A/N: to those of you still reading this, I hope you like it! I'm almost done writing it, only about two more chapters to finish, so I'm going to try posting one chapter a week and hope that I get it done in time to stick to that scedule. Enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 3

By staying quiet and pretending to be asleep, I quickly discover who our rescuers are: Maquis. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as my mother would say. I was saved from prison and possible torture by known terrorists. What will they do to me if they find out I'm Starfleet? What would they do to the Admiral? Could they already know he's Starfleet? Are they keeping him somewhere, locked away?

I'm thankful that the leather-clad group moved away soon after my revelation, because even with my eyes closed I'm worried by face gives away my shock. My thoughts sound about as loud as shouts. Pretty soon though, logic kicks in and I try to reason through my situation. I'm alone, in unfamiliar surroundings, among Maquis terrorists. My commanding officer might be seriously injured, but I don't even know where he is. Despite all my training, I have no idea how to handle this situation. How am I ever going to get us home?

I tell myself to take deep breaths, and keep up the pretence that I'm sleeping, which isn't easy considering all the adrenaline that's hammering through my veins. I have to think. I know what my father would say. Just think it through, Katie, one step at a time.

Step one: find the Admiral. Assess his condition.

Step two: find a way to contact Starfleet.

Step three: stay safe until you can be rescued. Blend in. Create a cover story. Make connections. Don't draw attention.

I can do this. I have to.

Now that I've decided what to do, I know I'd better do it sooner rather than later. Right now, the Maquis have a whole ship full of strangers and they're probably trying to flee before the Cardassians have a chance to catch up with them. If I want to get around unnoticed, now is the time, before they get organised and start sorting out who we are.

Keeping a careful ear on the group of Maquis I've been spying on, who have now joined the man by the door, I toss around for a few moments, as if sleeping fitfully, before pretending to wake up. However, I'm not sure I can get up without drawing attention to myself. I don't want to draw the attention of the Maquis if I can avoid it, but they're close enough that they'll definitely notice if I try to get up. To buy myself some time to think, I sit up and look around. My Starfleet issue pants draw my attention. They're singed almost beyond recognition, one leg stripped bare up to my knee, but still I worry that someone will see them and realise what I am. My uniform jacket was lost somewhere between our shuttle and the Cardassian cell and my tank top is so stained that even I have trouble recognizing its original colour. Only the coloured strip on the bottom of my right pants leg could give me away. However, the only way to keep that hidden is to stay beneath this pathetic blanket.

While I'm contemplating my wardrobe, the sound of the engines becomes louder until I can feel the floor vibrate with it. Though modern starships don't have such extreme reactions, I recognize it for what it is: take off. It's far from a smooth lift off. The ship is clearly past its peak, groaning under the strain of gravitational pull. For a moment I wonder if we'll make it off the planet. But the ship surprises me and makes it out of the atmosphere and into space, though it rocks dangerously more than once. I'm not sure if it's age or weapon's fire. Whatever it is, it makes for a great distraction, because the whole bay is in an uproar. The group of Maquis by the door spread out to calm down several others and people move about, looking for something to hold on to. In the chaos, I rip off the last few inches of my pants, stuff the fabric into a hole in the mattress and slip out, back into the corridor. Left is how we came in, so I turn right.

I keep walking until I've put a reasonable amount of distance between myself and the cargo bay before stopping at one of the wall panels. If I can get through the encryptions, one of these panels will probably grant me access to much of the ship's computer. Even a simple map of the ship would be immeasurably valuable. Thanks to my background in science, it's surprisingly easy to break into the panel's antiquated systems. I'm almost through its security when I'm suddenly roughly shoved away from the wall. The shock against my side throws me off balance and I stumble awkwardly to the right, trying not to fall. The crash grazed against my injured wrist, but thankfully it is healed enough that the pain is minimal. Just as I've regained my balance, the ship buckles again, catching me off guard. I almost fall against the wall I was just pushed away from when a firm hand grasps my left elbow and jerks me upright until I hit his chest. My tender wrist is caught between us and I flinch reflexively, even though it doesn't really hurt.

My forays into the computer must have been detected. I try to straighten up and quickly run over possible excuses in my head as I look up. I'm surprised to see Chakotay. He looks tired and dishevelled and there are splashes of dark brown all over his hands, and dark stains where it splashed on the leather. Is that blood? Cardassian blood? The thought makes me irrationally happy in a way that's probably unbecoming of a Starfleet officer, so I push it aside and focus on his face. He looks just as startled by my presence as I am by his, with no hint of disapproval or anger. Perhaps he wasn't sent here to stop me, just stumbled into me by accident. Literally. My heartbeat slows down somewhat.

'Chakotay.' I say in surprise, letting my relief translate into a mild smile. After a confused moment, I see recognition bloom in his eyes, before he frowns and his eyes narrow in thought. Probably searching for a name I never gave him. 'I'm Kate. Kate Johnson,' I say, giving him the most ordinary last name that comes to mind.

'You really are a wildcat, then.' The instant widening of his eyes suggest he blurted that out without thinking. Next he frowns and tugs on his ear, his eyes wandering away from mine. I think if his skin was as light as my own, he'd be blushing. There's an awkward silence as I stare at him. Then I burst into giggles. He looks even more uncomfortable. I quickly tamp down on my mirth, which isn't mirth at all as much as a release of tension.

'I'm sorry,' I offer, for laughing at him. 'I should thank you for rescuing me from the Cardassians. You probably saved my life.' He looks even more uncomfortable, if that's possible, and seems at a momentary loss for words.

'You're welcome,' he finally says, giving me a hesitant but warm smile. I decide to push a bit further, as he seems too addled to be suspicious.

'However, I can't find my father, do you know where he is?' I try to look worried and innocent at the same time, holding my breath and hoping that he won't send me back to the cargo bay. Luckily, he doesn't seem to give my presence here a second thought.

'Your father, he's the man who was in that side room?' I nod anxiously. 'They probably took him to sickbay. I can take you there if you'd like.' I nod eagerly, beaming at him. My gratitude seems to make him uncomfortable again, as he glances away from me. His eyes skitter around before they land on my body. They travel down carefully, making me flush, before glancing up at me. 'I do have one condition.' It's my turn to feel uncomfortable. He wouldn't- 'You've got to get cleaned up first.'

'Oh!' I relax, relieved that he's not asking what I feared he would. Then I glance down, noticing the dirt clinging to my every inch and my torn and filthy uniform and realise he's got a good point. I wouldn't want me anywhere near a sickbay either. Moreover, this could be the perfect opportunity to ditch my incriminating outfit. 'I wouldn't say no to that.' I say, with a relieved chuckle. Then, looking back at him, I tease 'you look like you could use a shower too.' I realise too late how suggestive that sounds and feel my cheeks flaming. Before I can backtrack, awkwardly, he's chuckling. His eyes, when he looks back at me, show a warm humour.

'I can't argue with that,' he laughs, 'but let's get you sorted out first. Shall we?' Once again, his humour sets me at ease. I grasp the arm that he's holding out to me in a gentlemanly fashion and laugh along with him as he leads me through the corridor.

To Be Continued