Nearly 75% of the list on the screen displayed colors that ranged from yellow to orange to red. Very few of them were blue, or even green. Lieutenant Eseri stooped over the main display console in the science office, her antennae swirling. Reviewing the list had mildly annoyed her. They had been working their way through the original list and having every kind of trouble sourcing the names to profiles to locations and back again. Suddenly, there was a new list.
That list felt overwhelming at first. Until names flagged to connected dossiers. Data connected to details, and within an hour the list was taking shape. The shape, however, was not good. The door to the large office slid open, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Lita Morrison walked through, her curious but annoyed eyes landing on her new deputy chief of science. “Why am I here and not on the bridge taking your report?”
Eseri turned to the screen. “Because I wasn’t sure how to give this report on the open bridge. We have matched everyone to a proper data set in the Federation databases. The trouble is, they’re marked as missing or declared long dead. 1,590 of them, to be exact.”
Lita’s mouth dropped open. In shock, she sat down in the chair next to the Andorian. “How did over a thousand missing people all come together on…oh, no.”
Eseri grimaced. “It took me longer to make the connection than I’d like to admit. Orion Syndicate slavery.” There was a limited group of alien peoples who practiced the abhorrent act, and the well-oiled Syndicate was at the top of the list year after year. “They’re all missing from varying years and places in the galaxy. Some have been missing for twenty years; others, for a year. Some just six months. The system tripped an alarm on the first few names. It didn’t stop.” She shuddered at the memory of the sound of the alarms echoing repeatedly as the computer worked through the list of souls.
Morrison’s shock remained stuck on her face, her mind reeling from the revelation. “So they’re running from the Orion Syndicate bounty hunters. When did they get cloaking devices?” She pulled up the report from the Cushing on her console.
“They don’t. Which means someone else is hunting them. Or shadowing them and feeding that data back to home base. This is how they operate, Lita. They are brutal, awful and cunning in the worst kind of way. We did some interdiction work when I was in the Andorian fleet operations. There was a theory that they used our response to get a picture of where our forces were on the lookout for escapees. That their security apparatus would adjust its patrols or bounty hunters to keep them away from us, or the Federation.”
Morrison sat back, feeling for her friend. “That doesn’t sound like much fun, Eseri.”
A quiet nod was her first reply. A whispered, “It was awful having to investigate ways to reach those who had escaped. We found more bodies than we found survivors.”
Lita looked back at the data and did some math in her head. “Well, the good news is that we’ve got 530 people across five ships that are green on the list and free of any kind of record. They might be the freedom fighters we’ve been hearing about.” She stood, patting her new friend on the shoulder. “Damned good work, Eseri. You’ve given many people a fighting chance at living free again.”
The shuttle backed up against the lead ship, and a soft thunk signaled the first segment, followed by a click of the interlocking docking clamp securing the shuttle to the ship and confirming the second segment. Commander Augusto Vargas stood behind two security officers, and behind him was Doctor Henry Longfellow with a medical team, and behind him was Lieutenant Ebenezer Edwards, the recently transferred chief engineer, and his team. Vargas called out, “Slow and steady. I’ll open the discussion.” The docking door rumbled open, and he followed the two security officers down into the cargo bay.
Paul Meadows stood waiting, a small team of unsettled-looking humans staring uneasily at the approaching Starfleet officers. The two security officers stepped to the side, and Vargas extended his hand. “Good to meet you face to face, Mr. Meadows. Commander Vargas, USS Zephyr.”
Meadows wasn’t tall or imposing. Vargas noticed his eyes darted from corner to corner, wildly concerned about everything around him. The others who were with him were similar. Fear drove them, he realized. They were skittish and half-mad. Meadows shook his hand, but pulled back as if scalded. Vargas asked, “You’re not colonists, Mr. Meadows…are you?”
The man tried gamely to protest. “Yes, we are. We have our papers and files from the Federation.” A PADD was handed out of the surrounding group, and he handed it to Vargas. “See, it is all in order. We could really use some help, commander.”
Vargas scrolled through the paperwork. It was astoundingly well done, but there were enough errors and misplaced sections he couldn’t ignore. He looked at the man, shaking his head. “We’re going to help you, Mr. Meadows. But we need the truth. The documents on this device are clever forgeries. It’s impressive. I’m not looking to make any noise about that. I’m looking to keep you and your people safe from whatever’s got you going to these lengths to get to us at Montana Station.”
Paul’s face remained a fortress, his eyes searching the eyes of Vargas and his team for signs of deception. After a long pause, he let out a long sigh. “We’ve been on the run. We were running out of options, Commander. Until a week ago, we were slaves in the Orion Syndicate. Most of us for the last few years, others longer. We were desperate, Commander.”
Vargas turned to the team behind him. “I’ve got medical and engineering teams ready to work with you. Let us help you.”
