There were more corners, alcoves, uneven angles and hidden passages than Bashir imagined he could have found on a vessel twice the size of this modified cargo carrier. Its interior structure was only passingly familiar, but many aspects seemed to match that of a more typical long-haul freighter. The kind which might take days, weeks - and occasionally, months - to deliver large shipments of stembolts or dilithium between the same two distant worlds.
Adigeon Prime… We're actually going.
These roughly-fashioned transports very rarely attained or needed such streamlined grace as a commissioned Starfleet vessel. Few had enjoyed the level of engineering care that Starfleet required of its own armada. It was far more common to find them patched together from scavenged, outdated parts, little that was not available for an easy exchange on the outer edges of the Federation.
Bashir had discovered a thinning moss-green blanket, folded into quarters inside a crate of what he assumed were several assorted emergency supplies. A sealed grey-white medkit was tucked into the back right-hand corner - retrievable with effort, but beaten so far out of shape that time and neglect had sealed it permanently closed. His fingers slipped uselessly over the outer casing. He pressed both hands against each other, kneading them roughly, and uttered a low, hissing curse - and abandoned the medical box to its uninterrupted decay.
Why had he not protested more? The same objection had played and replayed through the course of their journey - along with a clearly imagined picture of how those he'd left behind were likely to react once his absence was noticed. Athena Nikos would have discovered almost immediately, and no doubt someone would have notified her superiors. But what else was he to do? Turn the ship around? Retrace his steps back to the Institute, and several more days of continued slow decline?
Neither of his abductors seemed to be according him more than a mild, peripheral interest. But even if he had known a way to take advantage of their inattention, he doubted that he had the strength - and even more, that he could find the will.
Squirming restlessly until the line of his body was pressed against the high, narrow back of the passenger seat, Bashir crouched with arms and legs folded, and shivered from the small, quick chills that passed along his skin. His half-open eyes soon settled on a point halfway down the starboard bulkheads - watching until every scratch on its surface became as familiar as a long time acquaintance.
Too tired to rouse himself to action, too cold and sore to find any comfort in any position, he winced as a slight but ill-considered movement caused the muscles at the base of his neck to seize. And how likely, he wondered, was Nikos to realise or conceal the facts of their escape? Strange that even certain knowledge of the odds could not give him an equally certain answer.
But then, we're all so exposed. Aren't we? Like a raft tossed over a stormy ocean, battered by a strengthening wind and smothered by the onset of darkest night. There was no wind between the stars, and one hour's passing was very much like any other. But in its way, a lone starship was even more vulnerable. Even more isolated than that imagined boat at sea.
Still longing to find some warmth from the meagre covering, Julian was unsure of the point when he had started paying attention to the background rise and fall of voices.
There was a belligerence to his companion's words, but also a peculiar sort of improvised choreography. Each combatant knew what part to play, and from which direction their points could most effectively be heard. They argued as dancers danced, stepping over a well-worn floor, backing to the edges for just enough time to allow the next of them a brief advantage. But always, they were quick and sure to reclaim the foreground as soon as the chance was once again theirs. It was a practised ritual, honed with time and long acquaintance, but one which had no ready place for Julian.
So why bring an outsider into their impulsive escapade?
"There. You see?" Jack's persistent tone drew Bashir's attention away, before the question could take hold in his mind. "Told you this would work, didn't I? Told you there was no way they could lock us up forever."
"You did," said his older companion. "I remember."
"Are you sure you keyed in the right heading?" The challenge came from the dark haired woman, whose words were quick to dispel the others' double smiles. Chewing even more fiercely on his fingernails, Jack scowled.
"Of course I'm sure. You saw the figures. Don't deny it. Those were all your calculations too - weren't they? Lauren. You were there."
Waiting for a response - and not receiving one - Jack snorted. "And why aren't we going any faster?" he demanded again.
"Patrick already increased the warp plasma efficiency by over fifty four percent." Lauren countered the young man's agitated complaint.
"That's still too slow."
"What if someone comes after us?" It was the rotund older man, seated at the centre of their huddle, glancing anxiously from face to face as he followed their exchange from his place at the helm.
Jack nodded. "Hm. Good point. They still could. They'll catch us up with no problem at all, unless we can get more speed."
"Jack - leave him alone." The woman's reply was steady and even, but with an undercurrent of quiet exasperation. "Patrick. No-one's going to catch us. We aren't even going to a Federation world."
Listening without any obvious attention, Bashir hoped more than he believed that she was right.
The fifth member of their group was at first only barely visible, shapeless and unfocused in diluted shades of orange, pink and green. Julian shifted, blinking tired eyes, and positioning himself for a better view of the solitary figure.
"I was wondering when I would find you here."
He blinked with dry, unfocused eyes. The edges of his vision sharpened, revealing the other's smooth and softly tacit smile. Sarina's infinitely large, dark eyes had not established contact with Bashir's, but she stayed barely two metres away, maintaining an intently watchful pose. She took a graceful step towards him, as though by some unspoken cue, and settled with little trouble into the vacant space at Julian's side.
A moment of silence passed between them - brief and indefinable, soon to pass the way of every other lost and fleeting memory. The young woman's approach had been almost ghostly with the soundless tread of every footfall. And yet, Bashir found that he was not at all surprised to have seen her appear.
Allowing the sight of her face to hold his attention, Bashir wondered how long she had been watching. There must have been a multitude of hidden places that he had failed to discover in his limited exploration of the passenger hold. Even the corners where shadow had fallen could easily have concealed a lone observer.
He found with curiosity that her company had not given him that degree of alarm, as had that of Jack or the others. "I…" he began uncertainly, his own voice soft and halting. He stopped to gather his scattered thoughts, drew another steadying breath, and began again. "I was hoping to thank you, for… uh… for your help. I know it must have been quite a risk for you."
Sarina's expression barely changed, but Julian was sure that he had noticed the curve of her mouth twitch upwards - a movement so slight that it might very well have only been fancied. When, exactly, had he been so completely robbed of the power to speak?
Small sounds reached them from every direction - filling the inner spaces from one bulkhead to the next. And where Julian knew, he had always felt conspicuously out of place. Perhaps that was why Sarina's arrival had not been unexpected. Seeing her was a final revelation, seeming to complete a hitherto unfinished scene.
He extended his focus to the creak of deck plates - subtle changes in temperature that even the most sensitive environmental regulators in the galaxy would not have been able to alleviate completely. He felt, rather than heard, the slow metronome of his own breathing. But underlying it all were soft-edged variations in the engine's constant and atonal hum.
There were more subtleties to the background noise than even the ears of an engineer would be able to detect. Even Bashir had only barely noticed - not while the constant flow of voices had so commandeered his attention. Many of his former colleagues - captains, engineers, Academy professors - would speak as though their ships were living entities. The warp core, a pulsing heart. The flow of plasma like that of life-sustaining blood. The blink of computer lights, a mathematically exquisite dance…
With a flash of renewed surprise, he looked over to where the others had also fallen silent, as they all had turned to look at Julian, and at the pale young woman beside him. "Well, isn't this interesting," Lauren remarked. One corner of her mouth had curved up into a curiously lopsided, mocking smile.
An admonishing glare from Julian's eyes was met with little answer. But he found with surprise that he was neither as angry nor as unsettled as he assumed. Several strands of orange-blonde hair fell lightly across Sarina's pale face, as she stood and departed as quietly as she had first approached. Seeing her alone, Bashir recalled how completely her presence had captivated his attention. He still felt weak and strange, but discovered that - however brief this moment - the tremors in his hands had very nearly stopped.