2

Turner’s face still hurt where the Breen soldier had struck her, but at least she and Cunha were somewhat safe and out of danger in their cell, which was barren of any features other than a bench to sit or lay on and a single unit in the back corner that functioned as both a sink and toilet. The front was blocked by a force field, but it was otherwise open to the other cells in their block.

The rest of the away team shared the block with them. Bashir and Cruz were in the cell to the left, Tavika and Nod shared the cell to their right, and the two remaining security guards were in a cell on the right wall. Turner was quietly amused that Tavika and Nod were placed together, but said nothing about their awkward silence. There were no guards in the room, though she assumed that they were being monitored remotely.

As Starfleet officers, their first duty at this point was to escape confinement. This was not so easily accomplished, however, especially considering that the holding facility had been built to Starfleet standards. They might have all been trained for situations like this, but Starfleet built their cells to be escape proof—meaning that they were impervious to standard methods of escape that were taught in Starfleet academy.

Similarly, Starfleet was well aware of its own regulations on communicating when monitored, and yet it was vitally important that she find a way to speak to the others without being overheard by their captors. The only method she could come up with was Morse code via tactile contact, and that would only work with her immediate cell mate.

Turner whispered quietly enough that the audio sensors might not pick it up, “Sit next to me and put your right arm behind your back.”

Cunha, who wore one of the most frightened expressions she’d ever seen on a Starfleet officer, did as instructed.

Turner also slid an arm behind Cunha’s back, and she held her as though trying to offer a measure of comfort. She began squeezing her wrist lightly in Morse code. … –.- ..- . . –.. . / — -.– / .– .-. .. … – / .. ..-. / -.– — ..- / -.-. .- -. / ..- -. -.. . .-. … – .- -. -.. .-.-.-, which translated to “Squeeze my wrist if you can understand.”

Cunha squeezed her wrist in return.

The lines of silent communication were open. “I believe they were lying when they said the ship was destroyed,” Turner communicated.

Cunha glanced at here incredulously. “What makes you think that?” she signaled.

“Officers are trained to preserve the vessel and its crew at all costs. Sheppard is a new captain, but he’s earned it. I’m sure he was able to get the Horizon out of there rather than let it be destroyed.”

“There’s something you should know,” Cunha said. “The Doctor and I visited a defense facility where they were building small maneuverable shuttles that were designed for combat. I managed to steal some kind of Breen data storage device.”

“Do you still have it?”

“It’s in my uniform hidden in the small of my back. I’ve been careful to keep it from showing. I think it might help if we got a look at the data.”

“Can you access it?”

“Not yet, and I don’t dare bring it out where they can see it here.”

Turner nodded silently. “All right. Our first duty is to get out of this cell. Are you familiar enough with these systems to get out? Any ideas?”

“Not without a plasma torch or something to bust through the concrete in the floor,” Cunha replied.

“That’s about what I figured as well,” Turner said. “So we’re going to have to resort to another method. They’re going to come for us sooner or later. When they do, it’s our job to knock out the guards unarmed.”

“I’m not very good in a fight,” Cunha said.

“You made it through Starfleet Academy, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll be good enough. Just follow my lead and back me up. I’ll take care of the rest,” Turner said.

“Now go back to your bunk. Feel free to make small talk, but don’t discuss anything relating to our mission,” Turner said.

“Aye,” Cunha agreed.

They settled back to their corners and waited. One of the advantages of Turner’s cranial implants was that she had functionality to occupy her time that others did not. She had a heads up display that she could call up and run various programs. She normally kept this in the background so it didn’t interfere with her ability to experience things normally, but there were programs built into it that could provide some distraction. She had a vast library of memories she had archived and could play back. She also had a short-range audio communicator she could attempt to use, though doing so would likely attract the notice of her captors. She had a function that she normally likened to an internal holodeck, which allowed her to create an elaborate fiction, and then experience it as though it were real—she tried not to access that when in front of others since doing so made her appear to go into a catatonic state, though she was able to snap out of it at will in response to external stimulus. She could create logs and other written communication without the use of an external device. Finally, she had a few games that she could play to amuse herself with.

For the time being, she decided to play a simple game where she cleared three or more blocks on a grid by color by sliding them one space in any direction. It wasn’t particularly challenging, but it awarded points for speed, and she was quite fast at it. She had to admit that it wasn’t the most productive use of her time, but it was enough to keep her mind occupied while she waited for something to happen.

An hour and a half later, the game paused when the door to the central area opened and two figures entered. They were Breen. She had hoped their visitors would at least be Gouran guards, because the Breen were armored and had a penchant for brutality, but they would have to do. If she could get the upper hand in a fight, she could always steal their clothing and helmet and escape.

As the door hissed closed behind them, one of the Breen walked from cell to cell eying those within. She wasn’t sure what it was looking for. When it reached her cell, it stopped and glared at her. She hoped it was looking for whoever had the greatest number of pips on their uniform.

“You,” it said in a metallic screech as it gestured to her. “Come with us.” The Breen approached the control panel to her cell and dropped the force field.

Turner sprang into motion, throwing her body against her opponent, burying her fists into the cushioned uniform. Cunha also moved, kicking the same one in the foreleg.

The Breen grabbed its leg, and said in a quiet hiss, “Hey, we’re not who you think we are. Stop.”

Turner ceased her attack immediately and stood. “Who are you?”

“We’re here to get you out of here. All of you,” it said.

“You’re Breen?” she asked.

“No,” it replied. “It’s just a disguise.”

“How did you get in here?”

“Do you really want to play twenty questions right now, or would you like to get out of here?”

“Let’s go,” Turner replied.

The other individual dressed as a Breen approached the cell where Bashir and Cruz were held. He was about to tap the control to lower the force field when the door opened behind them. Three Gouran guards ran into the room brandishing phasers. Turner heard more footsteps coming from the hallway.

“Damn!” said the faux Breen as it spun around to face the newcomers. Phaser fire filled the room and one of the guards fell to the floor stunned.

“Just follow us!” it said.

They fled through the open door and Turner saw three more guards approaching, their phasers at the ready, but their faux Breen escorts were faster on the draw. The one to her immediate right fired twice in rapid succession, stunning two of the guards, while the other one punched the remaining guard in the face, knocking him to the floor.

They exited the corridor into a processing room. Two guards were already slumped to the floor, obviously stunned.

“Wait, we have to go back for the others!” Turner said.

“No time,” said one of their rescuers. “We’ll have to come back for them later.”

The faux Breen led them through a glass double door and onto the street in front of the detention facility then stopped.

“What are we waiting for?” Turner asked.

Their rescuer simply pointed up. Turner looked up to see a hover vehicle descending rapidly toward their position. A moment later it landed and a hatch dropped from the back. “Get in and we’ll get you out of here.”

Turner motioned Cunha to follow her as she ran through the door and into the vehicle’s squat, dimly lit, tan interior. She ran to a seat near the front of the vessel where a female Gouran sat at the controls.

Once the other two faux Breen were in, the hatch closed behind them and Turner could feel the vehicle leave the ground and accelerate upward.

Once they were off the ground, the two dressed as Breen removed their helmets, revealing a pair of Gourans who appeared to be young adults, and powerfully built for their species.

“Kevia Turner?” one of them said.

“Yes,” she replied.

“We’re with the Resistance. We’re trying to stop our world from making a terrible mistake.”

* * *

Julian Bashir heard the door to the cell block hiss open and he looked up as four figures, High Chancellor Tarim, a slight middle aged female Gouran wearing a white coat who he had not seen before, and three guards, entered the room. Bashir looked to Cruz and rolled his eyes. After the Breen had inexplicably come in and broke Turner and Cunha out of custody, the guards had wasted little time hauling away their injured, and they had not bothered checking on them again for the past few hours.

Tarim approached Bashir’s cell. “Doctor, it appears that there’s a serious problem with the retrovirals you delivered.”

Bashir pushed his anger toward the Gourans to the side as soon as Tarim uttered those words. As a doctor, it was his job to cure the sick, and it didn’t matter if those who needed his care were friends, enemies, or something else that was presently undefined. “Did it not work?”

“Worse,” Tarim replied. “The cure took care of the initial virus, but administering it created a new virus that is airborne and immediately lethal to any of us who are exposed.”

Bashir frowned. “Starfleet medical synthesized the retrovirals on a genetic level based on your species’ DNA and the elements of the virus that interacted with your biology. I don’t understand how this is possible.”

“Neither do we. Drokka was one of the first to fall to the new virus. The moment it went airborne, it began spreading rapidly, bypassing containment measures like they weren’t even there. This is Yellite,” Tarim said, motioning toward the female. “She has accepted the temporary position of Chief Medical Examiner.

“Good to meet you, Yellite,” Bashir said. He turned his attention back to Tarim as his anger began to reassert itself. “I suppose next you’re going to claim that this is Starfleet’s fault,” Bashir said, his irritation with the High Chancellor returning quickly.

Tarim sighed. “It would be an understatement to say that our people are angry with the Federation, but we have never observed it to commit genocide. I do not think this was intentional.”

“I’m glad you see that,” Bashir snapped. “The Horizon came here to help you, and you’ve repaid us by destroying our ship, imprisoning us, and siding with our enemies. Honestly, I don’t even know what you’re doing here if it’s not to level new accusations against us.”

“We need your help. I’ve already spoken to the Breen and they insist that they don’t have the medical knowledge to find a cure,” said Tarim.

“What makes you think I can help?” Bashir asked. “The most advanced medical equipment, which I would need, is aboard the starship that you allowed them to destroy. You might not even have the minimum technology I would need to diagnose the problem.”

“Nevertheless, you’re the best chance we have. Gouran II is not medically advanced. We can thank The Oppressors for that.”

“All right, first thing’s first. What have you done to protect your population from the threat?”

Yellite said, “The entire city of Toras is under quarantine. The death toll is already above two thousand, but everyone has been ordered to their homes and to cycle their air from within. So long as they keep their doors closed, they should be safe from the virus.”

“That won’t protect you for long, and it’s likely the new virus will find a new vector to infect your population in other cities,” Bashir said. “I’m going to assume the entire population has access to replicators to keep them from going out for food? This needs to be handled fast or your entire world could be eradicated.”

“We understand that, Doctor,” Tarim said. Bashir could see the grimness in the High Chancellor’s countenance.

“Is this new virus contagious to those who originated from other worlds?”

“It doesn’t seem to be. We have small alien populations within the city, and none of them have contracted the virus yet.”

“Well, that’s small consolation,” Bashir said.

“Doctor, I’ll say it again. We need your help.”

“Fine,” said Bashir, mustering as much resolve as he could under the circumstances. “Let us out and I’ll do my best to help you find a cure.”

Tarim paused for a moment. “I’m afraid that’s not something I can do.”

“Why not?”

“The arrest of your crew was authorized by the High Council. Allowing your release would be a violation of law.”

Bashir sighed and rolled his eyes. “That law is unjust, and as a matter of principle, unjust laws should be opposed. Besides, I’m not able to help you from the inside of a cell.”

“Given the urgency of the situation, I’ve been able to secure your release, provided that you remain closely supervised.”

“Convenient,” Bashir said. “And if I refuse?”

“Your Hippocratic oath would not allow you to refuse,” Tarim replied. “But if you did, your inaction in light of the current crisis would be deemed grounds for execution.”

“And my cooperation will still lead to the same outcome, only after I’ve helped you. Is that right?”

Tarim sighed. “Doctor, we can talk in circles for the rest of the day. I need an answer now. Are you willing to help us, or are you going to let our world die?”

Bashir said nothing, trying to look as though he was undecided. He’d known from the moment Tarim described the problem that he had no choice but to help, but he wanted them to clearly understand that doing so did not make him happy. It was his duty to aid them, and he would have no choice to do so, even if the Federation were at war against the Gourans, which they were not… at least not yet. “I’ll help, but on the condition that you don’t execute any Starfleet personnel you’ve taken into custody until you’ve opened official negotiations with the Federation. And I want to check on them hourly to ensure you’re keeping your word.”

Tarim nodded slowly. “That is a deal I can make.”

“Perfect,” said Bashir. “My cooperation will be dependent upon you keeping that promise. I expect you to return the combadges to the others. If they suddenly go quiet or inform me of any abuse on the part of your guards, I’ll cease cooperation immediately and destroy any research that might be of value to you.”

“I understand. I’ll allow it,” Tarim said. He gestured toward one of the guards. “Drop the force field. Let him out.”

The guard did as instructed. The normally invisible energy field went fuzzy for a moment, and then disappeared. Bashir stepped through the open portal. Cruz looked at him meaningfully, and he knew she was asking for permission to try and take advantage of the situation. Bashir shook his head slightly. Assaulting them now would show their captors that they couldn’t be trusted in any way, which could undermine the agreement he’d just made. Cruz gave a slight nod, acknowledging her understanding.

The guards led Bashir out of the cell block and to the main room beyond. Windows looked out upon the street. Bashir walked over to them and looked out on the street that had been bustling when he’d been taken into custody. They were now devoid of people. No hover vehicles zoomed overhead, but the sky had darkened with clouds that appeared positively oppressive. Other considerations be damned, the emptiness would become the norm if he wasn’t successful, and he had to admit his own complicity in the situation, even if it was unintentional. He could have insisted that he be present when they administered the cure for the first time. He could have even tested it aboard the Horizon before beaming it down to the planet. He just assumed that Starfleet Medical had done their job perfectly. He had followed Starfleet protocols to the letter, but he could have taken extra precautions.

“Doctor, follow us to the transporter room. We’re not taking the chance of going outside,” Yellite said, motioning toward a door on the other side of the room.

Bashir nodded glumly, the full weight of the situation already beginning to weigh upon him.