corners of her mouth twitched as laughter threatened to engulf her features, her eyes twinkling.

"Uh..." Brilliant, some part of his mind told him, brilliant repartee, but he could not quite get his voice to cooperate.

"Yeah." He finally managed.

The flat, broad rock he lay on was baked warm by the midday sun, and despite its hardness, felt incredibly comfortable. He rolled over to face the young Ocampa.

"I think. Did I fall asleep?" he asked, his voice rising in the annoying way it did when he was caught off guard and embarrassed.

Then Kes did laugh, her face alight with impish glee. "Yes," she said through the giggles. "Right in mid sentence."

"Uh..." he mumbled again. "What were we talking about?"

Kes barely controlled her laughter. "You had asked if we had found anything interesting, and I was very excited about the medicinal potential of some of the plant samples we collected, as well as their food value. Somewhere around sentence three, you... fell asleep. Rather loudly."

"Loudly?"

"Yes, Tom Paris. Loudly." Again Kes battled the giggles edging into her voice. "Did anyone ever tell you, you snore?"

Paris rolled to his back and closed his eyes again. "Not in the recent half century?" he answered blearily.

"Well, your secret is safe with me." Kes said.

Reluctant to sit up, yet not wanting to get caught napping by any other members of the away team, Paris dragged his eyes open. Kes had continued to work as they talked, reducing the pile of plant samples in front of her to data in her tricorder. Sunshine glinted off her hair, tangling in the stands of fine gold and shimmering like a mystic halo. Sitting cross-legged in the secluded glade in which they had paused to rest, surrounded by the delicate greens and dappled shadows, she looked for all the world like the fairies and sprites in the story tapes he had read as a child. Her delicate upswept ears and pixie features, her petite form, all lending credence to the fantasy.

Paris found himself smiling.

"We're not here for a picnic, Paris."

Kes jumped, startled by the intruding voice, her eyes widened, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. Kes felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and burn momentarily hot, then realized she had nothing to be embarrassed about. She stared up at the intruder who had emerged from the underbrush behind Paris, then let out a soft sigh. It was only Lieutenant Melchor, the mission specialist for the away team, a member of the Starfleet crew, he had originally trained as an engineer, but was also a very talented botanist who had proven invaluable on more than one foraging expedition. She smiled and started to speak, to explain to Melchor that it had been her suggestion to rest, when she caught the look on Paris' face. It was a mask she had not seen him wear in her presence recently, the one he had worn the first time she had seen him, standing in the background ebb and flow on board Voyager, observing what transpired around him with detached interest colored with cynical amusement. The veiled blue eyes, and smirking half grin, were expressions she had come to associate with the "old" Tom Paris.

Before she could speak, Paris pushed lazily to a half-sitting position making no effort to stand. Melchor circled the flat rock on which the pilot reclined to stand so they faced one another. Kes could feel the unexpressed tension in the air, see it on the faces of the two men before her, and read the unspoken confrontation in Paris' insubordinate posture. Leaning casually back on one elbow, carelessly flicking a tiny pebble from the stone surface in front of him, his eyes challenged Melchor as his silence did.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" Paris questioned, his phrasing an intentionally laconic drawl.

Kes could sense the sudden stiffening in Melchor's posture, though his face reflected no emotion.

"You didn't answer my hail," Melchor said evenly. "Now I understand why."

Paris laughed, shook his head, then lay back down, his eyes closed. "You have an overactive imagination, Merritt."

At the casual use of his first name, Melchor's face did flush with anger. He resents the familiarity, or perhaps, Kes thought, he prefers to have people, Paris in particular, defer to his rank.

"That fact remains that you did not respond, and in doing so might have seriously jeopardized your safety, along with that of your partner, and myself, since I had to come looking for you."

"The fact remains," Paris said sharply, sitting up and facing Melchor, "that we weren't hailed."

"The channel was open. I placed the hail myself."

"But we didn't receive it," Kes intervened, attempting to diffuse the situation. "We really didn't. What did you need to tell us?"

Melchor turned sharply, his voice controlled, but the color in his face rising.

"This discussion is between Lieutenant Paris and myself."

Paris came quickly to his feet, stepping close to Melchor, but keeping his hands carefully by his sides.

"The lady asked a question."

Paris' inflection was light, but his demeanor backed his apparently frivolous tone with a belligerent attitude that only a blind man would fail to comprehend.

"It would be polite to answer."

Melchor did not respond, and the ensuing the silence was taut with anger, drawn thinner as each second passed until it would surely reach a breaking point. The two men stood face to face, within inches of each other, but not touching, and Kes held her breath, not wanting to fuel the obvious resentment.

Finally, Melchor retreated a single step, and although neither man altered his posture in any other way, the 'giving in' was accomplished. Melchor took a single deep breath then turned to Kes, anger still coloring his voice and his manner, though his words were properly phrased. He spoke directly to her, ignoring Paris.

"We've received word from Voyager. Their surface scans indicate a large concentration of broad leafed plants similar to specimens belonging to the Order Aramaecae. We've had some luck extracting a chematotrophin from the roots of like plants that might be of value in prolonging the health of the gel packs."

"I'm familiar with the studies you've been doing. They're quiet brilliant." Kes added, gently nudging Melchor away from his angry encounter with Paris now that she had him talking. "Where exactly are the plants located?"

"Approximately one point five kilometers south of here. A very large stand. Since you seem most adept at cataloguing this type of sample, I would like you to proceed there."

Kes, nodded, then looked past Melchor to where Paris now stood, arms crossed on his chest, silent but wary. She sensed he wanted to ask a question, and guessed its nature.

"I'm still puzzled as to why we did not receive either your transmission or the one from Voyager." Kes asked. "The ship should be broadcasting on a broad, open channel."

Melchor shrugged, "The solar flare activity we noted when we took orbit has increased dramatically. Communications are all but impossible, surface scans are becoming indistinct, which is why they wanted us to investigate from here, and transporters are also having problems locking on to surface personnel because of the irradiated particles in the ionosphere. They used a tightly focused comm channel to contact the primary mission shuttle."

"Is there any immediate danger to the away team?" Paris asked, his voice cautiously neutral, but leaving no doubt his word was final in any matter concerning crew safety.

Still not looking directly at Paris, Melchor answered, "Voyager didn't think so. Shuttle performance will not be affected. Surface radiation levels are also stable. We're only having problems with communications and to a limited extent, sensors and transporters."

"Any additional orders from the Captain?" Paris asked.

Melchor cast a sidelong glance at the helmsman, the spoke directly to Kes. "No other changes in our original schedule. We plan on leaving the planet's surface approximately one hour before dark."

"Then we have plenty of time to investigate that stand of Aramaecae." Kes said, finding it difficult to hide her enthusiasm. Besides, she thought, better to ease these two apart before they start sparring again. Gathering up her tricorder, she took a step between the two men.

"Make sure the other members of the away team are aware of the communications problem," Paris said.

Melchor nodded once, before he turned to leave, Kes saw an odd expression pass over his face. She was not sure if it was relief, or satisfaction, and she felt a sudden chill of apprehension, as swift and fleeting an impression as the touch of a cool breeze. Then the feeling, and Melchor were gone. Turning to Paris, she found him staring at the patch of underbrush into which Melchor had disappeared.

"He's good at appearing and disappearing." Kes said, trying to recapture the comfortable, relaxed interlude they had shared before Melchor's intrusion.

"Like a snake." Paris still wore the same expression he had when Melchor first appeared, removed, yet wary.

"What is it, Tom?"

He did not answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a sarcastic imitation of a smile. "Long story, Kes."