Icestorm (part 3) written by Maddie Mumford

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

"The readings are very encouraging. I'm already detecting high levels of a chematotrophin very similar to the one Melchor has isolated. This particular organic chemical actually seems to increase the flow of electrons through the gel packs by reducing resistance, thereby prolonging the viability of the packs, by eliminating some of the wear."

She looked up from her tricorder just as Paris stifled another yawn. Looking rather sheepish, he cocked his head with a 'can't help it' expression on his face.

Kes laughed. "I'm sorry, Tom. This probably makes no sense to you at all."

"Actually, it makes perfect sense. It just isn't very interesting."

"Why do they make you come on these away teams anyway, Tom? Your talents could be put to better use. I could have flown this mission myself. It was completely routine and would have been good experience for me."

"You know we all have to take our turn as part of the foraging missions." Paris appeared to be forcing his best innocent look.

"But I've noticed you have a way of always being absent when your duty rotation comes around, and your place is taken by another crewman."

Kes thought of trying to look stern, but doubted she could keep a straight face long enough.

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows arching upward in mock surprise.

"Really," Kes answered. "So what's your secret? Replicator rations for bribes? Holodeck programs in exchange for taking your place? Hmm? And why didn't it work this time?"

Paris cleared his throat, neither acknowledging nor denying her allegation. Kes shook her head and smiled with exasperation.

"Tom, when will you ever learn. So who caught you? Chakotay?"

"Caught? Me? Never." Paris grinned.

"Tom." Kes found his grin both charming and disarming. "Obviously *that* tactic doesn't work with Chakotay," she said, sensing she had guessed correctly.

Paris was apparently doing penance for his past avoidance of this particular task. She felt the urge to verbally chastise him. It was one thing to earn Chakotay's anger with his antics when he was working under direct orders of the Captain, but continuing to do so after he had apparently been vindicated was tempting fate. As though aware of her thoughts, Paris brought his hand out from behind his back. In it he held a tiny red flower plucked from the forest undergrowth.

"Don't worry Kes. Believe it or not, I volunteered for this one. Figured I would get to spend the day in your company."

Before Kes could react, Paris stepped closer and tucked the blossom behind her ear.

"There, see, I do know something about the proper use of the local flora. Makes being part of the Nut and Berry Brigade worth the boredom."

"Nut and Berry Brigade?" Kes asked, laughter creeping into her voice once more.

Paris held out his empty hands, palms upward in a gesture of futile resignation.

"That's what some of our crewmen have dubbed the away teams that go on these foraging expeditions."

Kes smiled and was about to ask which crewman, though she suspected she knew the answer to that question, when a shudder passed through her. Frowning with concern Paris, stepped closer,

"Kes, is something wrong? You look like someone just walked over your grave."

Kes nodded, puzzled by the unfamiliar expression. "Just a cold draft. Very sudden. I was chilled."

Kes felt herself shiver again. The rapid drop in temperature, seemed particularly sharp as the cool air wrapped its chilling fingers around skin still warm from the sun. "Didn't you notice?"

Paris shook his head. "No."

*Of course he wouldn't,* Kes admonished herself. His uniform was far warmer than the short sleeved tunic she wore, and she had felt the cold caress of wind on the bare skin of her arms.

"It took me by surprise," she said. "There it is again. Is there supposed to be a change in the weather."

"Voyager would have alerted us of any major changes--" Paris stopped in mid sentence.

"But communications--" Kes continued his statement.

"Have you been monitoring atmospheric conditions at all?"

Kes shook her head. "No. There was no need. My tricorder was set for bio scan."

Paris noticed the change around them, not as a drop in temperature, but a shift in the feel and scent of the air. The warm, musty fragrance of the dropped leaves and rich earth beneath their feet, the soft fragrance of flowers and spicy scent of living foliage, gave way to the sharp, metallic tang of the wind before a summer storm. The atmosphere seemed charged, on the verge of exploding, and now he, too, felt the cooling. He looked at Kes, her face suddenly pale in the golden light that still filtered through the broken canopy overhead. Her eyes had widened with concern, and she passed her tricorder to him. Scanning the area in a three hundred and sixty degree arc around their current position, he stopped, facing north, unwilling to trust the instrument reading.

"Paris to Voyager," he snapped,

as his hand slapped the communicator badge on his chest. There was no answer, just the steady hiss of static from the open comm line, occasionally punctuated by a crack of stronger interference.

"Paris to Melchor." Again, no response.

"Maybe if we get clear of this overgrowth," he said briefly, then without further explanation, he headed toward the rocky outcrop that rose from the forest floor ahead of them. Scrambling up its surface, aware that Kes was matching him step for step, he reached the top, faced north, and felt as though he faced the furies themselves. The northern sky churned black with heavy clouds, roiling towards them with unstoppable energy. He could taste the ionized sharpness in the air, feel the rapid cooling around him. In the distance rain sheeted downward, cascading across the land in shimmering curtains.

"Paris to Melchor," he repeated. And this time there was a response, an inaudibly garbled message, but definitely a voice. Paris could only make out two words, words he didn't need to be told. 'ice storm.'

"Melchor," Paris spoke as distinctly as he could, knowing his attempt was futile even as he spoke. "Warn the other away teams. Clear the planet's surface before the storm endangers the shuttles. Kes and I will attempt to reach your position, but don't wait. We'll find shelter if necessary. Do you hear?"

Again there was a garbled response. Looking once more to the north, gauging with a pilot's senses the speed of the approaching storm, Paris glanced again at his companion.

"We gotta move and fast," he said.

She nodded without speaking, and he led a headlong, dash down the side of the rock formation, then hit the ground running.

They had covered barely a kilometer when the storm's leading edge overtook their position. Though Kes had no trouble keeping up with Paris, she did not refuse the hand he reached back to her, was grateful for the firm clasp of his fingers around hers, pulling her forward, though she needed no encouragement to move faster. The wind driven rain lashed her bare arms like the needle spray of a cold shower, and despite the fact that they were running as fast as the undergrowth would permit, she felt the cold penetrating her clothing. A misty fog rose around them as the icy water struck the humid forest floor, but the fog soon gave way to torrents of rainfall that soaked her to the skin, trickling down her face and into her eyes, so she could barely see. When they were still more than a kilometer from the shuttle landing site, the rain turned, with perverse suddenness, to a mixture of sleet and freezing rain, a rude and frightening contrast to the warmth that had encircled them just an hour before. She barely remembered passing the isolated glade where they had stopped to rest, or the woodland they had explored before that. With head down, she followed Paris blindly, trusting his sense of direction, knowing he would get them to the shuttle in time. So intent was she on keeping pace with him that she slammed into his back when he stopped abruptly. Stepping to his side, she squinted into the icy torrent. They had reached the landing area. She recognized the trees and rocks she had so carefully used to memorize the position several hours ago. She felt Paris' arm around her shoulder drawing her closer, and she tried not to shiver as she realized they were too late. The shuttle was gone, and there was no sign it had ever been there.

"They left," she said through chattering teeth, then felt foolish for stating the painfully obvious.

"The storm isn't that bad. They could have waited."

Looking up she wasn't sure what she hoped Paris would say, but she was startled by the grimness of his expression. When he returned her look, his face quickly softened, but his voice contained an unusual urgency.

"I did tell Melchor to leave," he said simply. "I guess he was following orders."

"We were here in less than fifteen minutes. He could have waited. *You* would have waited for him."

"That doesn't matter." Paris pulled out the tricorder he had kept when they started running.

"What matters is that we find shelter from this storm. A cave, or heavy growth of large trees or the bank of a stream."

"The rocks. Where we spotted the storm. Maybe there's a cave or crevasse in them."

Kes had begun to shiver uncontrollably, her limbs shaking so violently she could barely stand. She was glad Paris had kept the tricorder. She doubted she could have held on to it.

Paris nodded. "We'll have to try. Are you up to another run?"

Kes nodded, no longer able to control the quivering of her muscles or stop her chattering teeth long enough to answer. She was losing body heat rapidly. They had to find shelter soon. She said nothing, but took Paris' proffered hand and allowed him to lead her back into the once friendly woods that in a brief breath of time had become a nightmare of wind and ice and bone numbing cold. Paris paused to take yet another tricorder reading. Ahead lay at area dotted with rocky outcroppings, large enough, he hoped to provide shelter. Yes, his heart lifted with a slight glimmer of hope. That was it. Approximately half a kilometer to the north. It read like a small cave. He hoped it was. He felt Kes sagging against him. Her fragile weight a frightening burden. He held her up with his free arm, suddenly aware that she was no longer shivering. Looking down, he expected to see her look back, but her eyes had closed, her lips were a deathly blue. Ice clung to the matted strands of her hair, to her clothing, and to the shriveled remains of a red flower still tangled behind her ear. His own hands had gone numb from exposure to the cold wetness of the storm. Lowering the Ocampa to the ground, he fumbled with the tricorder, switching to bio scan and passing the instrument over Kes' still form. Her core body temperature had dropped an alarming eight degrees since the storm erupted over them barely half an hour before. Paris knew now it was a race against time. He hoped there truly was a cave ahead, because without shelter, Kes would not survive.