Disclaimers, ratings and warnings are in Part 1.
THE BADLANDERS
PART
TWENTY EIGHT
Doctor
Maris Locarno studied the two young men before her. It was still very early
morning and she had arrived at her suite in Starfleet Medical at 0600.They had
arrived not long afterwards and both men looked exhausted, as if they had been
working on something throughout the night. They looked like conspirators, so it
was quite possible that they pulled an all-nighter. Whatever it was, she was
going to know about it by mid-morning. Of that she was dead certain.
Two
young men, both dressed in command red.
Nick,
her son, who had, until almost a month ago, been an inmate at the New Zealand
Penal Colony and who had been freed by Kathryn Janeway for Voyager's mission in
the Badlands. The other was Tom Paris, his half brother. Nick had known since he
was very young who his father was, but for his own sake she had kept him away
from the most vindictive, raw, cold-blooded man she had ever known. Tom, she
suspected, had only been informed recently of their connection, and both men
were the half brothers of Kathryn Janeway.
She
had been overjoyed to learn that Nick had been one of the survivors of Voyager's
crash, and felt a natural empathy for all those who died and for their loved
ones who remained behind. Tom had not been on Voyager but Kathryn Janeway
believed that he could be redeemed. From her own forced liaison with Owen Paris
she had been given a son whom she loved with desperation. But Tom Paris had no
such luxury. His mother died too young, when he was too young. His father...
Tom
and Nick had been instrumental in the confession everyone had heard on the early
morning news. She could see it in their faces. Both men, so remarkably alike
they could be identical twins had been unable to conceal the guilt which was
written all over their faces. Though, to be sure, no one else would have seen
it.
But
Thomas Eugene Paris had a problem and the problem manifest itself in the way his
eyes shifted nervously, the way he bit his lower lip - just like Nick, but Nick
wasn't doing it at the moment - and the way his fingers strummed on no
particular surface. Just a strumming. He looked bothered, sweaty.
They
had come to her to beg her to join them and for her to meet Tom. Tom she thought
idly, needed a mother.
"And
so, Mom, we would really love for you to join us on our new mission into the
Badlands. We need another medical officer..."
It
had been a very tempting offer. If Nick were going, she wanted to be where she
could be his family.
"Besides,
Doctor," Tom had added, "we have a very cute nephew and an adorable
niece who could use a real, good grandma..."
Yes,
it was tempting. She knew about Kathryn and Chakotay, knew that they had gone to
Ketarcha where they remained for a few years after the twins' birth. No one had
known, but she had been Kathryn's physician in the early stages of her
pregnancy, until Owen Paris threatened them. Then they fled, for the babies'
sake.
She
smiled to herself. It would be good to tutor two young children who could call
her grandma... After all, they were family, weren't they?
And
now, Tom.
Nick
and Tom had done something, something fantastical to make the entire Federation
believe it was really Owen Paris who spoke and whom they saw and heard on their
vid-coms. Even those who never watched the news, would have been informed via
the fastest grapevine this side of the Alpha Quadrant.
Owen
Paris was finished as a man. That was all there was to it.
Was
it? She wondered about that. Tom looked strangely disconcerted, to the point
that Nick had to steady him.
"Hey,
you're not going to chicken out now, are you?"
Tom's
hands shook.
"I
killed Torres just like that," he muttered.
"You
did what you had to do, Tom."
"And
Jenny? What about Jenny? Her mother forgave me, did you know? How could she
forgive me for killing her daughter?"
"Tom,
my brother, you were a different - "
"I
am Thomas Eugene Paris, son of a murderer, son of a man of no morals, son of a
sick old fart. I'm like him, don't you see?"
Maris
stood ready with a hypospray, but Tom brushed her gently away.
"You
need to calm down, Tom."
"You
don't know, Doctor, what I've done."
Tom's
eyes looked red; he wanted to cry. A sob escaped him. Maris nodded to Nick who
held Tom while she administered a mild sedative. Tom sagged against her. He
sobbed again.
"He
doesn't deserve to live, Doctor," he said slowly. "He doesn't deserve
to live."
"Good,"
Nick responded as he gripped Tom's shoulders and shook him slightly. "Just
so long as you hold on to that thought. Okay?"
Tom
sighed. "Okay."
******************
Owen
Paris left Indiana in a hurry. To say he was shocked was putting it mildly. He
never skulked. He never showed fear, nor did he ever admit to being wrong , in
the wrong, in flight, or off beam. That was the way he lived his life.
He
had a lifestyle and like it or not, his colleagues had to deal with that. So did
his family.
What
family? The fragmented quasi unit of products from illicit affairs, extreme
violations against a person? The grandson and granddaughter who always shied
away from him and never so much as gave him a smile?
What
family? The son by his wife, the son by a rape and daughter by a rape? The
sister of that daughter whom he brutally subdued and made her play his games by
his rules?
Gone.
No more.
Chakotay
never once smiled. The man bristled and stood ready to fight him to the death if
it had to come to that. Chakotay would never willingly kill him. The Chakotay he
created in his laboratory would have had no second thoughts, no third or fourth
thoughts of killing him, of driving that d'k tagh through his chest.
No,
not even first thoughts. That Chakotay would have cut his throat. Period. No
recriminations, no regrets, no compunction, no remorse, no hesitation.
But
the new Chakotay, or the one he purged, was the one whose sense of honour always
grated. That Chakotay was the one he hated. That Chakotay was the only human
person alive or dead to whom he could aspire, if he wanted to aspire to anything
as noble as being a man with honour, of principles, of moral codes and ethics by
which to live one's life.
That
was the Chakotay, the one who stared him down so calmly, so honourably, who
reminded him most of what he could have been.
That
was why he hated Kathryn's husband so much.
He
envied him, resented him, wanted what he had. Almost got what he had.
Paris
sighed. It wasn't the end yet for him. At least, he didn't believe that. He
could leave Federation space, settle elsewhere where the Law Enforcement hounds
wouldn't be able to get him. He could alter his appearance and go around
molesting little boys and girl completely unseen.
He
could.
But,
the news this morning was too damning, the indictment coming ostensibly from
him, too self-incriminating and, he was not responsible for the communiqué.
Very clever to have taken a previous active recording of him and superimposing
whoever sat there in his chair to speak those words, synchronise sound and
movement perfectly. He would be the only one who would know it was a set-up.
Damn
fools! He wouldn't put it past Tom to have done this. The kid had grown into a
man, and he was delivering on his promise to bring down his own father. But Tom
had to have help. He got here the same way Kathryn and Chakotay got back to
Earth. They must have conspired against him.
But
he was going to show them. Just as soon as he convinced the police he was
innocent.
Turn
on your vid-com while you're airborne…
He'd
almost forgotten the Warrior's words.
The
news flashed instantly, and he caught the words…
"…that
there were in fact survivors of the Voyager crash. One of the survivors was
Captain Kathryn Janeway. Also among those who survived were the CMO of Voyager,
Doctor Krell, the Chief of Security, Lieutenant-Commander Tuvok, the pilot
Nicholas Locarno…"
"Nicholas…and
Tom together…" Owen Paris croaked, for the first time really troubled by
the news. "There is no way to run…"
"It
has also been confirmed by none other than Captain Chakotay himself, that he is
alive and well, his memories which had been viciously purged by Admiral Owen
Paris, restored. This had been one of the many transgressions Admiral Paris had
committed and to which he has confessed in an earlier communiqué."
"Oh,
no…"
"All
survivors have been in contact with their families – "
"But
not Tom…"
"Starfleet
command has issued a formal pardon to Thomas Eugene Paris as well as Captain
Chakotay. It is indeed with great sadness that we acknowledge the confession of
Admiral Owen McKenzie Paris who has been a member of one of the most influential
and stalwart families in Starfleet…"
Just
then, another beep overrode the current communiqué and when he switched channel
for a direct communication, it was to stare into the face of Admiral Hays.
"Admiral
Hays, what can I do for you?" he asked, giving Hays his best smile.
But
Hays didn't return the smile. He remained stern, his face unsympathetic. The
formerly quasi-friendly face that smiled at conventions, social functions,
meetings, was gone. The sudden realisation struck him – he had never been
invited to private parties, house warming, office conclaves…
"Owen,
it would be in your best interest of you remained in your office this morning.
Two officers will be there shortly to fit you with a security anklet. No
off-world travel. Be warned: should your shuttle leave orbit, we will not
hesitate to fire at you."
So
that was it.
He
was a murderer.
Traitor
to the Federation.
Plotted
to assassinate the President of the Federation.
Plotted
to destroy the planet Vulcan and all its inhabitants.
Raped
the mind of Captain Chakotay of his life memories and turned him into a killing
machine.
Destroyed
Voyager in the Badlands. All proof of the destruction of the vessel had been
furnished by Captain Chakotay to Starfleet Command.
Refused
intervention in the suicide of his wife Elizabeth Paris and daughter Rowena.
Raped
Gretchen Janeway.
Raped
Maris Locarno.
Raped
Phoebe Janeway.
Known
to have poisoned Gretchen Janeway.
Molested
little boys and girls.
Molested
his son, Thomas Eugene Paris.
What
Hays could have added and probably thought: "You're a sick fuck, Owen
Paris."
If
he could cry, he would. But his eyes were dry as he switched off the vid-com
just before he touched down at Headquarters and made his way to his office.
Today
it seemed to be quieter than usual as he walked across the lawns to his office.
There weren't many people about. Strangely quiet, too. There was a sense of doom
about the emptiness of the building. It was only 0800 hours. Most aides were on
duty by now even if their bosses only arrived an hour later. Security anklet,
indeed! What, did they think he was crazy? And admiral held for questioning?
He
was innocent! He didn't send out that communiqué.
His
face, his mouth, his words – every damning one of them.
Jail.
New Zealand Penal Colony.
He
sent Mark Johnson there once. Nick was there. They turned old men like Owen
Paris into women. They would rape him day and night, and at night he would
become someone's woman, made to beg for a fuck.
They
sent criminals there.
It
was the only place to go. New Zealand was hell. But then, the old Cardassian
Frontline Prison Colony was the worst.
They
would send him there. There was no way he could argue himself out of the
charges.
No
way at all. He was an old man, too old for this sort of thing. Chakotay should
have killed him, but Chakotay was too much of the warrior to do that.
"Besides,"
as Tommy would have said, "who would want to do a sick old man that
favour?"
They
would turn him into the fool of Starfleet, the man with 'sin' written on his
forehead. He would be the subject of tavern talk, casual conclaves about how a
man from an illustrious family destroyed his family name and brought dishonour
to the name Paris. He would never be smiled upon. The one or two acquaintances
he had would stand and point to him, telling their friends, "Look, there
goes a man, but he was a dirty old man playing sick little games with
kids." They would turn away from him and warn others loudly so that he
could hear them, to keep away from Owen Paris.
At
least, before yesterday they feared him too much to say things to his face.
Now
he was to be avoided.
It
was unbearable.
I am alone...
Maybe
Josh Grey was on duty already, Owen thought as he walked down the corridor of
the second floor to his office.
Then
again, maybe not.
They
had to have been here since the communiqué came from this location. He still
couldn't be sure whether it was Tom or Nick or both.
He
opened the door.
His
eyes instantly fell on the glass on his desk - aloof, yet inviting. Even in his
fear-filled mind, he noted that its stem rested gracefully on a dark blue
circular coaster bearing the garland of the Federation insignia.
************************
END
PART TWENTY EIGHT