True to his word, Thomas Riker had the rest of the labor camp prisoners gathered at the requested place and time.
It had been a challenge to find or get word to them all given that there were three camps in that area and not just the one Riker had been assigned to. There were about fifty of them.
In an attempt to generate some semblance of order and discipline, Riker instructed them to make a formation, like a platoon so he could address them as grown people and not as a lollygaggle of disorderly misfits.
It almost surprised him how willingly they cooperated. He imagined they were as excited to return to Federation space as he was, but sometimes this sort of too easy cooperation could mean some hijinks we're afoot.
If the latter were the case, he intended to rain on that little parade right now.
Riker heard the soft sound of the transporter beam behind him just as he'd begun the "you will behave" speech he'd prepared that echoed the one Captain Mason had given him the few days prior.
He figured it was Mason herself, but he continued his lecture of the prisoners uninterrupted and undaunted.
As he was wrapping it up, he saw Mason join him on his left with subtle amusement lifting the corners of her lips and surprise lifting her eyebrows.
"Remember, you guys… we may be headed back to the Federation, but the Klingons are still our allies and Rura Penthe is still a thing. I wouldn't push your luck if I were you."
He looked to his left to find Mason full on grinning and biting her lip as she struggled not to laugh out loud.
"Threatening them with Rura Penthe was a nice touch," she whispered conspiratorially. "I'm still hoping they'll just behave though."
"You and me both."
Honestly, the Rura Penthe joke was really only that; a joke. That was in Klingon jurisdiction and unless you'd committed offenses against the Empire, you weren't likely to serve time there. Though Riker thought he saw a few faces pale out there in formation.
If any of these clowns had found ways to get sideways with both the Cardassians and the Klingons they obviously enjoyed rolling the dice in big ways. He wasn't sure how much they'd enjoy Klingon justice if it caught up with them.
"They're all yours, Captain," Riker reported to her as if he was still a member of Starfleet.
For a fleeting second he missed wearing the uniform and feeling like he has a purpose. Unfortunately, he'd very likely burned his bridge with Starfleet.
One had to be the legendary Captain James T. Kirk to commit grand theft starship and get away with it; and it didn't look like there were any galactic scale emergencies on the horizon to give him a second chance to prove his value.
He glanced down at the ground, shoulders slumped slightly with his hands clasped in front of him as he thought about it. Suddenly it felt like a large bucket of ice water had just been poured on the seeds of hope from the last few days and washed them away.
Maybe it was because the time had finally come to go back and the uncertainty of his own future was staring him in the face again.
Mason's hand touched his arm gently causing Riker to glance up at her and he found warmth and reassurance in her expression.
He nodded at her with a small smile to indicate he was fine and he straightened again.
Next to him, Mason tapped her combadge.
"Mason to Towton. Ready to beam up to Cargo Bay 1."
Mason hadn't been joking when she said she wasn't playing games with the prisoners.
Thomas Riker sidled up to the bar in the Towton's lounge reflecting on the security guards he'd seen posted in sensitive areas aboard ship.
On one hand, it did hurt that she'd made it so blatantly clear that she didn't trust them to behave even when given the opportunity to go home. But could he really blame her?
He'd stolen an entire warship complete with a cloaking device four years ago.
Mason would be irresponsible to not take some precautions with a group of known criminals aboard.
Still… it felt awkward to be aboard a Starfleet vessel and know there was a guard looming somewhere nearby where normally there wouldn't be one.
A stab of guilt pricked Riker at how self centered and entitled he sounded in his own head.
Mason would have been well within her rights to confine them to quarters under guard. Truly treat them like the criminals they were, but she hadn't. They were allowed in certain common areas of the ship for relaxation and social purposes just as he was doing now.
But if she was anything like the Audrey Mason he's known on the Pegasus… if one person acted up she'd lock them all down tighter than a drum.
Riker winced at the prospect and waved over the bartender.
"Aldeberan whiskey, please," he said.
The bartender shuffled off a ways toward the other end of the bar to pluck out the appropriate bottle. He poured a shot of the potent liquid into a shot glass and slid it down the bar to Riker.
Riker raised his glass in thanks and was about to knock it back when his peripheral vision detected movement to his left.
A rather tall young man, probably in his mid teens, hopped up on the barstool to Riker's left.
The kid nodded at the bartender with a friendly smile before he turned the same on Riker.
"I'm Warren," he introduced himself.
"Thomas Riker."
The older man tried to hide his surprise at how assertive this kid was. He thought teenagers tended to be quiet and withdrawn with a tendency to be reclusive and that it was like pulling teeth to get them to do or say anything.
The two regarded each other curiously.
The kid reminded Riker of himself when he was young. Brown hair, light blue eyes. Impossibly young, though this kid didn't quite have as much of a baby face.
"How old are you?" He asked the teen.
He was insanely curious why any parent would allow their minor child to remain aboard knowing their ship was heading into an extremely dangerous space battle. Of course, it was possible there wasn't time to let off civilians. Having not been a Starfleet Officer for the last four years, Thomas Riker had no clue what the Towton's status was prior to that battle.
"16," Warren admitted. He seemed embarrassed or ashamed of it.
"Braved the big space battle then?" Riker asked, knocking back his shot. He winced at the familiar burn down his throat.
The bartender was right behind him with the bottle to pour another shot and get Warren's dinner order while he was at it.
"Just a big plate of spaghetti and garlic bread, Dan. Thanks," Warren said with a nod of appreciation.
He turned back to Riker to answer his question.
"Yeah. Mom wasn't thrilled, but she knows I want to be in Starfleet so I managed to talk her into letting me stay. I mean, I get it. A full scale space battle is a bigger thing than anything I'd seen before living aboard ship but I'm a Starfleet brat. Always have been. It just didn't feel right to leave, you know?"
Riker picked up his glass and considered that as he swirled the liquid around before downing it again. He ran his other hand through his beard as he pondered his words.
When he looked up again, he fixed the boy with a serious, penetrative gaze.
"I do. But… I'm sure your mom and dad would rather you be safe on Earth or somewhere planetside rather than here if the ship was destroyed."
Warren shook his head as the bartender set his plate down in front of him. He grinned up at Dan and began twirling a forkful of pasta with an eager anticipation that tugged a knowing grin out of Riker.
"Wow. You weren't kidding when you said a big plate of spaghetti," Riker chuckled.
"I don't know my dad. Never met him. And mom still hasn't told me his name though she swears up and down someday she will. I wish she'd hurry up before something happens to her out here and then I'll never know."
Warren shoved the forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. His mood has taken a sudden depressed turn at the subject of his unknown, absent father. It was a feeling Riker could resonate with to some degree.
"I'm sorry. I knew my father, but he abandoned me when I was about your age. I can't say I knew him very well. Haven't seen him in decades. Your mom though… I'm sure she was very worried about you."
Warren stabbed another forkful of spaghetti.
"Mom is the best, but she's also the captain. She would have been too busy on the bridge to be distracted by me," he said, dismissing Riker's words with the confidence of a teenager who thought they understood, but has no clue yet that they really didn't. That sort of wisdom and insight came with experience and maturity.
One day Warren would grow into that, but not yet.
"Your mom is the captain?!" Riker asked in stunned disbelief, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.
There was an urgency in his voice that startled Warren judging by the look of confusion and alarm on his young face.
"Yes. Is something wrong? Do you need me to call her?" The boy asked, concerned.
Suddenly, Riker felt the room spin and he leaned against the bar for support. He barely registered Warren's hand on his shoulder so much like Audrey Mason had done earlier to comfort him.
The kid said he was 16. Audrey left the Pegasus in 2358. It's 2375 now. Is he mine? Wouldn't she have told me if he was? But he has my coloring!
Riker hunched over the bar with his face in his large hands. He didn't see Warren pull out a combadge out of his pants pocket and tap it.
"Hey mom, could you come down to Ten Forward please? I think Thomas Riker really needs to talk to you."