One Year Before Departure Of USS Voyager..........

"So what do you think of New Zealand?"

"Hey, I like it fine. Anyplace like this penal colony that can keep Tom Paris confined and out of trouble is good with me."

Tom desperately tried to recall a time when there had been civility between himself and his identical twin first cousin, Nicholas Locarno. Try as he might, though, it was actually easier to remember the times his Dad had forgiven his failures. And there were few things rarer than that. But Tom had learned to wait with Nick. This time, Mister Perfect would feel just a little less so.

"I hear that you've been accepted back into the Academy. Congratulations."

"Well, graduating from the Academy at the top of my class has been what my entire life has led towards. The fallout from Crusher's betrayal is largely behind me, now. Takes notes, Tom : Even expulsion can be overcome, by hard work, discipline, and perseverance. Taking immediate responsibility for my actions helped. Kind of like not doing so hurt you. Like it hurt Uncle Owen."

After a lifetime of taking the bait, Tom Paris was a fish that would not be hooked. His tone remained civil and he maintained a level of emotional self-control that even his future shipmate, Tuvok, might have trouble with, given the same history.

"It sure did hurt him. Tell me, how are the other members of the squadron doing these days?"

Tom fought not to smile at the obvious crack in Nick's calm, and he succeeded.

"One is dead to me. One was killed by Cardassians. One---died by their own hand. Some say I'm responsible for that--pressure, and other weak talk. What's you take on that, cousin?"

A trap was laid, but Tom had expected that. Nick Locarno couldn't know that he and Tom had already had this conversation about 300 times in sim.

"Way I see it, Nick--those others involved with the maneuver---you weren't holding a gun to their head. Any more than you held one to my head during those pranks when we were kids. People usually do whatever they want to, and most of us rise or fall on our own actions. Kind of like I did."

A trap was laid--and Nick walked right straight into it. Being Nick, he had no choice in the matter.

"Ha! I never, ever thought I'd hear those words from the family failure."

The trap was closed, now, and the teeth were laced with a sedative poison. It would cost Nick more than his trapped leg to be free--if he ever could be free.

"Hey, I know I'm a failure. Not only am I a failure, but I am a genuine failure. My days of getting away with things by squeaking by and ducking responsibility are over. People have seen me for what I am. Nick, what happens when people see you for what you are?"

"I don't follow. You just admitted to me that you are a genuine failure, and people know it. People know that I am a genuine success."

Nick reestablished his position too late. Tom had that position nailed, and was proceeding with bombardment.

"Its not the success that's in question, Nick. Not any more. When we reprogrammed the transporters to strip selected female personnel at my Dad's starbase, you succeeded. You saw what you wanted to see, then took full responsibility for ringleading it. My Dad was actually impressed. Punished us both equally, but you got raised up in his eyes for owning up to it. Then, all of fourteen, we grabbed a runabout, determined to see the Cardassian front. You owned up then, too, Nick, while I tried to duck. The same actions kept making you look better and better. I won't bore you with the thousand other incidents. Now, Wesley Crusher leaves Starfleet, and the word is, they are glad to be rid of him. For some reason, anyone with prior Fleet experience makes the practical minds at the Academy nervous. One version went that they were disturbed at how well he went through his first ambush sim. They like to mold cadets, rather than the other way around. You, leader and ramrod of the group--the one who owned up to all that--they happily and cheerfully let reapply, and even restore some of your more important credits. Mark my words, you'll be a Commander in five years, Nick."

Tom knew the angry, confused face across from him. It was his own face, in more ways than one. When he covered up his fatal error. When he confessed. When he went Maquis, and when he was caught. It was the face of someone running a perfect scam, on the verge of losing his temper.

"What the hell has this got to do with a traitor like Crusher and a confessed failure like you?"

Tom shrugged, again in a nonemotional way.

"Who cares about Crusher, or me, for that matter? Its established that I got away with things by ducking responsibility until I couldn't anymore. But now, its also been established how you get away with things."

Nick's cocky laugh was, Tom knew, a last layer of defense, and he relished it.

"Do tell, Mister Genuine Failure. How do I get away with things?"

Tom had heard lots of cell doors slam shut, but the one he heard in his mind actually sounded sweet.

"It should be obvious, Nick. As opposed to ducking responsibility like I do, you got away with things by taking responsibility for them. You never stopped doing the same sort of things, mind you, but each time, you moved up in--certain people's eyes."

Again, Tom heard a voice much his own.

“You--are delusional--and self-absorbed. And again I quote Tom Paris--You are a genuine failure."

Tom never even once raised his voice. That fact and the broad smile that followed told Nick everything. But again, this knowledge came too late to save him.

"I am a genuine failure, Nick. The real thing. Better that, though, than a phony success--which is what you are. Know two things, Locarno--there is always one person who sees your method for what it is, and he only regrets that his own innate stupidity will surely prevent him from being there to see your exposure. One day, you will take responsibility--and they will force you to keep it."

The gritted teeth said it all as Tom got up to leave. Nick was furious, and in his mind, invented many reasons why this was so--other than the truth contained in Tom's words.

"Anything ELSE, PRISONER!!?"

Tom turned back and looked his double in the eye.

"Nope. Nothing else. Dismissed, Cadet."

Tom wasn't a praying man. But he did ask Heaven later on to forgive him on behalf of whoever got in Nick's way on the transport back--and he gave thanks that he was not that person.

---------------------------------------------------

3 Months After The End Of The Dominion War, Starfleet HQ, Earth.

"Captain Locarno, it is established that you broke off your support of the Romulan Fleet on our vital march toward Cardassia Prime to attempt to take out the Dominion's Main Polar Orbital Battle Platform. This led to the near collapse of those lines, and Defiant being forced to sacrifice much of its battle group in the ensuing chaos, as we all regrouped. What say you before these cold hard facts?"

Inwardly, Nick reminded himself to keep to his routine. The routine that had seen him to a Captaincy over a small ship and would, by his calculations, have him up for a run at whatever replaced the Sovereign Class, down the road.

"Sir, obviously a demotion is in order. I take full responsibility for my actions, and those of my crew. I will go wherever you send me."

 He would, too, no matter how far below him the place or the task was. These things never lasted long, and they usually begged him to come back around.

The presiding Admiral hadn't told Nick that Tom Paris had once sent a letter to Starfleet Command, praising his cousin and how he always took responsibility for everything. Command saw through Tom's code-talking, but the hard truth of his words were evident, then as now. The Admiral smiled, and shook his head. He almost felt sorry for Nick. Almost.

"So."

Locarno nodded, and smiled back.

"So, sir."

"So."

"So---what---Sir?"

There hadn't been any tone in Nick's voice then, but there would be soon. The Admiral asked one last thing.

"So what do you think of New Zealand?"