"Tell me this, Mr. Paris," Captain Kathryn Janeway circled the chair which her pilot had managed to slide further and further down into. It was anything but a safe haven. "When you bet that the color of mine and Chakotay's underwe. . ."
"Ah, Captain," Paris winced, "do we have to go over this again?" He would have liked to have been anywhere but where he was at . . . even if it meant floating towards a Borg cube in the midst of space.
"Oh, but Mr. Paris," Janeway was thoroughly enjoying extracting her revenge through rank, "I thought you were fond of the topic . . . seeing as how you, yourself, bet ten replicator rations that you had the correct answer." She stopped and leaned closer, whispering a deathly suggestion into Tom's range of hearing, "And I hope, for your sake, you don't have that answer."
"Ahh, . . . red pok-a-dots to match the uniform?" Tom winced noticeably but breathed a sigh of relief as the Captain's attention turned to Chakotay's hailing over the com system of the ready room.
"Chakotay to the Captain," he said in that soft but authoritative voice.
"Janeway here, Chakotay, go ahead," she sighed.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your . . . interrogations . . . but something has sensors running a mile a minute. Ensign Kim has yet to identify the readings," he had no sooner finished then Tom leaned back in his chair with a thud.
"I'll be right there, Commander." She turned to look at Paris, "And you," she gave him the Janeway-death-stare, "we will continue this later."
"Yes, Mam," he stood and walked briskly out of the ready room, his neck flushed a deep red to match his Starfleet Uniform.
CONTINUED IN PART 2!
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