Chapter 2

I don't waste any time by looking back, I merely run as fast as I can. I pass about a dozen adjoining cells, all of them empty. I can now see the door at the end of the corridor and my heartbeat speeds up as I see that it's unlocked and partially open. I run just a little bit faster, pushing myself that fraction more. I cradle my aching wrist tightly against my chest to absorb the shocks as my feet hit the ground.

About three-quarters of the way between my cell and the exit, another corridor branches off to my right, ending in another door, this one closed. The second I see it, I know that's where Captain Paris' screams came from. It takes no thought at all for self-preservation to lose to my sense of duty and I change direction mid-stride. A sudden yank on my right arm – the good one thankfully – almost makes me slam into the wall. Glancing back, I see that Chakotay is trying to haul me back to my original course. I try to pull my arm away without much success, but the effort does bring his attention back to me.

'He's already out.' He's clearly impatient and accompanies his words with another yank on my arm.

'But-' I begin to protest, torn between believing him and checking for myself.

'The older man who was in there? He's already on his way to our ship.' I resist for one more moment, but how would he know who I was looking for unless he'd seen the Captain himself? Logic wins out and I let him drag me back to our original course. When he realises that I'm following, he lets go of my arm. Our order reversed, I now follow him to the door and the faint light beyond.

When we reach the door at the end of the hall, Chakotay slows. People are running past us, all headed in the same direction. To safety, I assume. Some are struggling, clearly injured. Chakotay turns to me.

'Just follow the others, they'll lead you to our ship.'

'Where are you going?' I ask, not at all keen to split up. He doesn't answer, just stops right past the opening, pointing to the right.

'Go!' he says. I can't. When he stepped out of the dark hallway and into the light, he finally became more than a shadow. I can't help but stare at this first look at him. He appears human, with dark skin and hair. He seems about my age, or perhaps a few years older. But what has caught my eye are not his looks, but his clothing. He's dressed all in leather, definitely not Starfleet issue. I glance around, seeing more leather amongst the rags. These people can't be Starfleet rangers. So who are they?

Noticing my frozen state, Chakotay's look grows impatient and he shouts 'get out of here!' before taking off at a surprisingly fast pace in the opposite direction. I hesitate for a moment longer, but then I think, what could be worse than being a prisoner here? Capture by slavers? Surely even they know better than to steal prisoners from the Cardassians! No, whoever these people are, they're my best chance. And they already have the Captain. I waver for a moment longer, unsure whether to follow his instructions, or Chakotay himself. But in the time that I spent hesitating in the doorway, he vanished. I start running in the other direction, following the crowd.

The corridor ends at two large doors, wide enough to haul cargo through. What seemed like bright sunlight from inside the darkness turns out to be early dawn. Twilight still hangs heavily over the surroundings when I step outside. I give myself one moment to glance around, marvelling at the seeming peacefulness of the trees and hills so close to this dreadful prison. Then I follow the others through the trees, over an ad hoc path. After a few minutes we stumble upon a clearing. A small starship fills the open space almost completely. The ship looks old and decrepit, better suited to the scrapheap than interplanetary transport. But I don't have much of a choice, so I follow another leather-clad man inside. He crosses the first room – a loading dock – and passes through a corridor to another room, about the size of the Al-Batani's cargo bay. Crude mattresses are strewn on the floor, about thirty in all. I glance around at the people already there. One of them catches my eye and I move closer, but it's not the Captain. I want to move on, to search for Captain Paris, but I'm stopped at the door by another man dressed in leather.

'Stop. You're to stay here.'

'But-' I start to protest.

'What's wrong with your arm?' he asks, cutting me off and staring at my painful wrist. I'm still holding it tight against my chest, but now I try to move it behind my back. The movement hurts and I flinch.

'Meyer!' the man shouts to a redheaded woman a few beds further and waves her over. She's not dressed in leather, but something resembling a medical smock. 'I think she has a wounded wrist, can you take a look at it?' Meyer nods at him before turning to me. She smiles and introduces herself as nurse Meyer, before asking me to hold out my injured arm.

She runs a medical scanner over my wrist, which I recognize as Starfleet issue. I feel my eyebrows lift, surprised to see Starfleet technology on what is obviously not a Starfleet ship. As quickly as the surprise comes, I try to suppress it. Until I know who these people are, I should give away as little as possible. I certainly shouldn't let on that I can identify Starfleet material from regular.

The nurse hums once and lowers the scanner. 'It's nothing serious, just a mild sprain.' She concludes. She takes out another small handheld apparatus that I don't recognize and which is definitely not Starfleet issue, and runs it slowly over my wrist. About halfway down my wrist, it starts to flicker and she gives it a hard whack. That helps for a moment, but about ten seconds later it seems to stop completely. Another smack doesn't help. Meyer sighs and replaces the tool in the small med-kit hanging down her side. 'The rest will have to heal on it's own, I'm afraid.' She rummages around in the bag and takes out a piece of cloth and fashions it into a brace. 'Don't use it for the next 24 hours.'

Then she gives me another friendly smile and turns away to deal with some of the other injuries. My wrist already feels better and I let out a silent sigh of relief.

'Thank you,' I say to the man who stopped me.

'No problem,' he says, unsmilingly. 'Now, why don't you lie down, you must be tired,' and motions me away. I take a few steps, unsure of what to do.

I have to think like an officer. The thought focusses me. I'm on an unknown ship, among people I don't know. I need more information, preferably without drawing attention to myself. So I choose a corner where three leather-clad people stand together, deep in discussion. I assume they belong to whatever group is organizing our escape. Most of the mattresses around them are still empty. Trying to stay inconspicuous, I walk over to the empty mattress closest to them and sink down on it. I make myself comfortable and pretend to fall asleep, keeping my ears open for any clues.

To Be Continued