Normal operating procedures had ceased across the mighty Starfleet ship Ulysses. Standard illuminations had long been replaced by the pulse of the crimson red alert lights lining the bulkheads and ceilings across the deck. Across the airwaves, dull yet ever present, alarm klaxons signaled the state of play for the crew; Ulysses was under attack.

No. Much more than the ship was under attack. The freedom and liberty of the entire crew had come under attack in a swift and brutal assault. Now, black clad officers lined the corridors, shepherding personnel on their way with the occasional persuasion of a smack or a push with the butt of their assault-style weapons. A far cry from the peaceful coexistence of normal days, the presence of these figures caused great alarm among the shuffling crewmates; hushed conversations quickly turning into exclamations and expletives. Those brave enough, perhaps foolish enough, tried to struggle, tried to resist, but earned a more violent response in return. As doors opened, crewmembers were pushed inside, isolated and alone as the doors sealed behind them and forcefields were erected.

In the school room, children huddled with their teachers until they were dragged unceremoniously from the safety of their arms to be returned to their parents. In the gymnasium, scantily clad crewmates grasped at what clothes they could reach before being hustled from their exercise machines and into corridors. Laughter and games had ceased in The Acropolis upon the appearance of the heavily armoured alien soldiers. It wasn’t long before the mess was as empty as the rest of the key facilities across the ship. Sickbay, the shuttlebay, transporter rooms, engineering… the bridge. All had been evacuated of their personnel, and all sat quiet.

Watching from the sidelines on deck seven, Commander Noli Auru felt helpless as her colleagues from the senior staff were manhandled into their quarters, some looking more than a little worse for wear after putting up a struggle in their efforts to maintain control of the ship. In charge of security across the ship, it was her job, her duty, to keep everyone safe and she had failed. Spectacularly. In just a matter of minutes, Ulysses had fallen into enemy hands despite the best interests of everyone aboard.

Lurching forward at the thrust of a rifle butt in her lower back, the Blonde Bombshell scowled at her would-be captors for the briefest of moments before being barged across the threshold of her own quarters. As the door slid shut, the Bajoran spun on her heels and slammed a fist against the metal frame.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” she yelled, but to no avail. No one was listening, of course. Not only could they do this, but they had done this. And more alarmingly, they had done it with relative ease. After a few moments of futile banging, she turned and rested her back against the door, slumping to the ground. Pulling her knees closer to her chest, she hugged them tight for a moment as she gathered herself.

Everything was proceeding exactly as the Captain had suggested.

Deck two was much quieter; one of the smallest decks on the ship in terms of square footage, the deck only had three rooms – the private residences of the two most senior officers on the ship and the XO’s own ready room. But still, alien warriors escorted their prisoners to their private abodes at the behest of their own alien commander.

Ever since the first enemy warships had appeared at sensor range on the edge of the asteroid field, the captain and her colleagues had put her plan in motion. Immediately, the crew had begun to lockdown key systems across the ship using fractal encryption codes that would take the enemy invaders days, if not weeks, to decipher. All had been locked down within minutes and upon the first sign of transportation the ship was practically lifeless. 

Dozens of soldiers appeared across the ship in clusters, armed to the teeth, and with one goal in sight; the total capture of one of Starfleet‘s most powerful vessels ever created. To their chagrin, what they actually found was a ship that was of next to no use to them whatsoever. The only systems still functioning were the impulse engines and life support. What they had wanted was a new weapon in their arsenal, one that would significantly increase the Inspector’s task group, but what they got was a space borne cruise liner filled with strange beings from thousands of light years away.

Naturally, the Andorian and her crew had been threatened with all manner of terrible outcomes if the lockout wasn’t lifted and control handed over, but the Captain and her XO knew just as much as the Inspector did that if any threat was carried out, they would face an uprising of the Starfleet prisoners. So, instead, the entire crew had been locked away in their quarters.

Now, as she silently entered her quarters under no duress, the captain waited until the guards disappeared behind the locked doors. A smile crept on her face.

Everything was proceeding exactly as she had predicted.

In stark contrast to the usual ambiance of the command center, the bridge of the Ulysses resembled something out of a horror movie. Dimly lit thanks to the only functioning controls, the pulsating red alert signals casting an eerie glow across the bridge. In place of the plethora of individuals usually present, three alien soldiers occupied the room. Two tried in vain to unlock the encrypted systems in a bid to gain control, but the third sat stoically in the chair usually reserved for the ship’s commanding officer.

Commander of the three alien warships that surrounded the enormous space frame of the Ulysses, the bald headed man had led the attack on the Starfleet vessel and revelled in its capture. At first, anyway. Once the realism of their situation set in, the man had become frustrated and locked the Alpha Quadrant personnel in their quarters, hoping his own people would be able to grant him access to the ship’s systems. How wrong he had been. So far. Instead of cutting their losses and fleeing, the man, an Inspector in the Devore Imperium, had ordered his vessels to lock on to his prize with their high powered tractor emitters.

Now, rather than operating under her own power, the mighty Starfleet vessel lumbered its way through the asteroid field, shepherded by her captors in much the same way as her crew had found themselves. Where she was headed, only the Inspector knew for certain. But one thing was clear…

Everything was proceeding as her Captain had foreseen.

A biting wind howled across a desolate landscape, the only sound other than the eerie silence of emptiness. The sound of screams occasionally drifted in on the hallowed breeze, the sound of tortured souls far off in the distance. Scars of an ancient civilization long gone littered the surface of the arid world of Haess IV and whilst the mystery of their disappearance was something the anthropology teams of starships like the Sarek or Sojourner would revel in, the personnel of the behemoth-like Ulysses would never get such answers; for theirs were soon to be the tortured screams that would fill the void of emptiness on this dry, wintry planetoid. Ulysses and her crew had become embroiled in their own far more sinister plot just four days earlier…

“Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

Ulysses is deep within the Akoshan asteroid field, working on intelligence obtained from civilian traders several days ago. We’re in search of the much sought after Blood Dilithium, which has supposedly been identified within the vast asteroid field we now survey. Lieutenant Okan and her science team continue to lead the search, but so far the sensors have confirmed nothing.  Commander Noli and Lieutenant Mitchell are having a hard time navigating the field safely, but are doing a stellar job – their commitment to the task at hand cannot be understated; Henry has not left his seat in over three hours, determined to ensure our safety in such a dangerous location.

 

Meanwhile, Commander Gor continues to brief the crew on the dangers of species located around this area of space, namely the Devore Imperium and Hirogen hunting parties. The Devore, coupled with the possibility of locating blood dilithium, pose a significant threat to our telepathic and empathic crewmates. Data shared by the crew of the USS Voyager almost twenty-five years ago has enabled us to prepare for the eventuality of a Devore inspection team, but given the intelligence shared with us by our civilian contacts (at a heavy price I might add), leads me to believe that such an encounter remains remote in this region. But one can never be too careful…”

Scanning asteroid after asteroid was a relentless task for the science team, especially in a field as large as the one they were slowly traversing. The location of the Akoshan asteroid field had been shared with them, at a cost of ten hours worth of replicator time, by civilian traders some twenty-four light years away. Rumoured to be the location of several rich Blood Dilithium deposits, the field was too good an opportunity to ignore, even if their search had been fruitless so far.

Seven hours into the search, and some were beginning to lose focus and ready to call it quits; others felt they had come this far, they were not going to give up until they had located some trace of the sought after commodity. They had travelled a significant distance, after all… they couldn’t come all this way and give up, right? That was the dilemma that faced Captain sh’Elas now as she watched, and not for the first time, Lieutenant Mitchell shift uncomfortably in his chair at the CONN. Piloting a vessel, any vessel, through an asteroid field would be a challenge for most talented pilots, but to navigate the substantial spaceframe of the Ulysses through the area was more of a kobayashi maru exam than a jaunt around the local space lanes. She’d tried to send him off for a break, and had succeeded about three and a half hours ago, but as they ventured deeper into the field, the young pilot was more resolute in his assurances that he was the person for this job, and that he wouldn’t ask one of his subordinates to take on such a difficult task. Thankfully, the ever reliable Commander Noli was on standby, watching for any considerable threats and prepared to vaporise them with the ship’s phasers. She was also monitoring the shields and ensuring that any little rock that came their way could be easily deflected with the minimal of fuss. But still, at some point she had to call it quits, surely.

“Scan complete,” Akaria moaned from her slouched position at the port science station, “moving our attention to asteroid six thousand, seven hundred and eighty three…” puffing out her cheeks and letting out a deep exhale, the Risian spun in a three-sixty motion several times to, oddly, refocus herself after staring at her display for so long.

Tharia let out a smirk at the scientists outburst, feeling complete sympathy with her exaggerations. Still, on they would go. For now at least.

As the clock ticked around, ever closer to their eighth hour of searching, Vasoch appeared from the aft turbo lift and took his seat to her right side. “Briefings complete, Captain. Time to check in with the fleet?” he asked, but more of a reminder to the Andorian than an actual question.

Nodding to her first officer, the Captain directed her next instruction towards the Bolian at Ops. “Linn,” she called out, “transmit the standard update. No changes, no discoveries. Ask Captain Mek how long he’d like us to continue the search before moving on,” the Andorian requested, her question designed to take the onus off of herself somewhat.

“Aye Captain,” Linn Mora responded swiftly, hands and fingers dancing as he transmitted the standard check-in message, with a few added extras. But the response he received was not expected. The computer blurted out a blown raspberry-like notification of error, causing the Bolian some consternation. “Odd…” he whispered to himself, only to swiftly realise the cause of his frustration. Spinning in his chair, he glared at the command team somewhat ominously. “Communications are being jammed,” he advised.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the command team sprung into action. Tharia inched forward in her chair and grasped both arms tightly, whilst Gor bolted from his command chair in such a spritely manner that it bellied his status as one of the oldest members of the ship’s crew. Within seconds, he was stood beside Noli at the tactical operations station, ready to render assistance. In this area of space, at this particular moment, unsuccessful communications could mean only one thing.

Stretching out a single finger, the Captain pressed a button on her chair, activating the ship’s internal communications grid. An all too familiar boatswains whistle echoed across the ship, accompanied swiftly by the Andorian’s voice. “All hands,” she called out over the comm, “…battlestations.”

Across the ship, the response was immediate. Red alert klaxons rang out in warning to all aboard that the situation had changed somewhat dramatically in the last few moments.

“All stop,” Tharia beckoned forward to Henry. “Akaria, cease your search and divert all power to the tactical grid,” was her next instruction, without exchanging so much as a glance with the Risian.

At tactical, Noli and Gor had quickly changed tack from the task of protecting the ship from asteroids to searching for immediate threats. As soon as the science teams surrendered control of the ship’s sensor suite, alarm bells blurted out across the bridge.

“We’re detecting two… no, three, vessels on an intercept course from various parts of the field,” Noli called out, her nimble hands dancing across the controls as she tried to ascertain the type of vessels on approach. The answer was among the definite worst case scenarios that Gor had briefed the crew on. “They’re Devore warships, ma’am, and closing fast,” the Bajoran bombshell called out.

“The odds are not in our favour, Captain,” Gor advised, leaning over the Arch to address his superior, “I suggest an immediate withdrawal.”

“We’ll never get out of the field in time,” Henry interjected from the CONN. “They’re faster and far more maneuverable than we are. By the time we’ve navigated a way out, they’ll be right on top of us.”

“That’s plan A out of the airlock then,”

“We know what they’ll be looking for,” Noli advised from behind folded arms across her chest. “They’re going to find them, and they’re going to impound the ship,” she concluded, exchanging glances with the XO and the Andorian.

“So, plan B?” Gor asked.

Rising to her feet, the Captain took a deep breath and rounded the Arch, gesturing with a subtle nod of the head for Noli and Gor to join her in the StratOps suite at the back of the bridge, leaving Lieutenant Mora in defacto command momentarily. Standing from his seat, the Bolian wandered over to the science station, and stood with Akaria as they watched the hushed conversation taking place between the three most senior officers on the ship.

“I don’t like the look of this,” he whispered to the science chief, both noting the agitated expressions on the faces of all three of the officers in the back, until the Captain seemed to call time on the conflab, and headed back onto the main bridge platform.

Linn returned to the Ops station just in time for the Captain to address the crew again. “All hands, this is the Captain,” she called out, “three Devore warships are closing in on our location, and given our position in the asteroid field, any attempt to escape is rendered unwise. Wherever you are, prepare for Devore inspection teams. Cooperate fully, and we’ll get through this. sh’Elas out.”

Once the shipwide communique was closed, the XO meandered over to Lieutenant Okan and began yet another hushed conversation. To those watching, the exchange seemed to confuse the Risian at first, but she soon came around to his way of thinking. Rising to her feet, she gave a silent nod to both the Tellarite and the Captain before swiftly leaving the bridge.

“Plan B is in motion, Captain,” Gor confirmed to the Andorian upon returning to her side at the heart of the bridge. Nodding to each other defiantly, they returned to their seats.

“Computer,” Tharia called out, an audible confirmation signalling the control systems readiness, “activate Program sh’Elas One Nine Seven.”

Without any further warnings, an immediate and incredibly shrill alarm klaxon replaced that of the red alert status across the ship. Consoles and controls alike ceased to function, all displays turning black, save for a single message emblazoned in flashing red text; ‘Shipwide Command Lockout Initiated. Standby.’ Those consoles that remained active were specifically chosen to prevent the ship from drifting into a nearby asteroid, or killing its populace by deactivating life support systems, but other than that, very few systems remained functional. Those that tried to access their consoles were bitterly disappointed, and reduced to a sense of idle nervousness as they awaited what was now the inevitable.

Whilst the activation of this ‘Plan B’ was the cause of the somewhat tense exchanges a short while before, the command staff were united in one thing at least – they could not, no they would not, let the ship fall into enemy hands without a fight. But not all fights had to be physical. If the Devore wanted the Ulysses, it was going to require nothing short of a war of attrition for them to claim their valuable prize.

A new, rather shrill sound soon echoed throughout the bridge to signal the start of that very war, almost right on que. Inhaling deeply, gripping the arms of her command chair, the Captain steeled herself for what was to come.

“They’re here…” she whispered, just in time for the first blurry haze of a transporter beam to shimmer into existence just feet from her position. Indeed, the Devore Imperium were here, and in significant force.

Four long days had past since the Devore inspection teams had boarded the Ulysses and took control, locking down the entire crew and putting their own skeleton crew to task on breaking the encryption that the Captain had put in place. Like many Devore inspectors searching gaharey vessels before them, Inspector Kravik and his team had succeeded in achieving their goal – identifying and apprehending telepaths. In the form of Deltan Commander Zinn, Betazoids Vittoria and Matheus and the Aenar helmswoman known as Tempa, the impounding of the Ulysses was worth every minute, with the ship’s only empathic or telepathic crewmembers now in custody. Whilst the majority of the crew found themselves locked away in their private abodes, those accused of being telepaths found themselves in an altogether different type of lockdown.

Barely six feet by four, the the walls of the prison cells were the same thick grey stone as the dwellings of the region long since abandoned. Repurposed ruins had been turned into prisons squalid in nature. Instead of a wide window with a flower box in a picturesque setting, mean-looking bars of thick metal and no glass restricted the Devore ‘guests’ to their imprisonment. In the summer months, the fresher air would no doubt have been a relief, helping to alleviate the stench of festering sewage from those occupied cells, of which there were apparently many. In the cold seasons, however, a wicked draught reduced the temperature in the cell to near freezing. Whilst the many aboard ship would ‘make do’ with their comfortable mattresses and fresh linens, the beds here were a simple slate of granite supported by blocks of stone. No mattresses, no cushioning, only a thin blanket for warmth.

Day and night it was either suffocatingly quiet or the peace was pierced with the screams of tortured inmates they never saw. But, so far, everything was proceeding as the Captain’s ‘plan B’ had laid out.

Standing at the door to the cell, grasping the bars with both hands, Lieutenant Matheus Ren tugged at the metal poles for the hundredth time, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they had become weakened. He was disappointed, as always. Behind him, Vittoria and the Aenar huddled together on Tempa’s bunk, keeping warm together under their blankets, sharing stories of their careers to date. Conversation and company was all they had, much to the chagrin of Doctor Zinn. Never a people person despite his profession, the Deltan found himself in his own very real nightmare – locked up with three relative strangers who insisted on conversing about anything and everything, yet nothing meaningful.

Laid atop his blanket on the slab at the furthest most wall, the Doctor was in his own little trance-like state when the cell door flung open, pushing Matheus to the floor with substantial force. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the ‘bed’, the Commander was upright just in time for three Devore soldiers muscle their way into the cell, assault weapons draped over their shoulders.

“Time to stretch your legs,” the lead soldier smirked, looking around at all four of the officers from the gaharey vessel before vacating the small room, followed by his counterparts. In doing so, they left the prison cell open for the Ulysses crewmates to make their escape, even if it was only temporary.

But what exactly awaited them beyond the relative safety of their prison cell was anyone’s guess…

Four days. One hundred and four hours, or six thousand, two hundred and forty minutes. Ulysses had been under the ‘control’ of the Devore Imperium for six thousand, two hundred and forty excruciating minutes, and Tharia had counted every single one. Well, the computer had. From the minute she had entered her quarters four days ago, she’d activated one of her data PADDs and accessed the time interface, modifying it so that it would keep a running clock ticking over until such a time as she paused it. It was her way of making sure that she would remember how long her personnel had been locked down, as each mind numbingly boring day of confinement began to blend into one another. A bit of unexpected shoreleave would normally be championed by the crew, but this was under very different circumstances of course, and unless you happened to live with family members, or were a junior or enlisted crewmate sharing bunks, you would be alone. Just like the Captain. And even though she liked to keep a professional distance from her colleagues, humanoids were just not built for long periods of isolation. And boy was she starting to feel the effects.

Aside from her perception of the passing of time changing, she found herself talking to inanimate objects, hoping for some words of wisdom but receiving nothing but asinine comments back (from herself of course). She’d finished a rather interesting novel about a boy wizard who, it transpired, was something of a ‘chosen one’, locked in an intense battle for supremacy with an abhorrent character that had no nose; she’d started another story about ‘a galaxy far, far away’ and had been surprised by an epic twist revealing the main antagonist to be the father of the hero, resulting in the Andorian becoming far more invested than she perhaps should have been. There was only so much reading one could do before needing a change of pace, however, so she had taken to completing the recorded yoga sessions that Counsellor Chiera had given her some months ago, but exercise wasn’t really her thing these days. And with the consoles on lockdown, the only sustenance the replicators would provide were field rations, meaning her desire to eat comfort food could not be sated. No, she definitely was not the kind of person who benefitted from being cooped up with no place to go.

She was just about to consider starting another yoga session when her antennae twitched, the sound of the force field surrounding her room being lowered piquing their sensitive curiosities. Rising to her feet from the yoga mat that had replaced her coffee table, the Captain reached for the uniform jacket she had slung over the back of her sofa and covered herself up just in time for the door to open.

Stepping back towards the window pane, as far from the door as possible, she watched as two armed guards appeared from the corridor and stood to the side. “The Inspector wants you,” the lead soldier informed, waving his rifle at the exit in a not-so-subtle hint that no would not be an acceptable response.

Pulling on the hem of her jacket, the Andorian took a moment to compose herself, then made her way into the corridor without protest. Six thousand, two hundred and forty-five minutes late, but the inevitable meeting was about to take place.

‘And about time too,’ she smiled, sauntering her way to the turbolift.

“Can I interest you in a beverage, Captain?”

Unaccustomed to sitting on this side of the ready room’s desk, Tharia shifted uncomfortably as she watched the balding man opposite her pour a thick, dark liquid from a beautiful, ornamental glass bottle into two smaller glasses. Smirking, she shook her head. “I see you’ve found my stash of Kanar,” she spoke quietly, her expression one of steadfast resoluteness.

Lifting the glass to his lips and taking a sip of the Alpha Quadrant drink, the senior Devore soldier winced a little. “It’s definitely an acquired taste…” he smiled, placing the glass down gently on the surface between them, using it to push the other glass towards his guest.

“That’s why I was saving it for a special occasion. It’s not something you want to drink too often,” the Andorian advised, pushing the proffered glass back to the center of the desk before relaxing back in her seat.

“And what an occasion this is, Captain!” the balding man exclaimed, leaning back in ‘her’ chair, arms flailing wide. “You and your crew have been liberated, whilst my quest to further the objectives of my people is one step closer,” he explained.

“Liberated?!” the Andorian’s tone was far more acusational than intended as she inched forward, glaring at the man with drooped antennae and more than a twitch behind her eye. “You sit there, in my seat, behind my desk, and you claim I’ve been liberated? You sit in my ready room, on my ship, with my crew imprisoned, and you have the audacity to be so bold you can claim such a thing?!” the exasperation in her voice helped to hold back the trademark Andorian temper that threatened to boil inside her.

“Oh, but I have liberated you, Captain. You and your crew,” the balding man smiled slyly, sitting forward and clasping his hands together on the desktop. “I’ve liberated you from a life of crime, from harbouring and transporting criminals through Devore space,” he added, sounding entirely convinced in what he was saying. So convinced in fact that Tharia caught herself mouthing an obscenity.

“We weren’t in Devore space,” the blue-skinned woman countered, her anger agating for a moment, “and those ‘criminals’ you allude to are members of my crew.”

“Details, details,” the man scoffed, throwing himself backwards a little, “the asteroid field where you and your crew were found is on the edge of our newly expanded territory. And as I’m sure you are more than aware from our previous encounters with your precious Federation, gaharey vessels transporting telepathic criminals are subject to quarantine and detention,” he told calmly.

Shaking her head, the disbelief the Federation officer felt was more than clear for him to see. “We can sit here and quibble over the minutiae of recent events,” a cold, calm tone to her voice showed her volatile emotions further, “but how about we get down to what it is you really want?”

Relaxing again, the smile on the man’s face seemed to irritate his guest perfectly. “I want you to remove the lockout on your ship’s systems and hand control of the ship to me, as reparation for your crimes,” seeing the anger on her face threaten to explode, he held his hands up to placate her. “In return, you and your crew will be returned to the Markonian Outpost your forces call home,” he offered. It was a solution to both their problems, a solution he was more than generous to offer. In his eyes anyway.

And for the split second she actually considered the offer, the Starfleet Captain actually thought it could be a viable way out. Sure, she’d lose her ship, willingly handing it over to an enemy force, and she would have secured the safety of her crew. But then there was the damage they could do with Federation technology, what they could reverse engineer and ultimately create, potentially shifting the balance of power significantly. That was unacceptable to her, and it would be unacceptable to Starfleet.

Then another thought crossed her mind; why not sacrifice her ship, her crew and the Devore captors in order to deprive their enemy of their prize and ensure that no further innocents were harmed by this Inspector and his people? She could do it in a matter of moments, all it would take is a release of the command codes from her quarters, but then the minute she did that, it would unlock the entire ship and risk the Devore soldiers stopping her. It was a risk she couldn’t take, not while she held all the proverbial cards, and was holding them very close to her chest indeed; so close that only seven people out of the near two thousand souls aboard the mighty Ulysses had any idea of ‘Plan B’.

“How about you release my crew, release my ship, and let us go? By now, Starfleet will know we’ve missed our check-in, and rapid response teams will come looking for us,” she warned him, a sly smile creeping across her lips as her inflection of the word ‘will’ projected the exact sense of certainty that she was anticipating.

For the first time, the Inspectors face contorted to show his disapproval, nearly spitting out his words in frustration. “By the time anyone from Starfleet comes looking for you, we’ll be long gone, your crew imprisoned indefinitely as prisoners of the Imperium,” he paused for a moment of dramatic effect, “and your telepathic crew mates will be dead.”

Open-mouthed, the Andorian was almost lost for words at the scaling up of his rhetoric. In everything so far, nothing he had implied suggested anyone was at risk of death. Had she sent her comrades to their doom on a fools errand gone wrong? Their Plan B required Zinn and his colleagues to be alive in order to succeed, but their mission was in jeopardy. She had to come up with some way forward. And fast.

Lucky for her, the Inspector presented an unlikely opportunity.

“I will give you one more day to decide. I’ll even allow you to confer with that… man… that you call an Executive Officer, is it?” the Inspector’s face had returned to the insincere smile of before. “He really is a most unlikeable person,” he added, waving to the guard at the door, signalling for the Captain’s removal.

Rising to her feet, Tharia glared at the Inspector. Reaching out, she took hold of the beverage offered earlier. “Commander Gor is something of… an acquired taste,” she remarked finally, her antennae standing bolt upright atop her head as she raised the glass in a ‘cheers’ type motion. Downing the beverage in one large gulp, she slammed the glass on the desktop and turned on her heels.

Headed for the door, she stopped short of the exit. “Keep my chairs warm, Inspector. I’ll be wanting them back shortly,” she called out, turning her entire body and standing as defiant as she possibly could, “…and I always get what I want.”

A short while later, after Tharia had been unceremoniously dumped back in her quarters, the Andorian had already set to work on a plan for getting exactly what she wanted, just as promised. For her, the show of defiance was more than just bravado in the face of an implacable enemy; it was a warning. A warning that it was time for Plan B to be put in motion at last.

Sitting on her sofa, tapping away at the data PADD that had once contained the novel she was reading, it now contained her own story of wizardry and how she would retake the Ulysses from their oppressors. At that moment, the buzz of the forcefield ceased once again, and the doors parted, but instead of soldiers crossing the threshold, a dishevelled looking figure was pushed inside.

Stumbling into the Captain’s quarters, the Tellarite executive of the ship turned swiftly and growled at the Devore guard before spitting out a word so disgusting that it even drew a gasp from the Andorian just several feet away. The gasp, as audible as it was, drew the Tellarite back into the room, and caused him to look a little sheepish as he took a few steps towards the Captain. He knew, that she knew, that he knew that his word choice was not something she expected from him, but still they chuckled about it after a moment.

Gesturing to the seat opposite her, the Andorian smiled at seeing her Number One. Oh, how times had changed. In less than six months, the unlikely pair had become confidants, had become friends, and now, they would lead the liberation of their ship from the hands of the Devore Imperium.

“Come my friend,” she smiled to her stout colleague, “we have work to do.”

“Four years?!”

Slamming his fist on the makeshift table at the heart of the gathering, the normally mild mannered Betazoid known as Matheus Ren of the Starship Ulysses was almost apoplectic with rage. The Starfleet crewman had been there for what, five, maybe six days, yet this poor soul they had befriended had been detained on the wastes of Haess IV for four years? There was no way he, or the rest of his colleagues would be there that long – their Starfleet training wouldn’t allow it, nor would their personalities. Starfleet officers were not made for captivity; they were made for exploration and the freedom it afforded to them. The freedom so many had given their lives to protect in conflicts in years gone by. No, four years of captivity was not an option.

Nodding slowly, the older creature opposite the scientist ruffled his scraggly hair. His green skin was mottled with brown flecks and more than a few deep lines. His ridged nose looked off center and, whilst Ren was no physician, had probably been broken at some point during his stay in the ‘facility’ he called home.

“I’ve not seen another of my kind in the entire time I’ve been here,” the alien recounted sadly, but more than a hint of resignation in his voice. This was his norm now, and he’d lost hope. Hope of seeing his kin, hope for returning home, hope of ever seeing anything but this rocky wasteland ever again.

Reaching over the crate, a second alien placed a gentle hand on the alien’s shoulder, rubbing it in consolation. Her face was a far cry from that of the older gentleman. Silky, smooth pale skin and deep brown eyes, her most distinguishing feature was actually her peculiarly shaped ears that filled the sides of her head. It was clear that she had not been there anywhere near as long as the others.

“Have faith, Arivek.” Her smile warmed the old man’s heart, but it was her next words that caught the attention of Ren the most. “I have a feeling that things are going to change for the better,” she nodded in the Starfleet officer’s direction.

Whilst he didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, the scientist couldn’t help but feel this woman was different. Like she knew something anyone outside the Starfleet quartet couldn’t possibly. But how? Massive neuroinhibitors supposedly prevented prisoners from using their telepathic, telekinetic or empathic abilities, and everyone the Betazoid had met so far had confirmed as much. But this woman was different. He clearly had to be more careful with his thoughts.

Rising to his feet, the brown-haired man in the blue of the Starfleet science division reached across the table and gave his own reassuring touch to the older Arivek. “You have more friends now, Arivek. We’re here if you need anything,” the Betazoid smiled, before stepping away from the table.

Standing around, he made eye contact with Tempa and Zinn, both stood talking to a purple-skinned, smooth-headed creature about three feet taller than the rest of them. Spornak (the nickname they had given the giant since his actual name was unpronounceable to them) had been the first alien they had made contact with upon being released from their cells two days earlier. His camaraderie had proven useful, thanks to the shine he had taken to the much smaller Aenar Starfleet flight controller. He’d stood up for the fleeters when they made the error of talking to the wrong crowd the previous evening, and had taken on a protective role for the Starfleet crewmates.

Ren was just about to join the three, when the female from the table caught him by surprise with the placement of a hand on his arm and guided him to the wall outside his cell.

“You’re very kind to Arivek,” Maevis spoke in a hushed tone so as to not draw attention to their conversation, “but I sense I may have alarmed you before. For that, I apologise,” the brunette beauty smiled apologetically.

Matheus scanned the room nervously for a second or two before addressing her apology. “I didn’t think anyone here was supposed to be able to sense anything,” he asked, hinting at the obvious but hoping the connection was made by the woman. She didn’t let him down.

“For the majority, no. But a few of us have telepathic abilities of such strength that even their neuro devices can’t prevent us from using them completely. They may be dulled somewhat, but I can still sense feelings, can still read certain minds,” she advised him, “like yours.”

Now that did panic the Starfleet officer. “And what exactly do you think you know?” he asked, his tone sterner than before, his eyes narrowed and intense.

“I know you and your friends have some sort of plan,” she responded honestly, “and I know you’re going to need help when the time comes.” She took a fraction of a step closer to him and lowered her tone further. “You’re the first people to come here with any credible way out. I want to help,” she smiled to him, her hand rubbing up and down his left arm slowly, gently.

For a second, Matheus forgot where he was, but only for a second. He then pulled his arm out of her reach. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Maevis’ brow furrowed at the implication that she could not be trusted, but she could understand his reluctance to take her on face value. Despite their new friendship, they had only met the previous day. Grabbing his arm a little more forcefully, she dragged him inside his cell, stopping only when she noticed the cell’s other occupant.

“Maevis…” Vittoria smiled, sitting up from her slouched position on the slab that was her bed, only to wince slightly as she did so, a slight throbbing in her left temple.

“You’re going to want to round up your others for this,” Maevis told, the look of absolute seriousness on her face telling Ren that this was not the time to trifle with her.

Nodding slowly, he turned in the doorway and looked out, surveying the immediate area for guards. When none could be seen, he whistled in the direction of Doctor Zinn and waved the Deltan over. Just a mere moment later, the Deltan physician and his Aenar colleague returned to their cell.

“This better be good,” Zinn scolded the scientist, ignoring Maevis as he pushed past and perched on his bunk, “Spornak was telling us a rather amusing story about him, his brother, and the time they nearly detonated their shuttles warp core,” the Deltan mused, folding his arms across his chest.

“Despite the neuroinhibitors, Maevis can still use some of her abilities,” Ren blurted out, “and she may have stumbled across our plan.”

Suddenly, the tension level in the room rose, with Zinn standing up from his perched position and taking a step closer to the science officer. “There IS no plan, remember?” the Deltan chided him.

“I think that’s pretty moot at this point, Commander. Maybe we should let Maevis tell us what she knows?” the ever wise voice of the young Aenar helmswoman pierced through the Lieutenant Commander’s anger, and he took a step back.

“I’ve been hearing things,” Maevis began, “nothing more than stories and rumours at first. Something about a new method the guards are using to extract information from us in search of what they call the gaharey.” She could tell from their silence, and the lack of a reaction from each of her new friends, that they were not particularly surprised. “There were rumours that they were taking prisoners at random. Torturing them in some way. Supposedly causing significant telepathic responses, progressively more violent with each story. Some people came back, others didn’t, yet no one I spoke to seemed to know anyone in particular that had been taken,” she told them, before turning her head and looking out the doorway and back to where they had sat a short while ago. “Then they came and took Arivek.”

That certainly piqued the curiosity of the majority of the room (save for Zinn, who had yet to warm to, well, anyone other than Spornak).

“When he was brought back,” Maevis continued, “he was unconscious. He slept for three days until he came round and could tell us what he knew.”

“And what exactly was that?” Zinn asked, unconvinced by her story so far as he folded his arms across his chest in his trademark stance of unconscious protection.

“They took him to some laboratory. He told us they strapped him to a bed and lowered the neuros in their lab,” she revealed, the room (save Zinn) on tenterhooks as she recounted the events from Arivek’s story. “Then they brought in some small fragment of crystal unlike anything he had seen. Apparently it was a deep shade of crimson, and when they brought it closer to him, it glowed.”

Now that definitely got Zinn’s attention, causing him to drop his defences and step closer to the woman. Matheus looked past the two and exchanged concerned glances with Vittoria, both silently mouthing just two simple words.

“Blood dilithium.”

“We call it blood dilithium,” Zinn spoke quietly, “it’s why we’re here, in the Delta Quadrant. We’re here to collect and study it,” the Deltan revealed to her.

“It’s what we were looking for when the Devore captured our ship,” Tempestava added briefly. Soon, the Starfleet officers were in full brainstorming mode.

“We know it affects telepaths significantly.”

“Makes sense that they should have it. Dirty son’s of a…”

“That’s probably why they are using it as a means of torture to extract information.”

“Of course! That’s why they have neuroinhibitors in place. It’s not to stop us using our abilities at all…”

“It’s to stop the blood dilithium from having an impact on us while we’re in general circulation…”

“Arivek is thirty-seven years old!” Maevis interjected loudly, bringing the discussions to a screeching halt, all eyes firmly on her as she nodded her head out of the door. Zinn, Matheus and Vittoria all wandered to the doorway and huddled around Maevis, looking out at the old man sitting at the table.

“He’s what?!” Zinn asked.

“He’s thirty-seven years old,” Maevis echoed her previous statement. “When they took him, he was a handsome young man, but whatever they did to him using that blood dilithium, he came out looking about fifty years older, and drained of the youthful optimism he had always shown.” She sighed wistfully.

“Frak me…” Matheus whispered, shaking his head as they returned to the middle of the cell. Looking at Zinn, then Chiera, then Zinn again, the scientist folded his arms this time. Their conversation was about to start again when they were interrupted by the facility alarm, which meant only one thing; lockdown.

“I need to go,” Maevis told her friends, “whatever you do, whenever you do it, I’ll be ready. We’ll all be ready…” she assured them all. With one final touch of Matheus’ arm, the woman fled their cell so that she would not be caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Returning to their bunks as per lockdown rules, the quartet stayed silent for a time, each pondering the conversation they had just partaken in. Each one had read the briefings, each taking particular care to read the logs of the Merevek crew, and how the blood dilithium had impacted the telepaths aboard the ship.

Unbeknownst to her crew mates, as she lay on her slab, Counsellor Chiera felt more than a little worse for wear. Beads of sweat trickled, dark shadows appeared beneath heavy eyes, and most importantly, the twinge of pain she had felt in her temple previously had now progressed into a sharp stabbing pain. But as she suffered in silence, the others began conversing once again. At first, she tried her best to listen in, but the words soon began to fade and she was struggling to make sense of them. It was infuriating. So infuriating in fact that the normally mild-mannered Betazoid sat up quite quickly and glared across at Matheus and Zinn.

“I swear to whatever gods you believe in,” she fumed, “if you don’t shut your mouths I’m going to smash your heads into the brick walls of this cell, and then I’m going to make you SWALLOW YOUR FRAKKIN’ TEETH!” A few far more severe expletives left gaping jaws threatening to hit the dust of the cell floor.

“Vittoria…” Tempa gasped at her colleague, sitting and turning her body towards the blonde Betazoid.

“DON’T!” Vittoria snapped at the young Aenar. “What a joke YOU are?! Who in their right mind sends a blind child on a mission of such importance as ours. What good are you? What do you even bring to this mission?! YOU CAN’T EVEN SEE WHAT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!” Chiera had clearly lost the plot, going on a vicious tirade against her young colleague, despite the protestations of her male counterparts.

And then things turned physical, the Counsellor leaping towards the innocent, quite clearly distressed Aenar, snarling and thrashing. Only the timely interception of Matheus grabbing his fellow Betazoid and pinning her to the nearby wall stopped her from causing any harm to the youngster.

“LIEUTENANT CHIERA! THAT IS ENOUGH!” Zinn barked at the top of his lungs, standing in defence of his junior colleague, and hoping that he might snap the Betazoid out of her malaise.

Whilst she stopped thrashing against the superior strength of Ren, the vitriol she spewed only got worse with a particularly vile remark about how the youngster should have been terminated in the womb because of her blindness. “You’re a waste of space, Tempestava th’Zorati.”

Placing his right forearm across the upper chest of the blonde, Matheus used his strength to push her back against the wall and draw her attention to him, albeit briefly. “One more word, and I swear, I’ll knock you on your ass.”

Gazing at the man pinning her to the wall, a breathless Vittoria let out a devilish grin, and then a laugh. “Oh Matheus. Can you feel it? The buzz? The thrill? I can sense it from you,” she whispered to him, but still loud enough for the other occupants of the cell to hear. “You want me, Matheus, don’t you? Whatever would Akaria think if she knew you were here, sharing your lustful thoughts with a woman you find so attractive?”

At such a repulsive notion, the scientist released his grip on the woman from his homeworld and took a step back, standing beside Zinn, but still close enough that he could step in should she again target the youngest member in their quartet.

“Vittoria. Please…” came the quiet pleading of the Aenar just feet away. “This has got to be the blood dilithium talking. This isn’t you.”

All of the commotion in the cell hadn’t gone unnoticed beyond the cell walls, and soon enough, three armed guards appeared at the cell door. Unlocking it, the lead guard stepped inside, weapon at the ready should he have needed it. He looked around the small holding cell at each of the occupants, and then settled his gaze on the flushed, hard of breathing woman.

“Her,” was all he said, before the other two guards entered the cell and grabbed Chiera by the arms.

“What are you doing?!” Matheus declared, trying to get to his colleague, only to be met with a rifle butt to the left temple for his efforts.

As the guards dragged the kicking and screaming Betazoid away, the Doctor helped his subordinate to his feet, with the help of their blind friend. With all three of them perched on the same slab, they took stock for a moment.

“The game’s afoot…” Zinn finally remarked.

“It can’t be,” Matheus winced through the pain, “it’s too soon.”

“They’re getting desperate,” the Deltan countered, “they can’t be having much luck on the ship. sh’Elas’ plan must be working.”

“The briefing from Commander Gor was pretty clear sir,” the ever calm Aenar spoke quietly, turning her head to the scientist. “If things turn physical down here, if they start to separate us, they’ll start to use us as leverage in their efforts to take the ship. Captain sh’Elas won’t let them take Ulysses.”

“But what about Vittoria? We don’t know where they have taken her, or what state she will be in when we get her back, if we get her back…”

“Our orders were clear, Matheus,” Zinn reminded his colleague, “your own partner relayed the instructions herself.” Standing from his perch, the Deltan wandered to the door and looked out at the other cells. “The Captain is trusting us to put her plan in motion. We need to be ready.”

Betazoid and Aenar alike diverted their gaze in the Deltan’s direction.

“This could cost a lot of people their lives,” Matheus warned both of his Starfleet compatriots. “We’re not just talking about getting the four of us out of here. She wants us to liberate the whole damn facility, and with what? The three of us, a crazy Counsellor, a giant, a woman we hardly know and a thirty-seven year old who looks older than my great, great grandmother’s dead dog,” he shook his head slowly. “This plan is never going to work…”

“Captain sh’Elas and I have had our disagreements, but I’ll say this for her; no one prepares for a mission like she does,” Zinn turned and looked at the man in blue. “She’s read all of the Voyager reports and the Merevek logs just like all of us. She’s been privy to more mission briefings than you could count on all of your extremities. She could have put us in the transporter buffer, she could have left us at the Markonian Outpost, she could have even left us behind in the Alpha Quadrant. But she didn’t,” the Deltan’s passionate argument was certainly getting his colleagues attention. “She planned for an eventuality that had an infinitesimal chance of occurring, but she planned for it anyway. She knew that if we encountered them, the Devore would be predictable and true to past experiences. All the past intelligence pointed towards them impounding the ship, arresting the telepaths and imprisoning the crew until they could secure their prize. It’s their modus operandi after-all. She knew, like we all did, that if the time came where she’d need us, we’d be the away team she could count on. No one else could get into the position we’re in now.”

“He’s right, Matheus,” Tempa nodded slowly. “The Captain entrusted us with her Plan B, and we all agreed to it. While the crew prevent the Devore from taking the ship, we get the prisoners down here on side and ready to go. Then, when the time comes and they’ve managed to retake the ship, we rescue as many of these poor souls as we can and bring this whole sordid enterprise to its knees.”

“This isn’t just a prison break we’re talking about here,” the Betazoid shook his head, “we’re talking about a riot involving hundreds of people, all of whom could be at risk.”

“On the one hand, we’ve got a prison break that Noli will be pissed to miss. But on the other, we’ve got the kind of humanitarian rescue mission we have a duty to carry out,” Zinn tried to plead to the man’s sensibilities.

“Alright, alright!” Matheus finally relented. “Plan B it is. Let’s plan a prison break.”

The acrid smell of smoke was almost overwhelming, and the bright light aimed directly at her and through closed eyelids was more than enough to make the Betazoid feel uncomfortable. She felt powerless and heavy; she couldn’t move her hand, her head or her body. More importantly though, she still couldn’t feel anything, or anyone – and that panicked her.

Then she heard it; the sound of breathing that wasn’t her own. It heaved, like a man’s, rapid like he’d sprinted into the room. She listened, silent and almost still, the slightest tremble beneath her bonds as she grew more anxious, frightened. Whoever it was in the room with her, they moved slowly, their heavy feet causing a metallic ring to echo just slightly, and just enough to give her a clue as to her surroundings; she was perhaps on a ship or starbase, as opposed to a cave or some other natural dwelling. She certainly wasn’t in her cell on Haess IV anymore.

She slowly started blinking, desperately trying to open her eyes to see what was around her. ‘Where am I? Where is everyone?’ she panicked. Doctor Zinn? Matheus? Tempestava? Oh, poor Tempa! She suddenly recalled the vile, disgusting words she had hurled in the young Aenar’s direction, the mortification she now felt was more than justified. She had to apologise, probably beg for forgiveness, but she couldn’t do that if they weren’t there.

Then, the blinding light slowly subsided and she could take a look around her surroundings. A dark room, lit by consoles. Her lack of ability to move explained by the straps holding her in place on some sort of bed, a lamp just inches from her flushed face, which explained why it had been so bright before. Maybe she had been strapped to the bed for her own good to undergo medical treatment? It didn’t resemble anything the Away Team had seen on the surface of Haess. Then she remembered them; the Devore. Was she on one of their ships? Maybe the command center on the planet’s surface?

She was about to call out for help when she spotted something moving out of the corner of her eye. Something gangly, something enormous. Turning her head to the right to take a good look, she swiftly turned back and stared at the ceiling, a look of horror on her face as she contemplated what she had made out.

Languid, tall and gangly, the alien being had four long, upper limbs with long, pointed digits. Its skin, at least the skin that was visible to her, was a pale gray color, the kind of color Romulans looked when they’d had too much Romulan ale. Daring herself to look again, her eyes lingered a little longer. She estimated that the creature was between seven and eight feet tall, and she could definitely make out a strong rib cage through its clothing and boney arms. In truth, it almost looked fragile, to the point that it wouldn’t take much for the creature to have its arms or legs broken. An important mental note for later, perhaps.

“This one senses that you are awakening from the effects.”

The figure did not move from where it stood, its shadowed, veiled head did not twitch to look at her. And yet there was a sense that it was glowering at her, a palpable distaste in the tone of its words that brought about a feeling of disgust in the pit of the stomach. The light shifted away from the medical table, illuminating more of the room and her host.

‘Effects? Effects of what?’ Vittoria wondered, trying desperately to make sense of things despite the throbbing pain in both her temples. Then it came to her. Before she had been taken, the Away Team had been talking with Maevis about blood dilithium. Was that what this creature was referring to?

Now it moved, a steady, almost graceful economy of movement that spoke of martial discipline. Its skull seemed shrunk wrapped in its gray, exsanguinated skin. The eyes…were gone. Not only gone but wholly missing from its biology, the vestigial remains of their evolution being a pair of dimples in the skin where sockets had once resided at some point in the course of this species’ evolutionary period. And it moved closer now, its towering form leaning slightly forward.

“This one senses a heightened state of adrenal response,” it said without its lips moving, the words summoned to her ear by means unknown. “It shall be noted.”

“Where… where am I?” The Counsellor finally mustered the strength to engage with the creature, despite the terror burning away inside her, not to mention the concern about the whereabouts of the rest of the Away Team. “What am I doing here?” she asked quickly, with less hesitation this time.

The figure loomed menacingly for a moment longer, and then one of its spindly, fragile looking arms rose up. From the ceiling an armature descended, bringing with it a pane of glass on which lines and strobing colors flickered. It placed one digit upon the pane, cocking its head to one side as a bird might.

“Interesting. This one finds correlation in your curiosity, in your strength, in line with data points from the earliest parts of exposure, durings its investigatory phase,” it said. “This one finds you to to be most resilient. Would you also say that this behavior is commonplace within your socio-political bloc?”

With a deep breath, the Lieutenant summoned all of the courage she could muster and diverted her gaze towards the ceiling above. “I will not answer your questions. You will release me and return me to my people,” she demanded. It wasn’t quite the traditional name and service number prisoners were supposed to give, but she had to make it clear to the being that she would not tolerate being held captive, nor would she co-operate with it under duress.

“This one will note that,” it said after a moment. The screen retracted back into the ceiling, and the alien leaned back, returning to where it had stood. As it did so, a shaft of light tore through the room, but as a shadow passed through, it revealed itself to be a doorway. A smaller alien,instantly recognisable to her, stood several feet away. The door closed behind him, and a gust of frigid air followed. A Devore officer.

Slinking over to the Devore who had entered, the gangly creature and her more familiar captor conversed for what felt like a lifetime, before the taller one walked across to loom over the tied down Starfleet officer again, joined by the Devore officer.

“This one you may refer to as Inspector,” the first alien remarked, its ‘voice’ trailing a dry femininity with it as the words grated in her mind. “This one fulfills the same tactical purpose as your blue skin within this vessel’s hierarchy. This one is here to deliver final dispensation.”

‘Blue skin? The Captain!’ Vittoria’s thoughts started to gather pace as she inwardly made connections. It knew of the Captain at least, which meant she was likely alive, and the Ulysses probably close by.

“So, you’re the Captain, and what is this? Some sort of scientist?” Chiera queried, directing her ire at the silent Devore warrior. The words ‘final dispensation’ were a bit of a worry though. “Where am I? Where are my people?” the Betazoid asked again, her surroundings and the events unfolding becoming more cogent with each word. A lingering sense of disorientation remained thanks to the lack of her empathic abilities.

“This one is at liberty to say that your crews are well, and their bodies maintained adequately. You are in an investigatory zone,” it said/thought haughtily. “Like you, this one is from the quadrant of one, but this one now services them.”

‘Quadrant of one?’ Vittoria pondered, trying hard not to give anything away on the surface. Could it mean the Alpha Quadrant? Was it a native who had been captured here? It was then that the lack of lip movement from the ‘one’ made sense, in such a way that she chastised herself for not picking it up sooner. This ‘one’ as it referred to itself, was a telepath. And given how clear its words were, coupled with the continued suppression of her own abilities, it was probably an incredibly powerful telepath at that.

“Enough of that,” the first Devore soldier barked. “Your exposure to the blood dilithium leads a lot to be desired. Quite mild in comparison to some in this facility,” the older man sighed disapprovingly.

For the first time since waking up, Vittoria Chiera made a move to sit up and struggle against her restraints. “Where are my people?!” the normally placid woman seethed.

“They’re fine. But you, you will stay here until I get what I want,” he told her.

“Why, the cooperation of your Captain of course,” the man smiled, before sauntering away. “You may continue with your tests, Nihari!”

Struggling against the restraints, which only seemed to tighten further, the Betazoid grew more anxious than ever as the ‘one’ moved into position to recommence its tests.

“One’s message is simple,” it said, turning and waving a hand at a nearby box, a box that inexplicably levitated in its direction. When the ‘one’ had the box in its possession, Vittoria could feel again. And she didn’t like what she began to feel.

“Do not resist,” the creature warned her as a bright red glow began to emit from the box. The next phase of ‘its’ tests was about to begin.

Strict lockdown procedures had been implemented across the facility for a number of hours now, the outcome of Lieutenant Chiera’s emotional outbursts that had drawn significant attention to the Starfleet cell. Guards were on edge, patrolling more regularly, frequently scanning the prisoners and removing anyone of concern. It had been a number of days since the last Blood Dilithium reaction in the general populace, and any outbreak could pose a significant threat to the security of their operation. But for the watching Starfleet officers, it presented an opportunity.

Chiera’s violent reaction showed the Devore incarceration system to be far from infallible. It also raised the question of what the reactions of far more powerful telepaths, like Maevis, would be like if the system went down. Worrying, to say the least, but an opportunity nonetheless. When the time came, they would know how to act to make the most of their opportunity, but that would depend on the Counsellor, and whether she had revealed anything under torture.

Laid on their bunks and unable to sleep because of their missing colleague, the three remaining Starfleet officers were playing the specifics of the plan over and over again in their minds when they were disturbed by clattering at the door to their cell. Shifting nervously, the three watched as the door flung open. For a moment, there was nothing, no sign of anyone at the exit until suddenly, and violently, the Counsellor was unceremoniously dumped on the floor of the cell, the door locked behind her.

Doctor Zinn and his science counterpart flew off their bunks and hunkered down next to the prone female, interlocking their arms with hers and lifting her to her feet. She looked terrible, clearly subjected to all manner of sins by the Devore guards, but at least she was still Vittoria, and hadn’t suffered the same fate as poor Arivek.

“Can you hear me, Lieutenant?” Zinn asked the woman, using her rank in the usual way people would after trauma in order to try and ground the person in reality.

“I wish I couldn’t…” Vittoria’s chapped lips whispered, looking up at the Deltan through wincing eyes. “I have a banging headache,” she added, a silly smirk filling her face as best it could, a sign that the woman was still in there, behind the pain and suffering.

Zinn and Matheus let out a sigh of relief, and both chuckled as they helped the woman to her bunk, where Tempa was waiting to help them lay her down.

Upon seeing the Aenar, the Counsellor’s eyes welled, and she reached out to her younger friend. “Tempa…” she whispered through the pain barrier, “I’m so… sorry for what… I said,” she confessed, a wave of embarrassment and disgust filling her, a sense of dread washing over her at what the youngster might say. And she’d deserve every word of it, of that she was sure.

Placing a warm hand on the side of Chiera’s face, the Aenar’s touch was enough to console the Counsellor and reduce her to tears. Clutching the woman and holding her close, rocking her like a mother would a distressed child, the Aenar ‘looked’ in the direction of their male counterparts.

“I think it’s time for Plan B. We need to get everyone out. We cannot wait…”

The passing of time was a phenomenon even the best and brightest struggled to understand. Measured in standard units, time is supposed to pass equally and without question, but every now and then, it feels like time passes far quicker, or indeed far slower than it should. In the past few days, time had passed inexplicably slowly and ridiculously quickly in equal measure for the ship’s engineer. When locked down like the rest of her compatriots, time passed by slower than a Solarian slug in a race with its shelled Earth comrade. But in the hour she was afforded out of her quarters every day, time passed quicker than the total eradication of a star during the collapse of a supernova. But at least she was allowed out to play for an hour every day. She’d seen no one from her department, from her division, or from anywhere across the ship since the first lockdown. The only company she’d had had been the Devore guards who escorted the Bajassian from her quarters to engineering and back again at sixteen-hundred every day, without fail.

For that hour, Lieutenant Prida Rala allowed herself to forget all that had transpired aboard ship and focused on her work. Whilst the rest of the ship remained under the self-imposed command lockout, engineering had been somewhat spared in order to allow the engineer to conduct routine maintenance and ensure the ship remained functional for her prisoners; it was her job to make sure they still had a ship to emerge to once the lockdown was over.

Standing over the pool table in the centre of engineering’s maintenance bay, the dark-haired, grey-skinned woman let out a huff of frustration. There was literally nothing for her to do; their well-oiled ships systems were functioning within normal parameters. That meant her time out from exile would be brought to a premature end unless…

What was this? A small blinking light in the corner of her display indicated an issue that needed exploring. Dancing her fingers across the display, a quick glance to ensure her guards were as inept as usual and not monitoring her movements, the Lieutenant pulled up a new screen.

‘A message?’ She said inwardly, leaning a little closer as she opened the wall of text. To her surprise, it looked to be from the XO. A brief smile singled her thanks that at least someone was still alive and kicking out there. She read on.

‘Prida…’ the message began, ‘No time for pleasantries. We know you are maintaining ship’s systems. Your Captain and I are asking you to put your life at risk for the safety of this crew, and we know you will not hesitate. Embedded in this message are a set of orders for yourself, and Lieutenant Mora. You must devise a way to get him to you in engineering and show him this message. Help us, Prida. You’re our only hope…’

She didn’t need any more convincing; when one’s Captain and her executive officer came calling, one listened. Tapping at her display, the quick thinking Bajassian set her own plan in motion. A series of audible alerts began to ring out, drawing the concern of the Devore guards.

“We’ve got a problem with the warp intermix chamber,” she warned them, “and I need help to stabilise it. I need my assistant, Lieutenant Mora.”

At first, the guards looked at her sceptically, until her angry face suggested she was far from joking. “Get me Lieutenant Mora or you, me and this entire ship will explode in less than ten minutes!”

Looking at each other, the two guards argued for a second before one begrudgingly sloped off in search of Lieutenant Mora.

When he returned, dragging a reluctant, dishevelled looking Bolian behind him, Prida began an award-winning acting routine. “Oh, Lieutenant! Thank the gods you are here! If you don’t help me, the core is going to breach in just over five minutes!”

Okay, perhaps it wouldn’t win any major acting awards at any major recognition ceremony, but it was enough to get the Bolian’s attention.

“What the hell happened?!” Moving quickly over to the display opposite his counterpart, the Bolian began tapping away. Soon enough, he was reading over the very message that had been transmitted to Prida by the ship’s Tellarite XO, and the pair were working in tandem to make a mockery of their Devore captors.

The plan was pretty simple. Prida would simulate a core breach, causing panic among the Devore. During the ruse, Linn would gain access to the environmental systems and pre-load a program to release a modified form of anesthizine gas across the ship. It would render the Devore unconscious and would allow them to release the crew and retake the ship. If it worked. But they were short on time if they were going to implement the plan before the ship ‘exploded’.

“Attempting to balance the ratios…” he declared loudly, to give the appearance he was still working on the core, when in actuality, he was accessing the environmental systems as planned.

“It’s not working… it’s not working!” Prida exclaimed, tapping furiously at her console, making the situation look far worse with the production of some well-placed steam ‘explosions’ from around the core area.

“Wait… wait…” the Bolian declared as he worked, pulling out his tricorder and scanning the core. Or, that’s how it looked anyway. In reality, he was scanning the nearby Devore soldier and ascertaining parts of his genome that would allow the engineer to modify the anesthizine and target it specifically at the Devore aboard the ship. “I think I might have an idea…”

Returning to the pool table, Linn placed the open tricorder on the console and downloaded his scan data so he could make the necessary adjustments, all the while working with Prida on her ruse. This. This right here was what would earn them their acting nod. “Accessing intermix lockout… rebalancing quantum ratios…”

Quantum ratios? Intermix lockout? ‘What a crock of…’ Prida’s thoughts trailed off as she reminded herself to play along with his utter nonsense. “It’s working!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down with glee. “The core is stabilising!”

And with a final flourish of hand movements on the display before them, the plan was in motion. Anesthizine gas had been successfully modified to target the Devore personnel on the ship, and Prida had sent a short acknowledgement to Commander Gor.

’Vaakh khuuz!’

Their plan would be put in motion less than two hours from now, providing their ruse was successful and no one rumbled anything they had done.

Prida walked around the display and stood beside her Bolian counterpart, giving him a slap on the back in acknowledgement of his efforts. “Thank you so much for your help, Lieutenant,” she smiled, then turned towards the guards. “You can take my assistant back to his quarters now,” she informed them.

‘Assistant?!’ Linn’s expression threatened to give them away for a second, but his words rectified the situation. “Thank you for your support, my gracious leader,” he spoke mockingly, bowing to the Bajassian and throwing her a mock salute.

With a little over twenty minutes remaining on her time in engineering, the youngster spent her time ensuring that every trace of their plan had been covered up. No one could find so much as a hint of their operation or everything, everyone would be put in jeopardy. A silent, hidden countdown was put in place, with nineteen hundred being the big kick off. All she needed now was to be ready.

To say that Inspector Kravik was angry was the understatement of a lifetime. Considering it had been days since the Ulysses had arrived in orbit of Haess IV under his command, his engineering teams had gotten nowhere with cracking the codes required to get access to the ship’s systems. Even in the days since his first conversation with the Captain, they’d gotten nowhere. Even the good faith gesture of allowing her engineers to maintain the key systems from engineering had failed to get him any closer to his goal. It was now time to play dirty.

Standing at the heart of the bridge, Kravik silently contemplated what was to come. There were but two options for the Captain and her crew, and he’d lay them out as clear as possible for her. In truth, he respected the Andorian’s refusal to give in, to negotiate. But he’d see how well her resolve would withstand the news of the torture of one of her subordinates.

When the doors to the starboard turbolift opened, light flooded the dimly lit command center until the occupants vacated and allowed the lift to seal itself behind them. Accompanied by two guards, the Andorian was dressed far more formally than before. In her complete uniform, she looked every inch the commanding officer, and didn’t resemble a prisoner in any way. If she was going to go down, as she suspected she might, then she would go down as a proud Starfleet officer.

She wasn’t given much time to think, however, as a rifle butt to the small of her back caused her to jerk in pain and stumble down the ramp towards her command chair, where Kravik was waiting.

“No longer content with mocking me in my ready room, you have to bring me to the bridge?” she scolded the man as she straightened up and stood before him, tired and frustrated.

“I’m not interested in mocking you, Captain,” the Inspector turned his head to face his Andorian nemesis, “instead, I want to share some knowledge with you. Please,” he then stood aside and gestured to the command chair.

Tharia regarded him closely, wondering what he could possibly gain by allowing her to sit in her own chair once again. Was it a power play? Was he relenting and about to return command to her? She would find out, and from the safety of her seat once again.

Once she lowered herself onto the comfortable fabric, the Andorian let out a smile. “Awww, you kept it warm just like I asked,” she smirked, a reference to their earlier conversation.

“Quite,” the Inspector remarked sharply, before turning his body fully to face her. “I won’t, what’s the Earth saying? ‘Beat around the bush?’ Captain. We have four of your officers being held prisoner on the surface. Three are alive and well,” he trailed off for a second, a shrug of his shoulders showing the indifference he felt, “the fourth is far from well.”

Inside, the Captain was flooded with emotion. Was what he said true? Had one of her away team come to harm on a mission she had planned and implemented, against the better judgement of her senior most officers? On the surface though, she remained stoic and calm; she could not give the game away.

“My officers know that risk is a part of life in Starfleet. They are prepared to give their lives in the pursuit of our peaceful ideals,” she warned him as honestly as she could.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Captain!” the man pleaded, his gestures more erratic, his voice an octave or two higher. “No one else has to get hurt! All you have to do is unlock your ship’s controls, and you and your crew will be returned to the Markonian Outpost,” he reminded her, again in reference to the offer she had been presented with two days prior.

“Yes,” the Andorian nodded, “but not those four innocent officers on the surface of the planet. Officers whose only crime is being slaves to their biology,” she sat forward, a little more animated in her speech herself now. “Can you honestly tell me you would sacrifice four of your crew in such a deal?”

“If it meant saving the lives of nearly two thousand people, yes!” Kravik nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly to be convincing.

“The needs of the many…” Tharia whispered.

“Sorry?”

Tharia rubbed her temples a little before surreptitiously glancing up at the chronometer above the viewscreen. Eighteen fifty-five. She had time to elaborate. “Where I come from, a telepathic species known as Vulcan’s have a saying; the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. In their eyes, I would be considered illogical to put my crew at risk for the sake of four officers,” she told him, quite truthfully of course. But her next words caught him off guard somewhat. “Perhaps they are right,” she smiled, using the arms of her chair to push herself back to her feet.

With a sigh, she nodded. “Alright Kravik. We’ll try it your way,” she smiled, her hands clasped together behind her back as she looked at the man beside her. “I’ll release the lockout, and you’ll transfer my crew and I back to the Markonian Outpost,” she spoke again, for confirmation from the man, and in order to kill time. Four minutes.

“I’m gratified you have seen sense, Captain,” Kravik smiled sickeningly at the woman, “but there’s one more thing I want to show you before you do this,” and with that, the Inspector stood aside and nodded to one of the guards on the aft wall.

Confused, the Captain looked around to see an armed guard emerging from the port turbolift, but he was not alone. Dragged along behind him, Tharia was furious to see a battered and bruised Prida. Bleeding profusely from a wound above her left eye, the Bajassian looked terrible. Inside, Tharia was seething, but on the surface she had to remain calm, for the sake of their plan.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t find out about your plan?” the Inspector tutted loudly as he shook his head in disapproval. “Simulating a warp core breach so that we’d what? Surrender the ship? Flee and leave you to regain control?” he shook his head again. “Give us some credit, Captain. We’re not as stupid as you think,” the Inspector frowned, waving for the guard to bring the youngster closer.

Dragging the near lifeless black-haired woman down the ramp, the guard silently dumped Prida at the feet of her Captain.

“Now, I’ve been patient, Captain, but my patience has limits,” Kravik sighed, pulling a phase pistol from his belt. “Unlock the ship, or I’ll kill your engineer,” pointing the weapon at the back of the engineers head, the Inspector glared at the Andorian.

Tharia looked down at the prone engineer, her friend, and felt sorry for her pain, all because of a plan she had requested of her, but it seemed at least that the man didn’t know as much as he thought he did. “Alright, I’ll do it,” she agreed, stepping over to the ops station at the front of the bridge. A glance at the chronometer revealed there was less than a minute remaining.

Before she reached ops, the Andorian stopped and looked back at Kravik. “Before I do this, there is something I think you should know, Inspector,” she smiled, drawing the mans ire.

“What is that exactly?!” the Inspector queried, frustrated at the woman’s stalling tactics. But as he looked at her, he could suddenly feel a tightness in his chest. Around him, his guards began coughing and spluttering, clutching their chests just as he did. Then he saw it. From a vent high up on the bulkhead, a barely visible gaseous substance was flooding the bridge.

Trying to aim the pistol in the direction of the Andorian, Kravik was taken by surprise when Prida suddenly rose to her feet and grabbed his arm, snapping it down over her shoulder, causing him to drop the weapon, and drop to the floor with a thud, struggling to breathe.

Watching as the balding man faded into unconsciousness, Tharia took a step closer and towered over him. Looking down at him, her hands on her hips, she shook her head in mock disbelief. “I always get what I want,” she reminded him, even though he was now, quite clearly, unconscious.

She then looked at her struggling colleague and reached out to help the bruised engineer to her feet. “Are you okay Lieutenant?” she asked of Prida.

“Never better Captain,” Prida lied, wincing through the pain barrier. “I’m glad the plan worked,” the grey-skinned, ridge-nosed woman grinned, looking around at the collapsed Devore soldiers all around the bridge.

“Well, the first part has,” the Captain grinned, “but how about we retake the rest of the ship?”

Across the mighty Ulysses, deck by deck, confinement fields began to lower and weary looking officers emerged from their quarters, anxiously looking around for signs of their captors. Depending on location, some saw absolutely nothing, which made them more nervous, but others saw a sight that made them smile; Devore soldiers slumped to the floor and unconscious.

Consoles, computer screens, data PADDs, even chronometers changed their displays to show the updated status of the ship, that the command lockout had been lifted at last, which could mean only one thing – the bridge was again under Starfleet control.

Within minutes, the turbo lifts to the bridge opened, spewing a seemingly never ending stream of officers into the command center, led by a surprisingly chirpy looking Tellarite. Pleasantries were exchanged for a few moments after days of not seeing each other, with many checking on the welfare of their Chief Engineer after the beating she had taken at the hands of their captors.

“Prisoners,” Tharia corrected the crew. “The Devore are now our prisoners. Commander Noli, have your teams scour the ship and confine any Devore soldiers to the brig,” the Andorian instructed, a nod from the Bajoran at tactical confirmation of orders clearly received.

Several of the security team that had accompanied the senior staff to the bridge began rounding up the unconscious Devore warriors and tagging them for transport to the brig.

“We need to keep up the illusion for now,” Gor reminded the rest of the team on the bridge, “so lighting to a minimum, no sudden ship movements or system activations until we know we are ready to proceed on the planet,” he told in his usual gruff tone.

“Linn, make sure your transporter teams are standing by for mass evacuations. I want every single captive off that planet as quickly as possible,” the Captain instructed, still standing behind the ops station. “We’ll house our guests in the guest and VIP quarters, with overspill into the cargo and shuttle bays – Akaria, get together any spare personnel and civilians you can round up and see to it,” Tharia was on a roll now, slipping back into command with ease after several days away from her role as mistress of the ship.

“On it Captain,” Akaria nodded swiftly, before vacating the bridge.

“Henry…”

Before the Captain could give her orders to the Flyboy, he had already anticipated them. “Already on it, Captain. I’m calculating the quickest route back to the Outpost using the LCARS database. As soon as we activate sensors, I’ll begin searching for the nearest Starfleet support,” the young Terran smiled upon receiving a nod of acknowledgement from the Andorian.

Her crew knew what they were doing. It was her turn to trust them to get it done now. Returning to the safety of her chair, with her XO beside her for the first time in days, the Andorian finally felt a great sense of relief.

Plan B was underway from their perspective, but it was time to help the Away Team with their task down on the planet.

Sitting in her rightful place at the heart of the Ulysses command center once again, Captain Tharia sh’Elas wrung her hands for the thousandth time. Throughout everything they had endured over the last few days, Tharia had felt nothing but confidence in her people and their ability to get the job done, but now nerves threatened to overwhelm her. Lives depended on the actions they would take in the coming minutes, and if everything did not go to plan, lives would undoubtedly be lost. And that was a pressure she had not felt in a while. Even throughout the entire Romulan crisis of earlier in the year, the Andorian had not been under such pressure. The stakes had never been higher for a woman still in her first year as a commanding officer. She had made the most of opportunities presented to her, and luck had seen her land on the bridge of this particular starship, with this motley crew of hers. She could have had the crew of the famed Starship Enterprise at her disposal, been of the same calibre of commander as the great Picard, and she’d have still been nervous.

“Are we making the right choice here, Vasoch?” the Captain asked of her first officer, leaning towards him as she whispered her question. If anyone could put her at ease, it would be the Tellarite.

“You’re asking yourself the wrong question,” the Tellarite replied, hunkered down in his chair, his own voice at a whisper. “What you should be asking is how you would feel if we beamed our people out and made no attempt to help those people stranded in that prison; if we just went on our merry way,” he let out a sigh as he leaned on the arm of his chair. “You convinced Noli and I that this was the right course of action, and I’ve never once doubted it since. Don’t you start now,” he told her sternly.

Tharia smiled, sheepishly at that. She still wasn’t used to the Tellarite being kind, being supportive. She was used to him being the bad cop to her good cop, and she relied on that reputation of his to get the difficult jobs done and allow her to focus on her own role. But he had an ability to take her by surprise every once in a while.

“You’re the Captain of this ship and you have a singular talent for seeing things others do not. You see paths out of situations that others would never consider,” he reminded her, gesturing to certain individuals around the bridge, “and these people would die for you if you asked them to, because they know that you fight for what is right and just,” he smiled, reassuringly patting her on the hand gently. “Now, enough of that. Let’s finish this,” he flashed a toothy grin at his Captain, then turned his attention back to the forward stations.

As ever, the Captain tried her best to hide the emotions she felt, burying them as deep as she could, but the antennae on her head would give away her emotional state to anyone that knew her well enough. She’d been taken aback by the kind words of her executive officer, and as much as she wanted to hang on every single one, he was right; they had a job to do.

Inching forward and perching on the edge of her seat, the Ulysses‘ blue-skinned, white-haired mistress gripped the arms of it tightly. “Alright people, listen up!” she barked, drawing the attention of her officers. “We’re going to get one shot at this, and we need to get it right.” She took a deep breath. “Right now, the Devore vessels on our port and starboard bows have no idea we’ve retaken the ship. We will have to disable them in one shot if we are to evacuate the surface without resistance. Now, as soon as we power up, they’ll assume Kravik has been successful. We’ll have seconds to respond,” she finished her general brief and addressed specific officers. “Linn, as soon as the Devore ships are disabled, begin transporting prisoners from the surface. Commander Gor will transport security teams to the planet to assist in the evacuation and locate our people. Henry, when I give the word, get us out of here, best possible speed. Noli,” she turned in her chair and craned her neck to look at the officer behind the tactical Arch, “make every shot count.”

With everyone acutely aware of what they had to do, the Captain took one last look around her people. In the next sixty seconds, Plan B would enter its final phase, and she would be either vindicated or vilified based on its outcome. Oh, how she hoped it would be the former.

“Alright people,” she began, a deep breath in to steady herself, “Vaakh khuuz!”

In an instant, the Federation behemoth’s entire stance changed, sparking momentary joy that swiftly turned into panic stations aboard the Devore warships. First, just as expected, the mighty Starfleet vessel’s systems came online in such a manner it would deceive their enemy into thinking Kravik had somehow successfully broke the lockout. But as the vessel’s weapons systems came online, and her phaser arrays charged, they could sense something was wrong. Their response was too late, however, with neither vessel able to raise its shields before several lances of orange phased energy simultaneously emitted from the dorsal saucer of the Galaxy-class starship knocked out their own key systems.

Among the cheering on the bridge of the Ulysses, the Captain remained stoic and focused. “Commence transport,” she instructed, her eyes never leaving the image of the two burning Devore warships. Oh, the difference the element of surprise made. In the asteroid field, the Devore had the advantage and caught the Starfleet vessel with its pants down. Here, the roles were reversed. The overconfidence of the Devore was proving to be their undoing , for now at least.

Thousands of kilometers below, safe from the danger of the space battle above, the prison facility on the planet Haess IV was fairly quiet. It was early evening and while most prisoners were in their cells, a fair number milled around and made the most of their allotted exercise time, oblivious to what was about to transpire.

In dozens of locations across the paddock, streams of blue, phased energy began to appear, with well-armed figures materializing in seconds. At first, the presence of the armed soldiers took everyone by surprise, unsure of what to expect, but as soon as the first bursts of phaser fire were exchanged, chaos ensued. These new soldiers, these officer’s clad in black and gold, were not targeting the prisoners, or the infrastructure, but the prison guards themselves.

Upon hearing the first familiar sounds of the Federation transporters, and the welcome sound of lances of phased orange energy, Matheus flew to his feet from the safety of his bunk and sprinted for the doorway. From his vantage point, he could make out nearly a dozen Starfleet officers in various positions, engaged in fire fights with Devore soldiers. The commotion could not be ignored by the rest of the away team either, with Zinn and Tempa the Aenar helping their injured comrade to her feet and dragging her to the doorway.

Beckoning to a nearby pair of security officers, one of their liberators, the science officer waved the man across and took ownership of his side arm. “Report crewman,” the Lieutenant enquired, ducking under the threat of fire.

“We’ve retaken the ship and have orders to get you out of here sir,” the security officer revealed, “the Captain authorised us to tell you Plan B is in effect,” he shrugged, not entirely sure what that meant.

The look of relief etched on the faces of the away team showed they knew exactly what it meant. “Alright crewmen,” Matheus nodded, firing off a blast of phased energy in the direction of two advancing guards, “get these three back to the ship. You, you’re with me. There’s something I need to do before we get out of here,” the science officer decreed, avoiding the protests from the Chief Medical Officer and his wounded colleague.

Watching as his team dissolved into blue phased energy particles, the Betazoid cocked his head at the security officer, and sprinted off.

All around them, chaos had definitely ensued. Whether it was the sudden shock of feeling their bodies being overwhelmed and disintegrated by the Federation transporter, or the explosions of phaser and disruptor fire erupting across the compound, the confusion was making Ren’s task that much trickier until a voice called out to him from behind a damaged wall.

Taking cover for a second, the scientist spotted his targets; Maevis and Arivek huddled together for safety, with Spornak firing off a stolen Devore weapon, sporadically and aimless. Exchanging knowing glances with the security officer, Matheus waited for his chance. During a break in the weapons fire, he sprinted across the open chasm between them, sliding to a halt and falling to the ground when behind cover once again, a blast of disruptor fire exploding on the floor just millimeters from his spot.

“Time to go,” he smiled at Maevis before, placing a gentle hand on the arm of the aging man (who he could swear looked older every time they met). “Get across to the Crewman and he’ll get you beamed to my ship. I’ll cover you all until you’re safe,” the Betazoid told them, tapping Spornak on the arm to get the giant’s attention. Exchanging a reassuring look with the big man, the science officer took over Spornak’s defensive position and began to open fire. 

Rapid bursts from the scientist and his counterpart provided the opening the three telepaths needed. With Maevis clinging on one side, and their massive protector on the other, Arivek took a deep breath, and was dragged across the divide. But, in the chaos that ensued, a single bolt of energy from a Devore weapon smashed their protector in his chest, sending the three tumbling to the ground in a heap. Stumbling to her knees, Maevis placed a hand on the giant’s chest, his tunic gathering a small puddle of water as she said her goodbye.

Rising to her feet slowly, time seemed to slow. Disruptor bolts that normally hurtled through the air at speed slowed considerably, allowing the woman to dodge them at will. As she turned in the direction from whence they came, the science officer could see the change in her demeanour, even from his hiding place. Clenched fists, lowered head, gritted teeth and a scowl that would make the Tellarite XO seem like a pussy cat. Then, in an incredible show of force that literally shocked the entire compound, Maevis let out a deep, primal scream accompanied by an inexplicable display of telekinesis, something Matheus Ren had never, ever heard of, let alone seen. A swift, violent shockwave burst forth from the young woman and hurtled in the direction of the Devore soldiers. Buildings in its path were reduced to rocks and shoals, bodies tossed in all directions.

An awesome display of power that she could demonstrate now, even under the influence of the neuroinhibitors that prevented the Betazoid from using his own empathic abilities. She was significantly more powerful than anyone else in their vicinity, just as she claimed to be.

“Come…” Matheus instructed as he sprinted from cover, “time to get out of here.”

“Status?” Vasoch barked from his command chair next to the captain. Their mission was underway, but it was taking time. The fierce resistance on the planet had put paid to the hopes of a swift exit strategy, so too had the ever increasing numbers of telepaths being detected.

“According to sensors,” Linn spoke from the Ops station as his fingers danced away, balancing the power reserves between all of the active transporters, “we’ve still got nearly five hundred prisoners, and our away teams to recall.”

Rising to her feet, the Captain wandered over to the Bolian and leant over him as he worked. “Have you tried wide expanding the transporter beam to grab anyone within range?” she asked, probably knowing the answer.

Whilst the two officers exchanged theories regarding how they could boost the ship’s transporter capabilities, the ship rocked heavily, the lights on the bridge flickering and a chorus of alarm bells calling out. As the ship rocked a second time, the Captain stumbled towards her command chair. “They can’t have repaired their ships already?!” she exclaimed over a third impact, referring to the Devore ships they had disabled a short while earlier.

“Negative”, Henry barked from the CONN. “I’ve got incoming vessels, bearing two-five three mark one eight three, closing fast.”

“It’s a Hirogen hunting party. Three ships,” the Bajoran at the tactical Arch told, looking at the Captain only briefly. “They must have been operating under stealth to get in so close without detection,” she surmised whilst she endeavoured to ascertain the developing situation. “They’re beaming hunters aboard the Devore warships.

“Number One,” Tharia slumped into her seat under another volley of weapon’s fire, “I trust you will agree if I give Noli permission to do her thing?” the Andorian smirked, looking at the Tellarite, who simply nodded. “Very well Commander, fire at your discretion. Henry; evasive maneuvers, but keep us in transporter range. We’ve got to get our people out of there…”

For a beast that had been stationary for so long, the mighty Ulysses swiftly burst into life, the internal pulsations of her warp core manifested in the bright glow of her functioning nacelles. Working in conjunction with each other and under the direction of flyboy, the impulse engines and manoeuvering thrusters powered the ship to safety under the advance of the new enemy force closing on their location. Unlike the comatose Devore vessels, Ulysses was proving to be the threat the Hirogen had been looking for all along. Exchanging weapons fire for a few minutes, the Starfleet vessel did its best to fend off the attentions of the far more nimble hunting vessels but wouldn’t be able to do so for long.

A violent explosion to the aft of the bridge, which threatened to destroy the new StratOps suite, nearly tossed the Captain from her chair, the vice-like grip she clung on with the only reason she remained in her place of command. Glancing at the Tellarite next to her, who had to clamber back to his seat, the Captain knew enough was enough. “Linn!” she barked at the forward stations.

“We’ve still got over three hundred people down there,” the Bolian called over the dinn behind him, knowing exactly what the Captain wanted from him. “We’re going as fast as we can, Captain,” he assured her.

“It’s time to go. Get our people back aboard,” she paused as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her next words were not what she had wanted to utter, but to get this far had been a mammoth achievement. “Anyone else, we leave behind. It’s time to go…”

After a moment of hesitation, the Bolian nodded. “Aye Captain,” he dutifully answered, hands dancing on the controls, relaying the orders to all of the transporter operatives across the ship. Soon enough, the confirmation of their success came through. “All Away Teams present and accounted for Captain!” the placid Bolian declared.

“Henry,” the Captain called out, “you know where I want to go. Make it so, mister.”

“Setting course, heading one-two-three mark two-six-five. Maximum warp,” the flyboy’s fingers twitched like those of a piano player making sweet music on their beloved instrument. Responding instantaneously, Ulysses spun on her x-axis and she burst forward, stretching her legs until she reached sprint speed and slipped into warp.

“Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

Ulysses is once again under our control and is currently at maximum warp, headed for the safety of the Markonian Outpost and the nearest Starfleet vessels.

 

Our mission has been a success; we’ve rescued over six-hundred souls from their internment on Haess IV, including the four members of this crew unlawfully detained. Success? *Audible laughing sounds* How we can truly class the mission a success when over three-hundred prisoners remain trapped on that world, I don’t know. Vasoch assures me we have achieved great success here, far greater than we could have hoped for; thanks to intelligence from Voyager and that of traders we recently encountered, the mission we threw together liberated hundreds of people from captivity, but my thoughts dwell on those left behind. What will happen to those poor souls? Will they continue to be tortured at the hands of the Devore? Perhaps they’ll be murdered for sport at the hands of the Hirogen hunting party? Sadly, both are more likely than the wish that they may find some freedom down there. At least Kravik and his men will have no further part to play in any of this; the Devore soldiers who were aboard the ship at the time have been placed in custody. The cramped confines of the Brig is more than they deserve after what they have done.

 

Our telepathic crewmembers remain under observation in sickbay, with the Counsellor’s condition stabilizing for now. Doctor Zinn is leading the analysis of the effects of exposure to Blood Dilithium whilst he is confined to sickbay. Commander Noli and Doctor Torres have begun the process of assessing and making our visitors comfortable. The good Doctor assures me he has the situation under control. I have spoken with a number of our visitors in the short time they have been aboard, and the overwhelming emotion is one of gratitude. So many thought they would never see their people, their homeworlds, again, but we have given them hope. I suppose, if anything, that should make the mission worth it, right? 

 

So far, communications with Starfleet have gone unanswered, but we will persevere. We must alert as many people as possible to the plight of our survivors and of those that remain on the surface of Haess. However, our efforts may be hampered by outside forces; a Hirogen hunting pack is on our tail, waiting for their opportunity to pounce…”