Icestorm (part 9) written by Maddie Mumford

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

Then a ghostly apparition exploded from the darkened entrance, landing on Melchor's back like a feral cat. Paris felt the heat of a phaser discharge burn past his cheek, and the body on top of him went limp amidst the odor of charred flesh, then a barely audible hissing sound dropped Melchor and his attacker to the floor of the cave in a jumbled heap. Paris pushed again, rolling the Kazon's weight off himself, just as the heap that was Melchor, began to stir.

"Tom..." came a muffled voice, then a grunt and Kes pulled herself free from under Melchor.

"Are you all right?" Paris and Kes spoke in unison.

Paris had managed to lever himself to his feet, adrenaline giving him the extra strength to stand upright, but the motion caused his head to spin, and he leaned back against the wall. Kes was at his side immediately.

"We've got to get out of here," she said in an urgent whisper.

"I know," he nodded agreement. "But Melchor..."

"I don't think we will need to worry about him for a couple of hours."

"We can't leave him."

Kes shook her head negatively. "We can't take him with us if we're going to escape ourselves. If we can, we'll come back for him. Once we contact Voyager."

Paris didn't miss the tone of doubt in her voice, or the anger just below the surface of her words, and for a moment it took him by surprise. Kes, gentle Kes, who would harm no one, hated Melchor, or perhaps hated only what he had done. But Paris didn't miss the sympathy behind the tough determination on her face either. Melchor was insane. Driven there, perhaps, by the stress of their separation from all that was familiar in the Alpha Quadrant. He deserved their help if not their pity, but there was no time for that now.
Without further word, Kes gently laid her hand on his arm and urged him toward the cave's entrance. He could tell from the depth of the darkness in the narrow passage that it was not yet daylight, but the soft stirring of animal sounds as they approached the mouth signaled dawn was near. They had to put as much distance between themselves and the encampment as possible while they still had the cover of darkness. They slipped through the edges of the strangely subdued and silent Kazon camp. He did not protest as Kes unerringly led them into the woods, remembering how well she navigated the brushy terrain, and he followed mindlessly, focusing all his remaining strength on placing one foot in front of the other and following her back. His hands and arms throbbed and each step jolted through him amplifying the pain, until simple walking became an excruciating challenge. It wasn't until she stopped that he realized he had been moving in a haze, and was shocked to know that he was completely disoriented. Swaying with the effort to remain standing, he finally leaned his back against a tree for support, cradling his broken hands in his midsection, he leaned forward, waiting for his head to clear.
Kes turned to face him, the cold light of morning filtering through the dense canopy of trees overhead. Her expression went from determined to grim, then she stooped, and when she stood again, he felt metal press against his throat and heard the soft hiss of a hypospray.

"What...?" he started to protest. "No, Kes, no drugs. I need to think..."

"You're not thinking now," she said sternly. "You're barely walking. This will help with the pain and contains a mild stimulant."

She looked down, then when she faced him again, she wore a guilty expression. "I should have done that last night," she confessed, "but I was afraid I might need it for morning."

"Last night?" Paris sounded dull and stupid, even to himself.

"Last night." Kes said again. "I had the hypo with me the whole time."

"Where?"

Kes smiled. "Trick a good friend taught me. In the top of my boot. Melchor never looked. I wanted to use it last night. You were in pain. But after what Melchor said," Kes looked away again, her expression distressed, "after what he threatened to do to you, I saved it. I was going to use it this morning. I wasn't going to let him or the Kazon, hurt you again."

Slowly, the meaning of her words sunk in. She had planned on loading him with enough pain killer to obliterate anything Melchor might have done to him physically.

"Melchor's no fool. He would have known something was wrong and waited until the drug wore off."

Paris had caught his breath, the throbbing in his hands was subsiding to a dull ache. Kes said nothing.

"You weren't going to let him wait that long were you?" Paris wasn't sure if he felt anger, or a surge of gratitude, that she would go to such lengths for him. "You promised," he said simply.

"And I kept my promise. Nothing happened, Tom." Kes answered firmly, taking him by the arm and urging him to move again. "And nothing will if we get to that shuttle before he wakes up, and the Kazon realize we're missing."

They were moving again, through the brush. The gray morning light had crept as far as the forest floor, lifting the gloom from the shadowed depths. They could see where they were going now and moved more quickly, and silently.

"There is one catch." Paris spoke to Kes' back. "If he's moved the shuttle."

"Lets hope he was either too confident or too paranoid for that. I think only he and I knew where the shuttle was. I believe he deliberately kept the information from the Kazon. With luck, he didn't move it, either because he never thought we would be a threat, or because he didn't want the Kazon following him to its location."

There was little more to say on the subject, and Paris strained his ears to detect any sounds that would indicate they were followed. When Melchor regained consciousness, he would go straight to the shuttle, there was no doubt of that. The remaining distance was covered in silence, and as they approached a small clearing the sun had peaked far enough above the horizon to brightly light the small meadow. Paris felt a rush of relief. Roughly covered with broken limbs for camouflage, the shuttle stood. Kes stopped him at the edge of the clearing, and they crouched for a few minutes to make certain there was no movement in the shuttle, then she edged cautiously toward the silent vehicle. Laying her hand on the locking mechanism, Paris heard both the hiss of the lock and the release of her breath at the same time. Then, he realized, he'd been holding his own breath as well.
Quickly, they clambered aboard, moving to the forward section. Then, a foot from the pilot's seat, Paris stopped, looked helplessly at his hands. "You'll have to fly us out, Kes."

"I know."

"Then let's get to it."

Kes slid into the co-pilot's seat, taking a deep breath to calm her suddenly shaking hands. She could do this. She had passed all the basic flight instruction courses. She had flown on more than one occasion, though always with a trained pilot in the seat next to her, prepared to take over if there was any difficulty.
*There's still a trained pilot in the other seat,* she told herself, glancing sideways to where Paris sat. He held himself upright, the strain of the past days evident in the set of his jaw and paleness of his skin. He was conscious by act of will and the stimulant she had pumped into him less than an hour ago. She wondered if she looked much better herself. But he was there. She smiled at him and he nodded back.
Without further delay she began the preflight checks, rapidly switching on systems, and breathing easier as each responded with a ready signal. Melchor evidently had not thought to place a security lock out any vital systems.

"Initializing fusion reaction system." she said out loud. "Anti-grav units, on-line. Impulse and warp drives, on-line." She spoke each step like a soothing mantra.

Paris verified her readings as each system was activated.

"Ready." Kes said firmly, her hands rested on the control console.
She looked at Paris again.

"She's all yours," he said quietly.

Kes took a deep breath, then moved her fingers over the shuttle's main controls. There was a scraping sound at the ship pulled free of the camouflage, the branches sloughing away like chaff. Effortlessly, almost soundlessly, the small craft rose into the air. Determined to make the flight as smooth as possible, not wanting to jostle her companion any more than necessary, Kes cleared the trees surrounding the meadow. The shuttle rose quickly, angling upward to clear the planet's atmosphere.

"You need to correct your angle of ascent, approximately three degrees," Paris said.

Kes nodded, then risked a glance at her passenger. Paris still sat tensely.

*He must be afraid of my flying.* she thought, feeling a wry grin tug at her mouth, then realizing how much that grin must mirror the one she had come to associate with Tom Paris. "My flying makes you nervous," she said teasingly, trying to break the tension, for both him and herself.

"No," Paris said quickly. "I know you can do it."

"You certainly don't look like you do," Kes teased again.

"That's not it."

"Then what is it?"

"Melchor," Paris answered simply.

Kes felt a surge of guilt. "We couldn't bring him with us, Tom. I couldn't carry him, and neither could you."

"I know."

"What else?"

"Was it just me, or did the Kazon camp seem too quiet?"

"It seemed deserted," Kes agreed. She was silent for a moment as she concentrated on maintaining the ship at a stable angle while they passed through the turbulence in the upper atmosphere. "And Melchor was different. Nervous. Like the plan had changed during the night and he wasn't sure where he stood any more."

Before Kes could think of a suitable answer, they had slipped beyond the bounds of the planet's atmosphere, and into space, the indigo hues of the upper stratosphere giving way to the star spattered blackness of space. She felt an overwhelming awe as she guided the shuttle into the cosmos that a scant two years before had been little more than a fairy tale, and once again she marveled at her fortune. So intent was she on piloting that she did not at first realize they were completely and totally alone. Glancing at her companion, she read his unasked question, then spoke her own. "Where's Voyager?"

Paris shook his head, frowning as he glanced over the sensor readings. "Sensors aren't picking up anything. No other ships in sensor range." He looked at her, then quickly added. "Which doesn't mean they aren't here. They could be on the far side of the planet, in which case, it is shielding Voyager from our sensors."

"What do we do next?"

"Assume standard orbit. We'll be on the other side of the planet in fifteen to twenty minutes. If Voyager is there, we'll run right into her."

Kes could tell that Paris was attempting to keep his tone light for her sake, but he was obviously as disappointed as she that Voyager was not in their immediate vicinity.

"We've achieved standard orbit." Kes sat back from the controls, breathing a sigh of relief. She looked again at Paris. He leaned back in the contours of his seat, hands cradled limp and useless on his lap. She moved to his side, laid a hand on his forehead. He was far too warm, two bright spots of pink the only color on a face far too pale. He needed medical attention and needed it now.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Hungry," he answered without opening his eyes.

"I think I can take care of that, but first..."

Paris didn't hear the end of Kes' sentence as she quickly walked to the rear of the shuttle. He listened to the sounds of her moving, heard the hum of the replicator, all so familiar. Opening his eyes, he staring into the empty space before and around them. What if there were no Voyager? If they did not locate her within a reasonable amount of time, they would be forced to return to the surface. He wasn't sure he was ready to test his survival skills again just yet, not with a couple dozen angry Kazon and one crazy human on their heels. And they could not forge out into uncharted space in search of their comrades if they didn't know where the ship had gone. He should check for warp signatures, try to locate her trail. Sitting up, cursing the sluggishness of his own thoughts, for not beginning the procedure as soon as they cleared the interference generated by the planet's atmosphere, He reached for the sensor touchpadds. Halfway through the movement, he stopped. He hadn't really looked at his hands. Not since the Kazon had finished with them. A queasy knot formed in the pit of his stomach, and he decided he didn't want to look now.
As he sat staring dumbly at twisted, bruise-darkened fingers, a slender white hand gently covered his own. He looked up to see Kes, concern etched on her delicate features.

"I can give you more pain killer," she offered.

"No, it's not that bad. I just... hadn't... looked..." Paris voice trailed off, as he swallowed the bile rising quickly in his throat.

Kes turned his seat so he faced her. Something warm was laid across his knees, then she deftly cut the sleeves of his uniform. Gently, she began to wrap the warm dressing around his injured right hand. Preferring not to watch, he concentrated on her face as she worked, studying every sculpted nuance, every changing expression.

"This isn't a cure," she said. "You'll need surgery to correct the damage. But this will provide support and some relief from the pain until we get you back to Sickbay."

It was only then that Paris looked down. She had encased his hand in a foam like substance, firm enough to prevent movement, but light enough to feel almost nonexistent.

"What is it?"

"A splint of sorts. I replicated some of the material used for packing and insulating delicate electronic machinery for long-term shipping and storage. It should do the trick."

Paris raised his right hand, which now looked more like a primeval club. "Would probably come in real handy in a bar fight too," he said half to himself.

"What was that?" Kes asked.

"Thank you."

"And thank, *you*."

Paris laughed. "For what Kes? For getting you stranded here, then captured by a madman, who threatened to--" Paris felt the laughter slip from his voice.

"None of which was your fault." Kes face shifted from concern, to gratitude. "I was thanking you for saving my life, Tom. Without you, I would have frozen to death, then none of the above would have mattered."

"And we would never have been caught in the storm to start with if Melchor..."

"Melchor," Kes said firmly. "*Not* Tom Paris."

They sat silently, her face inches from his, her blue eyes intent, until Paris leaned away from her, not trusting the odd, old feeling that suddenly hit him hard and strong. After all that had happened, he still wasn't sure he could trust himself alone with her, and he needed to break contact with those probing, sensitive eyes. She read him too well, and he did not want her to read what he felt at that moment, or he would have more to explain to Neelix than he wanted. It would be interesting enough explaining why she still wore his shirt and he did not.
Kes must have sensed and shared his rush of discomfort, because she quickly stood and walked again to the rear of the vessel, then returned, carrying a steaming mug. Whatever was in it smelled damned good, he told himself.

"Chicken soup," Kes answered, before he had a chance to ask. "Ensign Wildman strongly recommended it for a variety of ills. Though I must admit the Doctor says it has no particular medicinal value."

Paris started to reach for the hot mug, then realized there was no way he could handle it himself. Kes knelt down beside his chair again, and cautiously held the brew to his lips. The first sip seared the tip of his tongue, but he didn't care. He was hungry enough to eat a bear. Kes helped him to a second sip.

"I feel like a--"

"--baby?" Kes asked, her eyes twinkling.

Kes smiled at her patient, relaxed, and for the first time in days truly hopeful that the adventure they so innocently embarked upon would end well. She was about to offer him another sip from the still hot cup, when the smile that had begun to tug at the corners of his mouth, turned downward. He sat staring out the front port.

"Damn," he muttered.

Kes turned, glancing over her shoulder. They had been in orbit barely fifteen minutes. Ahead, at the curving edge of the planet's boundary, sat Voyager, regal in her stillness, hard light from this system's sun glinting off her outer shell so she shown like a crystal vase.

"That explains why the Kazon camp was so quiet. And why Melchor was so nervous." Paris nodded to the scene playing out before them.

Fifteen Kazon vessels of varying sizes, harried Voyager, pounding her with a steady barrage of fire from all angles. While none of them was as large as Voyager, their combined fire-power was enough to inflict serious damage if they found weakness in the larger ship's shields.

"Melchor's friends evidently decided they didn't need him, his schemes, or his shuttle. They had bigger fish to catch." Paris leaned forward in his seat, intent on the ensuing conflict.

"What do we do now?" Kes asked, slipping into the co-pilot's seat. She automatically raised the shuttle's shields, her hands poised over the flight controls.

Paris glanced at her. "Voyager may be looking for us. She may not leave until she knows we're safe... or dead. She can't drop her shield to let us back on board. If we try to contact her we may be able to draw off a few of them."

"They should have picked us up on their sensors by now," Kes said.

"Yeah. And they're keeping quiet so the Kazon don't notice us too soon."

As he spoke three of the Kazon ships broke off their attack and turned in the direction of the approaching shuttle.

"Seems its a moot point now, Kes." Paris was silent for a moment. "Remember the training exercise we did, avoidance tactics, flying though an asteroid or debris field?"

"Yes." Kes tried to keep her voice level and calm, though she had a good idea what he was going to suggest.

"Well, combat maneuvers are a bit different, but some things are the same. I want you to do exactly what I say, even if it makes no sense at the time. Agreed?"

Kes nodded. "I understand."

"It is essential that you do what I say, the instant I say to do it."

"Understood."

Paris leaned forward, his splinted hands at the edge of the control panel. "We're going to start with evasive pattern Omega. On my mark."

Kes bit her lip as Paris proceeded to snap commands at her, commands that sent the small craft she piloted spiraling and diving, in and around the three vessels that pursued it. Each rapid change in direction sent her heart into her throat, the shuttle groaning as she banked too sharply or nor sharply enough. She felt as though they were floundering, not flying with the grace and art Paris would have demonstrated. She sensed his frustration as she rolled too sharply to port bringing them up on a collision course with one of the Kazon, a collision barely avoided. Then an idea struck her and she berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. She could do more than anticipate his orders, she could think them with him. Carefully, she reached out to him, opening her thoughts in the hope she would sense what he wanted her to do before he spoke it. The touch was tentative at first, then stronger as her confidence grew, her hands flew across the controls, almost in synch with his thoughts, sensing his orders before they were verbally given. The flight path of the shuttle settled into a dance, fluid, almost flawless. They worked their way closer to Voyager.

Then dimly, she heard a voice, Kim's voice. "Paris, Kes, Melchor... this is Voyager. Do you read?"

"Yeah, Harry, we read. Good to hear your voice," Paris answered.

"Tom." Kes could hear the excitement and relief in Kim's response. "If you can approach closely enough, we can drop our shields long enough to allow you inside them. Do you think you can shake the vessels that are pursuing you?"

"Maybe. This one guy's hugging us pretty close. But maybe."

Kes watched in fascination as a barrage of phaser fire flickered from the weapons banks of the starship in front of them. Great gouts of searing energy sliced through the blackness touching the Kazon ships, with deadly force. Two of their vessels exploded in fireballs that blossomed outward, filling the darkness with shattered, flaming debris. The Kazon responded by doubling the ferocity of their attack, but the tactic worked. All but one of the ships attacking the shuttle were drawn back to Voyager. One remained, close on their heels, battering relentlessly at their aft shields with volley after volley of weapons fire. Dodging and twisting, they were not able to shake their pursuer.

"Kes," Paris said at last. "Set a course straight for Voyager."

"Straight?" she repeated, though she knew, in her mind she had heard him correctly.

"Straight. Don't change course unless I tell you to."

Kes heard a bleep as the comm system was reactivated. "Harry, this is Paris."

"Yes?"

"Can you drop the shields on my mark?"

There was pause while Kim talked with someone else. "Yes."

"Okay. Stand by."

Kes held perfectly still. In less than ten seconds they would collide with Voyager's shields.

"Kes, when I give you the word, tilt your nose up about eight degrees, then arc downward into a 360. Ready..."

Kes didn't remember hearing the next command, she simply responded, as though his mind controlled her hands. In the instant before they struck Voyager's shields, the shuttle's path shifted subtly and sent them skimming along the surface of the shields, tracing the arc of its outer boundary, and down under Voyager's belly. With little warning, Paris commanded her to bring the shuttle to a full, heart rending stop.

"Drop them now, Harry!" Paris snapped.

"We've got you," Kim's voice echoed the relief pounding through Kes in time to the beat of her heart. "The Kazon didn't quite make that last turn. He hit the shields at just the right angle and bounced off into space."

"I know." Paris answered.

Kes turned in time to catch his characteristically cocky grin.

"And the other Kazon?"

"Breaking off their attack and pulling back." Kim answered. "We'll have time to get you on board. Shuttle bay doors are open."

"That was an interesting maneuver, Mr. Paris." This time it was Captain Janeway's voice.

"Why thank you, Captain. Couldn't have done it without Kes."

"And tell me, Mr. Paris," Janeway added, "did you also make a habit of skipping stones when you were a child?"

Kes did not miss the pride hidden in the Captain's amused query.

"Only in the reflecting pool in front of Starfleet Headquarters."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Janeway concluded.

"Captain," Paris spoke again. "The other landing parties?"

"Were safely recovered from the planet's surface before the Kazon, or the storm struck. The only ones we missed were you, Kes and Melchor. I assume you three ready to come home now?"

Kes glanced at Tom, his face once again unreadable as he briefly updated his commanding officer on the situation. "There are only two of us, Captain. Melchor was left behind on the planet's surface. He has apparently gone over to the Kazon."

There was a long, unbroken silence. Kes could imagine Janeway's reaction, see the look on her face. She would be bitterly disappointed about Melchor, as she had been Seska and then Jonas defected. The Captain felt personally responsible for all of her crew members and each death, each defection, hurt more than she allowed the rest of the crew to realize.

"He wasn't dead, Captain," Paris continued. "But we weren't able to bring him out with us. Not if we were to escape with the shuttle intact."

"I will expect a full report as soon as you and Kes are on board, Mr. Paris. So that we can decide what action is to be taken. In the meantime, we're glad you're back safely."

"Captain," Kes, chimed in, "please inform the Doctor that Tom has been injured and will require medical assistance."

"Do you want us to tractor you in and beam you directly to Sickbay?" The Captain's voice echoed her concern.

"No, Captain," Paris answered quickly. "No need." He nodded at Kes. "We can land on our own. We're in good hands. Paris out."

Paris leaned back, and breathed a deep sigh. For a moment Kes thought he had passed out.

"Tom. Tom, are you all right?"

"Yeah." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Let's go home, Kes."

THE END