“Whoa whoa whoa, hold up there, ladies.”

Amber and Rosa hadn’t expected a clear run to the Laurentia, but they’d planned on one or two guards, not a whole picket line of them. Brek’s information, gathered from the last few days, had clearly gone stale, or something had caused the local New Maquis officials to consider the Laurentia with a bit more suspicion than they had their own ships previously.

The plan for getting the runabout ready for flight had so far gone without a hitch, Brek having managed to sneak aboard hours ago before the guards had obviously shown up. And that he hadn’t been found out meant the search teams hadn’t started either, so at least that had kept true. But now they needed to get aboard and couldn’t rely on anyone else to help them.

“Uh, what’s the holdup?” Rosa asked, coming to a stop with hands on hips and going for ‘casually confident’ in the face of unexpected hurdles.

“Your ship is gonna get searched in an hour,” one of the two Maquis security goons who closed on them said. “So, no visitors till it’s done.”

“We were told we could come and go from our ship as we wanted,” Amber stated, trying to copy Rosa but missing the mark, nervous energy coming through in posture, her tone of voice. “We uh…”

“We were looking for somewhere a touch private,” Rosa interrupted, wrapping an arm around Amber’s waist and giving her a slight, possessive tug. “But failing that, could we just get a few things? In and out?”

“No.” The second guard’s rejection sounded bored and pro forma, conviction lacking as they looked over the two women.

“Oh, come on,” Rosa pleaded. “You can escort us in, watch us grab our things, then scan everything and make sure we’re not smuggling anything off the ship, yeah?”

The two guards looked at each other, the second of them shrugging. “Your funeral,” he said before shaking his head and walking away. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Let’s make it quick,” the remaining one said, leading them to the runabout. “Honestly all a bit silly this anyway. I mean, what, are we expecting Cardassian infiltrators?”

They had barely stepped aboard the runabout, and the door closed behind them before Brek came around the corner as silent as a mouse, a hand settling on the man’s neck with exacting pressure, the other reaching out to catch him as he suddenly went limp. “I was not expecting guards,” he said by way of an apology as he dumped the Maquis guard into a chair. “This is going to complicate matters.”

“No shit.” Rosa threw herself into the co-pilot’s seat, bringing up a diagnostic of the runabout’s systems. “Good, good. Right, I’m going to do everything I can without bringing up the main power.”

“And I’ll do everything I can to find out people,” Amber stated as she sat herself down at the operations console. “Assuming I’m right.”

“Assuming?” Rosa shot back. “Assuming?”

“The Ensign’s plan is sound,” Brek said. “I am confident it will work.”

It hadn’t been hard for Stirling to retrace his steps through New Barataria, back to where Doctor T’Halla Shreln’s lab was buried in the ancient labyrinth of tunnels that marked the oldest part of the asteroid base. He and Gavin Mitchell had moved together with just enough presence and speed to not draw too much attention, or get waylaid by more mundane matters despite a few people who tried.

“I’m sorry, Bill, somewhat busy. Try Simi.”

“Tomorrow morning Mads. Just in the middle of something.”

Variations of a theme had deflected those who had engaged them.

A stop at an old tunnel map and Stirling was by himself, counting time until he proceeded. Mitchell wanted to split up and come at the door from either end of the corridor, now that he was aware of Manfred’s confirmed presence and duty as the doctor’s protector. A minute turned into two, then three, and then Stirling took a step forward. A slow steady pace and he’d turn the corner into the corridor, hopefully within seconds of Mitchell at the far end.

And right into a waiting Manfred.

The man was standing about fifteen meters away, in the middle of the corridor and looking straight at Stirling. The right-hand side of his duster was brushed back, revealing the holster strapped to his thigh and the rather slick-looking weapon it held. A moment of disappointment gripped Stirling that it wasn’t some spaghetti western six-shooter waiting for him, but something a touch more modern.

Manfred’s smile wouldn’t be amiss on a crocodile. “I knew I had seen you somewhere before,” he drawled as his right hand went to hover over his weapon. “It might take me a moment to get there with the little people, but I do have an excellent memory for faces.”

“I will have to repeat myself, sir. We have never had the pleasure of meeting before yesterday.” Now was a time for manners and exacting actions. His own hands came out from his body, hands splayed out and palms to Manfred as he showed that he wasn’t armed or of any danger to the man.

“That may be so, but I still have seen you somewhere and now I know.”

Down the far end of the corridor, Stirling could see movement. That movement quickly resolved itself into Mitchell, who stopped at the scene before him, then proceeded to move slowly and quietly, drawing his own weapon as he closed with Manfred from behind, opting to ensure he got the best shot off he could.

Which meant buying time and keeping Manfred talking and distracted for just a few more seconds.

“Please, enlighten me,” he said.

“I try to keep up with the news as best I can, but it ain’t always easy, you see. But not too terribly long ago there was this little kerfuffle out in the Deneb Sector. And afterwards, there was the usual media circus, as reporters, journalists and infotainers want to meet the heroes of the hour, ask questions and make their own imprint on history, despite being the second lowest form of life in the universe.”

“Oh?” Stirling asked. “What is the lowest?”

“Lawyers,” Manfred answered quickly. “But you see, there was this one young woman who I understand was a bit of a hero who had a near-supernatural ability to avoid the press. Save for one instance where FNN managed to corner her for a few questions. And FNN, for all their faults, are decent researchers. Managed to identify almost everyone in the few photos they took. Including one Lieutenant Junior Grade Stirling Fightmaster.”

“Ah.” Stirling nodded his head, acknowledging the touché. “I see.”

“I wouldn’t feel too bad, son. I had to dig up the old press release to confirm and there is only one single image with you in it.”

“So, is this where you hand me over to the New Maquis?”

Manfred laughed briefly. “Heaven’s no. Least not yet. I owe them nothing. Your fate lies with the Doc. Now, you can come along peaceably like, give yourself another few minutes to think of some clever plan.”

“Or?”

“Or I shoot you here and now and then come up with some excuse for the Doc about why I created such a racket outside her lab.”

Mitchell had closed within a few meters of Manfred, close enough not to miss. A nod of his head was all the signal he gave to Stirling.

“There is just one small matter I feel I should bring to your attention,” Stirling said. “I’m not alone.”

Manfred’s eyebrows rose in sudden understanding. He spun on one heel, drawing his weapon while dropping his own stance in anticipation. Mitchell’s shot slammed into Manfred’s left shoulder, drawing forth a hiss of pain. It was enough to throw off his own shot, but barely.

“Ahhh!” screamed Mitchell as a searing bolt of crimson shot past him, clipping his ear and eliciting the cry of agony. But the scream helped. That Mitchell wasn’t spinning around, or having one side of his body suddenly go limp helped as well compared to Manfred. He retained his firing stance and fired a second time, the bolt of yellow light slamming straight into Manfred’s chest and sending the man to the floor.

A second shot rang out as Manfred’s weapon discharged into the ceiling, blowing out a light fixture as man and weapon crumpled to the floor, the weapon skittering along the deck.

And then Manfred moved, clawing across the deck for his weapon with little in the way of protest.

“Get him!” shouted Mitchell as he clasped at his ear.

Stirling needed no further impetus, closing the distance and giving the weapon a solid kick, sending it flying into the distance along the floor before he came to a stop looming over Manfred. “I would suggest you surrender now.”

“Ha,” Manfred choked out as he collapsed to the floor in defeat, rolling onto his back. “You aren’t getting off this rock. I’m going to enjoy our conversations later.” He sounded like someone had taken the wind out of him and he was having trouble getting it back, even after two heavy stun blasts.

“I shall have to take a rain check on that,” Stirling replied, then leaned down and relieved Manfred of his hat. “Sorry, sir, but someone has requested your hat.”

“That bitch.” Manfred said as he finally collapsed into unconsciousness.

Mitchell lifted one of the pendants up from the table, examining the blue stone in the middle. “What is this?”

“Vokaya,” Amber replied. “One of the merchants in the market was offloading a bunch of loot from a raid. My tricorder picked them up while I was scanning for the jammer.”

“That’s a Vulcan mineral.” Brek picked up the other pendant, his examination more thorough than Mitchell’s cursory gaze. “Remarkable specimens of the stone, I might add. I would be most intrigued to procure these after we’re done here.”

“So, how’s this going to help?” Mitchell continued.

“Vokaya emits a unique but harmless radioactive signature.” Amber’s shoulder shrug was the prelude to the part she warned they weren’t going to like. “Unique enough that I can get a lock on it even with the transport jammers in place. And then widen the confinement beam to just grab everything within a couple of meters of each vokaya signature I find.”

“We can filter out the floor panels and anything else once you’re in the pattern buffer,” Rosa added. “We can, right?”

“Oh definitely,” Amber answered.

“I hate it,” Mitchell said after a few seconds of contemplation. “But it’s a damn sight better than reenacting Cleopatra through the streets of New Barataria.”

“What?” Amber asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Stirling said. “But it’s ancient, ancient history.”

“Doctor Shreln?” Mitchell asked as he and Stirling closed on the only person in the lab they could see. The blue skin and white-going-grey hair were exactly as Stirling had said, exactly as the biographical images of T’Halla Shreln depicted.

The woman turned, a look of perpetual dissatisfaction on her face. “What?” she asked, her voice croaky from lack of use. “You aren’t Manfred.”

“No, ma’am,” Mitchell said as he raised his phaser. “Starfleet Security, you’re under arrest.”

The shot that filled the lab wasn’t from Mitchell’s own weapon. It came from a shadowed corner, collecting Mitchell’s phaser perfectly and driving it from his hand, drawing forth another cry of pain as his hand seized violently at the energy that had whipped along his skin before his phaser went flying.

“Now now, gentlemen,” a second Manfred said as he stepped forth, “I believe you’ve made a rather easy-to-make mistake.”

“No one expects the second Manfred,” Stirling stated.

“Well done Lieutenant Fightmaster.” The second Manfred closed on them both, weapon pointed directly at the two of them. Then he closed on Stirling, reaching out with his free hand. “I’ll be taking that hat if you don’t mind. After all, you won’t be delivering it to Ms Sidda.”

“Mrs Sadovu,” Stirling corrected. “And I think I will.” Stirling stepped in quickly, one hand striking at Manfred’s weapon hand, forcing the barrel of the phaser down to the floor. His other hand, the one with the hat, slammed into Manfred’s chest, going for the solar plexus. Fist met chest, and the latter barely moved.

But it was all the distraction that Mitchell needed to rugby tackle Doctor Shreln, driving the woman to the floor and pinning her in place as he fumbled for his communicator. He never managed to make proper contact with the device in his pocket, but he heard the chirp of the device. “One to Five! Now!”

He heard Stirling go crashing to the floor, collecting a chair during the sprawling descent. Heard Manfred start to say something threatening before blue light snatched at his senses, overwhelming them as a darkened lab was suddenly replaced with a momentary bright nothingness, then the transporter padd of the runabout Laurentia.

“Rosa, get us out of here!” Mitchell barked, easing himself up as he surveyed Shreln, still wrestling with him. “Would you stop it!” he shouted at her.

“Get off of me! You have no right! You have no – ” Shreln’s protest was cut short by Amber’s sudden arrival and a hypospray to the Andorian woman’s arm.

“You’re hurt.” Amber’s statement of the obvious was her reverting to training as a hand went to examine his ear. But she stopped when he looked at her. “I’m putting on a bandage on what’s left of your ear before you even think of flying.”

“What’s left of my ear?” Mitchell got out, accepting Stirling’s help to his feet as Amber went to get a med kit. “How bad is it?” he asked the other man.

Stirling leaned to examine the injury. “Nothing I haven’t seen repaired after a rugby match.”

Laurentia lurched gently as Rosa brought the craft to life, skipping as much of the preflight as possible and then some, before flinging it forward and away from New Barataria at speed. “Boss, gonna need a hand up here real soon!” she shouted. “They had ships at the ready!”