::drums fingers under desk...she's not going to make this easy, is she?::
Well, I don't.
That is to say, the last unclassified contact location I could find for her is Earth, several months ago. Apparently, she's not there anymore, and when I contacted Command, they pointed me back in your direction.
I'm aware that you were in charge of filtering some personal communiques early on, and if Molly just doesn't want to hear from me I guess I understand that too, but...this is important.
Hold on a moment.
::leans forward in chair, opening window on other screen...Pathfinder records::
The last contact information you could find for her...Mr. Paris, when exactly was the last time you actively spoke to your sister?
::expels a sharp breath...come on, already::
Well, if you really want to know, not that I see the relevance...oh, probably midway through my trial after Caldik Prime.
And like I said, you're as beautiful as ever.
Hell, we barely talked when we had connecting bedrooms.
That's beside the point.
::presses finger to bridge of nose, shutting eyes briefly to gather nerve and memories::
All right, we'll discuss it later.
For now...after twenty-two years, whatever you have to say must be important.
Are you certain I can't help as well?
What I have to ask, and no, not unless your MD is up to par with your PhD.
::hopes burgeoning impatience is relayed through shortness in tone::
Thanks but no thanks for today, Counselor. Now, can you tell me where to find my sister or not?
::stares for another moment before giving up::
Actually, Commander, I can do better than that. I'll get her for you. Stay put.
::ignoring the quizzical look from opposite side of screen, cuts connection momentarily, switching it to adjacent bay::
::half-straightens, eying nearby terminal from which decidedly perturbed greeting originated::
Nothing that can't be put away for later.
Are you well, Counselor?
::twists chair, climbing to feet::
Since you're available, would you mind coming to my office, though?
I just received an incoming transmission that I should probably turn over to you.
Is it my father?
::pauses to hand petri dish to nearest tech, sliding around counter and heading for door on opposite wall::
...is it about my father?
No, and I'm not sure, but probably not.
::sighs again...unless something has changed drastically over the past few days, ltcmdrtomparis still
won't exchange more than officialese with the Admiral...and seeing how he seems not to communicate with any other family member either, it's unlikely he would have anything about the old man to ask
::unless Mr. Hot Shot has finally decided
to swallow his pride and mend fences...::
Although, if it is, you will tell me, won't you?
::stops before door to the counselor's lair, hands on hips::
I don't know. You're the nosiest person I've ever met, in or out of Starfleet. Are you certain it's a matter of professional concern?
::stops mid suck, quickly spitting candy in nearest recycler before door can open::
::peppermints are poor substitute for the usual after shift chocolate splurge::
::folds hands primly behind back as Titan's CMO steps in, wary expression doing little to conceal her open curiosity::
Doctor, we've been over this. I was born with my talents. I can't help it if I feel a need to put them to good use whenever possible.
Just about every creature I've ever encountered is born with a knack for curiosity. Most sentients, even the telepathic ones, just learn to mind their own business after a few hand slaps.
::shakes head...damned Betazoids and their laissez-faire approach to parenting::
I think I may tell Dax she needs to dust off the counseling boots and sit down with you sometime.
I'd have access to the video logs. It would provide entertainment, at least.