On Horizon’s bridge, Sheppard sat in the captain’s chair. Ship operations had been much smoother since leaving Starbase 129 than they had any right to be, and that was something that always alarmed Sheppard. What would seem like a run of good luck with any ship usually ended with a monumental failure, such as a warp core breach, or a tribble infestation.

“Coming up on the rendezvous point with the Arizona,” Ensign Lilly Spencer said from the Conn console.

Sheppard watched the streaking stars become pinpoints as the ship dropped out of warp. The runabout should have appeared on screen, but instead he was faced with an empty starscape. “Where is she?”

“Captain, the Arizona isn’t on short-range sensors,” Tavika said from the tactical console.

“Check long-range sensors,” Sheppard said.

“Negative,” Tavika said.

Sheppard frowned. The navigation system should have been fully tested by now. If it worked, they should be here. If it didn’t work for some reason, they would have switched over to the Arizona’s original navigation system, which should have still allowed them to arrive here in plenty of time. “Open up a subspace transmission,” Sheppard said.

“Aye sir,” Tavika replied.

“Sheppard to Arizona, you are not at the rendezvous point. Please apprise me of the situation.” Sheppard was trying to keep the stress out of his voice. Three senior officers were off the ship at the moment, and this was supposed to be the less risky one. He waited for several moments, but received no reply. “Lieutenant, put my message on repeat and let me know if they respond.

“Aye sir,” Tavika said.

“They may have gotten into some sort of trouble,” Ch’qahrok said.

“I’m pretty sure of it,” Sheppard replied. “Cunha and Hernandez are competent officers, and the last thing either of them would do is take a runabout out for a joy ride. The question is what happened to them.”

“Captain, there are many possibilities, but the most likely ones are that they were diverted by an unexpected encounter, or the navigational device they were testing failed,” Ch’qahrok said.

“Even if it failed, they still had a working navigational device onboard,” Sheppard countered.

“We can scan for their warp signature and see where it leads, but that would require us to go back to their last known location,” Ch’qahrok said.

“That would make us late for our rendezvous with the stealth probe,” Nod said.

Sheppard reflected that this was quickly becoming one of those difficult command decisions that Starfleet had no easy protocols to handle. As first officer of the Robinson, the captain typically shielded him from having to make decisions that could result in failed missions and abandoned crewmembers. Would a delay picking up the Intelligence team result in death or capture? Admiral Jellico would tell him that their priority would be to ensure the survival of the Federation operatives. On the other hand, the stealth probe, while uncomfortable, could support people indefinitely. The lack of food would affect them before any environmental shortage. On the other hand, it was confirmed that the runabout crew was in some sort of serious danger, and if they didn’t look for it, the odds that those officers would become fatalities were high… And that brought up another potential consideration—the fact that the relatively small ship didn’t make the rendezvous point could mean they were dead already.

“Ch’qahrok, if we were to backtrack to the point where the Arizona left the Horizon, how late would we be rendezvousing with the stealth probe?” Sheppard asked.

“Unknown. Assuming we could detect their warp signature, it could take hours to follow it to their present destination, and there’s no way to ascertain how far away their ultimate destination is from the stealth probe. Given the fact that all destinations are a few hours apart, my best guess is that it would be anywhere from one to five hours.”

“Captain, we could launch a shuttle to backtrack and locate the runabout,” Nod suggested. “I’d be happy to volunteer.”

Sheppard considered the suggestion. It was a solution that made sense and would allow them to keep their rendezvous with the stealth probe. On the other hand, if the runabout was missing because it encountered a hostile ship, a shuttle would likely meet the same fate. “I appreciate the offer, and your suggestion would solve certain problems,” Sheppard said, “But that would endanger another ship and another senior officer. Right now, I feel that risk is unacceptable.”

Nod left his station and approached Sheppard. “Sir, with all due respect, the Horizon is needed to return the other team. I’m comfortable with the risks involved in looking for the Arizona.”

“Mister Nod, your comfort with the proposed action isn’t my primary concern. What is my concern is how to bring all of my officers back safely.”

“Understood sir,” Nod said. Sheppard could tell that he wanted to say more, but knew that doing so would probably be a mistake.

“While Starfleet Intelligence didn’t bother filling me in on the mission into Cardassian space, they did give me an estimate on how long they expected the mission to take. Our arrival at the rendezvous point is approximately five hours ahead of the expected arrival time of the stealth probe. This was done purposely so that we’d be there to deter any craft that might be following them. As far as I’m concerned, that buys us the time to track down the Arizona. Ch’qahrok, launch a probe and have it alert us via subspace if a ship matching the Arizona’s configuration arrives here.”

“Aye sir,” the Andorian said.

“Ensign Spencer, plot a course to the last known location of the Arizona, warp nine.”

“Aye sir,” came the helmsman’s reply.

“The probe is launched, sir,” Ch’qahrok said.

“Very good. Ensign Spencer, engage.”

* * *

“Try firing up the impulse drive,” Cunha called out to the runabout’s cockpit. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been working on the drive. Once they had managed to gain access to the engines, she found it open to the vacuum of space after having been almost completely pulverized. Fortunately, it had been easy enough to reroute the shields to keep the atmosphere from leaking out. Bringing the engines back online hadn’t proven so easy. Half of the parts that made it an engine had either been damaged, burned out, or were simply not present because they’d been sucked out into space.

“Firing up the engine,” Hernandez said from the primary control console.

Cunha watched a light activate on the primary power conduit near the back of the unit, which told her that it was receiving power. The first system it ran to was the particle acceleration array, which she’d had to replicate. She hit a button that would allow power to access that device. A small red light turned on, indicating that it was online. So far, so good. She was about to hit the button to initialize the main drive, then paused. This was the fifth time she’d gotten to this stage only for the engines to still fail. She suppressed a shudder, then hit the button.

The engine sounded healthy enough as it powered up. She could hear the various components making the sounds they were supposed to make. This was encouraging. “Forward one quarter impulse,” she called out.

“One quarter impulse,” Hernandez echoed.

As the engine should have propelled them forward, instead energy arced from it to the nearest bulkhead, missing her arm by inches. “Shut it off!” she called out as she recoiled.

The energy abruptly stopped arcing as the power terminated. “What this time?” Hernandez asked.

“I’m honestly not sure,” Cunha replied. “Massive energy spike that got directed outward.”

“I think you need to take a break,” Hernandez said.

“I do that, we die,” Cunha said.

“If you don’t do that, you’re liable to make another mistake that’ll get us killed anyway,” Hernandez said. “Give your mind a rest and then go back into it fresh,” Hernandez said.

Cunha sighed. Perhaps he was right, she thought.

She backed away from the access panel and moved to the vibro-washer to clean her hands. Convinced that she wasn’t going to leave grease and carbon stains all over the seating, she moved to the front of the runabout. The shattered planet with the debris field trailing away from it was noticeably larger than it had been when they’d started working. “Six tries and nothing,” she said.

“Six tries in less than an hour,” Hernandez replied. “You may not have gotten us going, but you’re making good time.”

Cunha smiled. “Has it really been less than an hour?”

“Fifty-four minutes, thirty-nine seconds,” Hernandez replied with a smile.

“That’s half the time we had available from the outset,” Cunha said, exasperated. “We’re running out of time!”

“And yet, I have every confidence in your abilities,” Hernandez said. “You’re the chief engineer of a Sovereign class vessel. You’re the most accomplished engineer onboard. If anyone can get a runabout working again, it’s you.”

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Cunha said.

“You’ll do it,” Hernandez said. “And if you don’t, we’re now overdue for our rendezvous with the Horizon, so if you can’t get this bucket working again, I’m sure they’ll find us.”

“Not in time,” Cunha said.

“I don’t follow,” Hernandez said.

“If we just missed the rendezvous then the only way they’ll be able to find us is by going back to the point where we left the ship, and then scan for our warp signature. They’ll then have to follow the trail to here. Even at maximum warp, they can’t get here until about… two and a half hours after we’re set to crash into that broken planet in front of us.”

Hernandez paused for a moment. “What if we’re approaching this from the wrong angle?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Cunha said. The only angle she was aware of was getting the Arizona working again.

“We still have maneuvering thrusters,” Hernandez said.

“We’ve already tried plotting that course,” Cunha replied. “We can’t achieve a stable orbit with them.”

“Not a stable orbit, but suppose we do a maximum burn away from the planet. If nothing else, that would put some distance between us and it, and will buy us some time.”

Cunha considered it for a moment. He was right. It wouldn’t be enough to save them, but it might be enough to keep them alive long enough for the Horizon to find them. She accessed LCARS and pulled up the navigational display. She checked the liquid fuel reserves, then input that along with a continued burn away from the planet. The computer displayed the new course they would be looking at. “According to this, we’d be dead in five hours.”

“And that would give Horizon enough time to find us,” Hernandez said.

“That’s assuming that they come looking for us,” Cunha said. “We aren’t the only team they need to rendezvous with.”

Hernandez smiled. “One thing I know about Captain Sheppard is that he doesn’t leave people behind. We do this, it’ll give you more time to get the engines going, and it will give them time to find us. I think it’s the only logical thing to do.”

Suddenly the runabout shuddered. It felt as though they’d been struck by something. “What was that?” She asked,

“We just entered the debris field. We’re likely to take more hits like that,” Hernandez said.

“Let’s go with your idea! Get ready to initiate the burn.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

* * *

“Exactly how many former Maquis are here with you?” Pressman asked.

“My cellmate, and two others,” Riker replied. “And why do you say former?”

“Thomas, since you’ve been incarcerated, the Dominion has been defeated and the Cardassians went down with them… but not before they wiped out the Maquis. There is no Maquis anymore.”

Riker felt as though he’d been struck. He knew about the end of hostilities, but had no idea the Maquis had paid such a high price. He looked to Ro. He’d known her after she left Starfleet to help the Maquis. “How are you here then?”

Ro sighed. “Not that we have time for all this pointless banter, but after I abandoned Starfleet, I was considered a fugitive. Captain Picard had been willing to let me go, especially since he sympathized with our cause, but he’s not the only captain in Starfleet. The Bozeman, under the command of Captain Bateson, tracked me down in a Maquis camp and arrested me.”

Riker looked to his former captain. “And you were arrested for violating the treaty of Algeron. You were both serving long sentences not very long ago. Why are you here?” He paused. Something was clearly amiss. By all rights, both of them should have been in a cell. Nevertheless, they were accompanied by Doctor Bashir, who, last he’s seen of him, had been serving as the Chief Medical Officer aboard Deep Space Nine. The woman with the cybernetic implants was unknown to him.

“Thomas, we really don’t have time for this. You’re just going to have to trust me,” Pressman said. Despite the Cardassian disguise, Riker could see the anxiety in his former captain’s eyes.

“And the Maquis?” Riker asked.

“We only have room for one more,” Pressman replied. “We didn’t come here to rescue Maquis prisoners.”

“Why did you come for me?” Riker asked.

Pressman looked as though he was about to reply when they heard the sound of booted feet running down the corridor toward them. Pressman pulled the phasers from the pouch in the small of his back and handed one to Riker. Turner and Ro escaped their faux cuffs, and they were all armed.

They heard the booted feet stop just short of the corner, providing the Cardassians with cover. “I know you’re not Suhed Bitt,” came a commanding voice.

“Sure I am,” Pressman said. Riker knew this bluff wasn’t going to work. It wasn’t even a good bluff. But then, Pressman never had been very good at poker.

“The real Suhed Bitt wouldn’t have tried to hack open a door using a completely traceable Starfleet tricorder. Apparently your intelligence was off when they sent you in here if you thought that was going to work.”

“Look, we’re only here for one prisoner. Let us leave and nobody will get hurt,” Pressman said.

“Threats. That’s not very Starfleet of you,” the voice said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t assume we’re Starfleet,” Pressman retorted.

“It’s irrelevant to me,” said the voice. “What is relevant is that the prisoner you’re attempting to free causes me enough headaches that I won’t feel bad killing him while trying to escape.”

“Anrad,” Riker called out, “I’m not trying to escape. I have nothing to do with this.”

“It’s too late for that,” the voice said coldly. “I’ve had enough of you Human and Bajoran scum cluttering up my orderly prison.”

So that’s it, Riker thought. This is just the excuse he’s been looking for to execute me, in cold blood or otherwise. He checked, made sure that the weapon was set to stun, and fired at the corridor the Cardassians were hiding behind. “Follow me,” he said to the others, and started running down the hall.

“Thomas,” Pressman said as he jogged alongside him, “The lift is the other way.”

“The lift isn’t safe,” Riker said. “Nothing is stopping them from shutting that down once we’re moving. We need the stairs, which are this way.”

“Would anyone like to explain to me what happens now?” Turner asked. “Did you have a plan to get us out of here in case your plan went bad?”

“Of course there’s a backup plan,” Pressman said as he ran.

“Care to fill me in?” Turner asked,

“We need to get back outside the dampening field, then beam back to the probe,” Ro said.

“So we’re just going to march back through the main gate?” Bashir asked incredulously. “You don’t think they’ll be waiting for us?”

Riker could hear the sound of booted feet pursuing them as they reached the door to the stairwell. He threw it open, then began bounding down the stairs. They turned the corner at the landing for the ninth floor, and kept going down. “I really have to hand it to you,” Riker said over his shoulder. “So far this is an amazing rescue.”

“We planned the operation as well as possible,” Ro said. “Unfortunately no one can plan for every eventuality.”

“Look, if we want to have any chance of getting out of here alive, we need to lay low for a while,” Riker said.

“Any ideas off the top of your head?” Turner asked behind him.

“A supply closet the next floor down. I can get into it, and they’ve never been able to find me there, so I can only assume the sensors don’t cover it. We can access the ventilation shafts that run air from the roof to the mines below,” Riker said. In truth, he’d been working on an escape plan since the day he’d arrived here. His cell no longer could contain him, he could freely roam about the prison, but the one thing he’d never had before now was a way off the planet. He could get them as far as the front gate. From there, it was just a matter of whether or not they could fight their way out. They had weapons, which was something he hadn’t had before now. It might be enough.

He led them out of the stairway and into a corridor much like the one they’d been in above. When he reached the door to the supply closet, he punched in the access code and threw the door open. The others followed him in and he closed the door behind him. The closet wasn’t enormous, but it was large enough for the five of them to crouch around a pile of replacement lights.

“Not everyone here is acquainted, so let me do the honors,” Pressman said. “Obviously we know each other already. I believe you already know the doctor.”

“We’ve met,” Bashir acknowledged.

“Ro Laren, former Starfleet.”

“I served with your brother,” Ro said.

“Is that why you’re here?” Riker asked.

“No. We didn’t really get along,” Ro replied.

“Finally, Kevia Turner, first officer of the Horizon.”

“And why are you here?” Riker asked. So far this was making no sense. If this was a Starfleet operation, he was pretty sure Ro and Pressman wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

“My captain ordered me to join them,” Turner said simply.

“Alright, somebody had better start making sense,” Riker said. “I don’t like puzzles, and if I’m going to trust you to get me out of here, I’d like to know what’s going on.”

Turner laughed sarcastically. “It’s a section thirty-one operation. Of course we weren’t told that up front.”

“Alright,” Riker said. “Why me?”

“Because we’re hoping that once you’re out of here, you’ll want to join us,” Pressman said.

Riker looked at them incredulously. Starfleet and the Federation had abandoned him a long time ago and left him to rot on this Cardassian penal colony. That hadn’t even been the first time he’d felt abandoned by them. Now they were actually committing resources to getting him back? That just didn’t seem like his role in the universe. “How did the two of you end up in Section thirty-one?”

Ro spoke first. “After I was captured, they argued for a while about whether they should send me back to Bajor and let my people decide what to do with me, or to send me to a Starfleet stockade. Because I had been a Starfleet officer, they decided on the stockade. After I’d been there for a couple of years, I had a visitor who offered me a way out. She told me she liked that I was willing to break the rules to do what was right, and she knew that I was familiar enough with Starfleet defense protocols to sneak on and off a starship without getting caught. I wasn’t sure I wanted to serve the Federation again, but it beat prison, so I decided to join. It’s been far more rewarding than serving aboard a starship.”

“And you already know half my story,” said Pressman. “After Starfleet court martialed me, I was looking at the rest of my life in a stockade. Starfleet threw away the key. Then I had a similar visit to the one Ro had. They like people who take action for what they think is right, even if they aren’t necessarily following the rules.”

“In other words, they like to recruit criminals,” Turner said.

“Not everybody in Section thirty-one has a criminal background,” Ro said.

“But I bet a lot of you do,” Riker said.

“Many, yes,” Pressman said. “They like people who screwed up and did the wrong things for the right reasons.”

“Like someone stealing a Federation vessel to reveal a secret Cardassian base…” Riker said.

“And we don’t take just anyone. You have to have the skills to pull this kind of thing off in the first place,” Pressman said.

“Thomas, it’s a second chance,” Bashir said.

“Actually it’s a third chance,” Riker said.

“Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than the way people with a criminal history get tossed in prison and forgotten about,” Bashir retorted. “Even when they do get released, they have that hanging over their heads for the rest of their lives. They’re never really accepted back into society after that. You’d think that as far as we’ve come as a civilization, we’d do better than that.”

Riker nodded. It was a lot to take in, and there were still unanswered questions. What if he allowed them to get him out of here but he refused their offer to join? Would they let him leave in peace? What if he wasn’t convinced that he had the skills to join them in the first place?

“Just think,” said Turner, “You’ll be able to do what you want and you won’t be accountable to anyone? You could steal another Starfleet vessel and if you get caught, next time they’ll just meet you at the detention facility, let you out, and then you can go on to assassinate someone, or conduct unauthorized scientific experimentation, or infiltrate a foreign government...”

Riker could detect the sarcasm in her voice, and it was pretty clear that she disagreed with the entire notion of Section thirty-one. “Article fourteen, section thirty-one of the original Starfleet Charter,” Riker said. “Which allows for extraordinary measures to be taken in times of extreme threat, thereby sanctioning the existence of a shadow agency that operated above Starfleet’s laws. Most Starfleet officers I know who even know what it is don’t like the fact that it exists at all.”

“But it is an effective way of dealing with messy problems,” Bashir said. “And sometimes it allows situations to be settled with a minimum of bloodshed.”

Pressman smiled. “That’s very forward thinking for a Starfleet doctor.”

“Let’s just say that you’re not the only ones here who have had a visit from our friends who wear black. In the end, I played them rather than the other way around.”

Riker sighed. They were making sound arguments. Just as importantly, it was the chance to belong to something again, and serve the Federation in a manner he didn’t completely disagree with. “Well, you’ve given me something to think about. I’ll show you to the ventilation shaft.”

“Before you do that, could you show me to the nearest lavatory?” Bashir asked.

“You have to go at a time like this?” Pressman asked incredulously.

“One does not always get to choose when nature calls,” Bashir replied.

“Follow me,” Riker said.

* * *

This situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, Bashir thought as he entered a stall. Pressman and Ro might be optimistic about their chances of making it out alive, but if that were possible, it wouldn’t be without a great deal of bloodshed.

He sat down on the toilet seat and removed the metal cylinder from his boot.

* * *

Tavika sat in the Twilight Lounge, nursing a Samarian Sunset that had long since turned to red, and was well on its way to turning orange. Seated at a table on her own in the corner sent the clear message that she wished to be alone with her thoughts. Not surprisingly, too many officers in Starfleet took that as an invitation to intrude, as she could see Ch’qahrok was about to do.

The Andorian walked slowly to her table, stood behind an empty chair and asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“Not exactly,” Tavika replied.

“Do you wish to be alone? I’m not here on ship’s business,” Ch’qahrok said innocently.

“More likely, you’re sticking your blue nose somewhere private,” Tavika said sharply.

“You do not have to allow me to sit, nor are you required to speak to me if you do not wish to. Nevertheless, it is my experience that sometimes a heavy burden is made easier when shared with others,” Ch’qahrok said, his tone infuriatingly neutral.

Tavika let out an audible sigh. She could send him away, but clearly he was trying to be helpful. Truth be told, he was one senior officer that she hadn’t yet spent any time with socially. She’d even had a drink or two with Ipesh Nod, who she had detested upon their first meeting. “Take a seat,” she said.

Ch’qahrok slowly lowered himself into the chair and took a sip of the clear liquid in his glass. “You do not appear to be in a good mood, Lieutenant,” Ch’qahrok said. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Tavika said.

“Very well. What shall we talk about?” the Andorion asked.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who sat here,” Tavika said. Her comment was met with silence. She sighed. “You’re aware that I’m Romulan, right?”

“Of course,” Ch’qahrok said. “As I’m sure you’re aware that I’m Andorion.”

“You don’t act like one.”

“Please tell me, do all Humans act alike?”

“Point taken,” she said, taking a long sip of her drink. “No. Of course not. I apologize if I offended you.”

“I am not offended,” Ch’qahrok said. “What I am is a fellow officer who sees someone who is apparently experiencing some sort of anguish and I wish to offer comfort.”

Tavika smiled. “Thank you, Ch’qahrok, I appreciate that. And, if you must know, I’m concerned about a member of the crew, and feeling foolish at the same time.”

“Does this member of the crew know how you feel?”

“I’d be pretty surprised if they don’t.”

“And how exactly do you feel? Friendship? Love? Do they return your feelings?”

Tavika sighed. “And there’s the problem. I may have expressed interest in this person early on, and I may have come on too strong. They’re caught up in something dangerous right now, and all I can think of is that I hope they’re okay. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” Ch’qahrok said. “So tell me, if this person were to get caught up in this dangerous situation and something bad happened to them, how would you feel?”

Tavika paused for a moment. It was the fear of loss that had led her to the lounge to contemplate in solitude in the first place. All other feelings were secondary. “I think I’d be very upset for a long time.”

“In addition to trying to initiate a relationship early on, have you and this other person interacted on a friendly basis?”

“Yes.”

“And did this person seem annoyed with you?”

“No, never,” Tavika replied.

“So this person has never rebuffed your friendship on a platonic level?”

“No, they haven’t.”

“Regardless of whether you feel like there could be a greater emotional bond between you, your relationship could at least be described as friends.”

“That’s right,” Tavika replied. “I think it’s safe to say that we’ve become friends. I mean, we don’t spend time in each other’s quarters without some kind of other social function happening. We don’t tell each other our secrets, but this person does seem to enjoy talking about the latest ship’s gossip, or the latest news around the Federation. Sometimes we talk about our families…”

“Tavika, I’m obviously not the most emotional Orion you’ll ever meet, but one thing I understand implicitly is that there are different levels of friendship, and sometimes two people can share a friendship even if they don’t both feel exactly the same way about the other person. If this person is your friend, then I’m sure they do not mind any concern you might show over their safety or well-being.”

Tavika was silent for a moment. Who would have thought the best member of the crew to discuss an emotional matter would be one of the few members of the crew who showed no emotion whatsoever? “Thank you, Ch’qahrok. I appreciate your insight. I think that helps clarify my feelings. By the way, what was that clear stuff you were drinking?”

Ch’qahrok stood up from his chair, taking his empty glass with him. “Water,” he replied. “I’m glad I was able to offer some help,” Ch’qahrok said. He began to walk away then stopped and turned back toward her. “And I’m sure Commander Turner appreciates your concern.” With that, he set his glass down on a tray among other empty glasses, and he exited the lounge.