Captain Sheppard sat at his desk in his ready room looking over the previous week’s department reports when he heard a chime at the door. “Come,” he said.

The doors parted and Ipesh Nod and Ch’qahrok entered the room.

“Gentlemen,” Sheppard said. “I assume you found something?”

Nod handed him a PADD where he saw three pictures, each showing their guests.

“I believe the results speak for themselves,” Ch’qahrok said. “All of the images we found were taken from a distance far enough away that the facial recognition algorithms missed them. After we found them, we enhanced them a bit and I’m ninety-percent certain that these are facial matches for our guests.”

One image showed Pressman, wearing a starfleet Uniform that dated approximately a decade prior. Based on the gold stripe down the center and the bars on his collar, it appeared that he had been a Rear-Admiral. Pressman looked younger in the picture, and though the top of his head was bald, Sheppard could see hair around the crown of his head. The piercing blue eyes and arched eyebrows were unmistakable.

The next image showed Ro Laren in a Starfleet uniform, with a single pip on her collar. Standing next to her was none other than the legendary captain, Jean Luc Picard. Both wore red uniforms with black shoulders. Based on the rough settlement they were walking through, Sheppard assumed they were looking at a section of Bajor shortly after the Cardassian occupation ended.

The final picture showed Ro again, this time badly injured, and being extracted from the wreckage of a non-Starfleet vessel that was commonly associated with the Maquis.

“So they were both definitely Starfleet,” Sheppard said.

“There’s more,” Nod said. “I turned to the archived reports from the civilian media and I found some things you might find interesting. It appears that former Admiral Pressman was court martialed, though the articles only vaguely referenced some undisclosed treaty violation. The picture with Ro was attached to an article about a survivor being saved from the wreckage of a shuttle that managed to make it to Bajor following the Cardassian and Dominion offensive that almost completely wiped out the Maquis.”

Sheppard nodded slowly. “Well, that explains why Starfleet classified their records. “Thank you gentlemen. That will be all.”

The two officers stepped back out onto the bridge and Sheppard was left alone with his thoughts. If Pressman and Ro were both former officers who had turned traitor to Starfleet, or at least gotten themselves in a heap of trouble, then the fact was that they could only be in Intelligence now if they were doing so outside of Starfleet’s normal regulations. If that were the case, that suggested that they belonged to a shadowy organization he had only heard rumors of that he’d always dismissed as nothing more than conspiracy theory. If it was more than myth then there was a good chance they were there on his ship.

He started to tap his communicator badge, then paused. Any overt moves made against them could land him in a great deal of trouble with Jellico. As a relatively newly appointed captain, the last thing he needed was to land himself in trouble with his direct superior, even one like Edward Jellico, who the whole fleet recognized as stern, authoritarian, and frequently contentious with his subordinates.

Perhaps this was a situation where working the regulations to his favor were in order instead. If this was a legitimate Intelligence mission then it could be assumed that the operatives expected to come back alive. That being the case, as captain of the Horizon, he was entitled to assign any additional resources he saw fit to assist and support any away mission.

He hit his comm badge. “Sheppard to Lieutenant Nod,”

“Nod here.”

“Escort our guests to my ready room. If they ask, this isn’t up for discussion. Bring some security with you to their quarters, but don’t make a show of them unless they give you trouble,” Sheppard said.

“Yes sir. I’ll bring them right up,” said Nod.

“Very good, Lieutenant.” Sheppard said.

He returned his attention to the PADDs in front of him as he dug into the department reports once again. It appeared that the science labs on Deck six were closer to isolating the genes responsible for Dibbens Syndrome, which was a genetic disorder with some livestock on Tichiochi V. Lieutenant Kye wrote that she believed they would be able to synthesize a therapy within the next few weeks. Sheppard marked that report as satisfactory and moved on to the next one.

He was halfway through a lengthy report about the efficiency of the dilithium chamber when the door to his ready room chimed. “Come,” he said.

The doors parted and a perturbed looking Ro Laren and Erik Pressman stood at the door, with Ipesh Nod standing behind them wearing an unmistakably satisfied expression.

“Lieutenant Nod, we’ll talk privately,” Sheppard said.

Nod wordlessly turned and left the room.

“Captain, I demand to know what this is about,” Pressman said, standing in front of his desk.

Sheppard remained seated. If this was likely to be a polite conversation, he would stand to face his guest. In this case, he wanted to make it clear who was in charge aboard his ship. Rather than say anything, he simply picked up the PADD Ch’qahrok and Nod had given him and offered it to Pressman.

He saw the former admiral look at the images it contained, as Ro looked over his shoulder. Pressman glanced at it, then handed it back. “Is this supposed to mean something?”

“By themselves, not especially, other than that you were both in Starfleet at one time. It’s the rest of the stories here that I find troubling,” Sheppard replied.

“And what stories would those be?” Ro asked, a sour expression crossing her face.

“Something about a court martial for breaking an unspecified treaty,” he said looking at Pressman. “And something else about defecting to the Maquis,” he said, looking to Ro.

“If you’re accusing us of criminal charges that may or may not have been leveled against us in the past, I can assure you that the Federation doesn’t feel they’re relevant to the present mission,” Pressman said.

“Nor would they be relevant to Starfleet by now,” Ro added.

Sheppard remained seated. “Believe it or not, I agree with you.”

“So why were we dragged here to your office?” Ro demanded.

“Let’s see just how well the two of you remember your Starfleet regulations. Could one of you possibly remind me of Regulation twenty-three point five-one?”

Pressman and Ro glanced at each other in confusion. “That has something to do with the captain’s discretion over away missions,” Ro said.

“Specifically what it says is that the captain may assign whatever resources to any away mission, whether it be covert or classified, at his sole discretion, and that the captain of the vessel retains purview over the mission to ensure its success,” Sheppard said.

Pressman nodded. “I believe you’re correct about that general order, but nowhere does it specify that we’re required to divulge the nature of the mission to the captain.”

“That’s true,” Sheppard said. “Nevertheless, I’m entitled by my rank to assign you additional resources.”

“Exactly what resources are we talking about, Captain?” Ro asked.

“I noticed that our flight plan takes us very close to the border Cardassian space, and as we all well know, any missions to Cardasssian controlled worlds can prove extremely dangerous. You’ve also stated that you’ll require the use of a stealth probe, which happens to seat up to five. I’m assigning Doctor Bashir and Commander Turner to accompany you on your mission,” Sheppard said.

“Captain, that won’t be necessary,” Ro said. “We have this job planned out carefully. We’re more than confident that the two of us can pull it off successfully without additional support.”

“I have to agree with my colleague,” Pressman said.

Sheppard rose from his seat and looked Pressman in the eyes. “As we’ve already established, this is my call to make, so I’m making it. You don’t have to tell me why you plan on traipsing around in Cardassian space. I do happen to know that if you get hurt, you’ll need a doctor, and if things go south and you get into a phaser fight, four people are more likely to survive against a group than two. I’m assigning you the support you’ll need to maximize the chances of your mission being a success.”

“We don’t have to listen to this,” Ro said angrily.

“No, actually we do,” Pressman said. “I’m the ranking agent in this mission, and because we chose to hitch a ride to Cardassian space aboard a Starfleet vessel, the captain is well within his rights here. If memory serves, Regulation thirty point five-six also states that a ship’s ranking officer may terminate any mission at his sole discretion if he believes that mission is unlikely to succeed, or that it would violate any of Starfleet’s directives.”

“Exactly,” said Sheppard. “So, assuming that you want this to move forward, I will be sending along extra help… that is if I’m still the ranking officer aboard this vessel.”

“Understood,” said Pressman, flashing him a piercing gaze. Was that meant to be an unspoken warning? Exactly how dangerous was this man? “Will that be all?”

“One other thing,” Sheppard said. “I’ve worked alongside Starfleet Intelligence before, and they typically wear uniforms just like the rest of us, except when operating out in the field. Other than the fact that the two of you wear black, you aren’t in any kind of uniform that I recognize. Now, just like everyone else, I’ve heard rumors about some elite intelligence organization that doesn’t answer to anyone but themselves, but I’ve always dismissed that as a conspiracy theory. Nevertheless, the two of you sure do fit the bill for just such an organization. So let’s just say that so long as you’re operating from my ship, I expect you to adhere to all Starfleet directives. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“None at all,” Ro replied.

* * *

Julian Bashir entered his quarters. He’d been surprised at the orders to accompany the ship’s guests wearing black on their mission. But then, he knew exactly what organization these two belonged to. He also knew that he’s outsmarted one of them before.

He hated to take pride in the genetic resequencing he had received when he was younger. In fact, that procedure had not only been deemed unethical by the Federation, but it had also been illegal according to Federation law, and having it put him in the same dangerous category as some of the worst criminals from Earth’s history, including Khan Nunien Singh. He mused that it made more sense to him to pride himself on his ethics and his self control in light of the fact that he was capable of reigning him and his ego in, in light of his genetic enhancements.

The fact that he had these enhancements and had not become a danger to the Federation, was an open secret within the intelligence community, and because of that, Starfleet had made greater and greater use of him for intelligence missions throughout the Dominion War. Given the Horizon’s mission, he assumed that he had been selected as Chief Medical Officer so that they could tap into his special skills, though he had never openly discussed it with Captain Sheppard. Now that he was assigned to this mission, he didn’t need to. It was obvious.

What was also obvious to him was that there could be no trust between himself and the agents he was sent to accompany. Going into Cardassian space, for who knew what reason, was likely to be dangerous, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he trusted either the intelligence or the integrity of the people leading them in. Bashir sighed, entered his sleeping chambers, and approached the bulkhead near the door.

“Computer, open my personal safe, code Bashir four-seven-three-nine-Alpha-Omega.”

“Opening,” replied the computer.

The holo-emitter that made the safe’s access panel appear as nothing more than part of the wall switched off, revealing a small rectangular door, which slowly swung open. He looked inside and reached for a small metal cylinder within. He hoped using this wouldn’t become necessary.

* * *

“Captain, may I be excused from the bridge?” Tavika asked.

“Is something wrong?” Sheppard asked.

Tavika steadied herself as calmly as possible. “I just need a short break. Ten minutes should be enough.”

“Very well, Lieutenant. Ch’qahrok can cover your station in the event that we get into a battle in the next ten minutes.”

“Thank you Captain,” Tavika said as she stood up from her station and walked to the turbolift. As the doors hissed closed behind her she said, “Computer, locate Commander Turner.”

“Commander Turner is in her quarters,” said the ship’s pleasant female voice.

“Deck three.”

The turbolift began to move and Tavika could feel nervousness creep unbidden into her psyche. She seldom wished to have the calm of the Vulcans, but this was one of those times. She had made her attraction to Turner known shortly after the ship launched, and she had flatly turned down her advances. While she was not interested in pushing the issue, she did want the other woman to know she cared prior to what could be a dangerous mission.

The turbolift came to a halt, the doors opened, and Tavika stepped into the corridor. She passed a couple of side-corridors, then arrived at Turner’s door. She pressed the button indicating that she would like to enter. A moment later, the door swooshed open.

Inside, Kevia Turner was dressed from head to toe in a black jumpsuit, and she was throwing belongings into a small pack. “Tavika, I thought you were on duty.”

“I asked the Captain for a short break,” she replied, fighting to keep the nerves out of her voice.

“Come to see me off?” Turner asked.

“Permission to speak freely?” Tavika asked.

“Of course,” Turner replied.

“You’re leaving the ship on a classified mission into Cardassian space, and that could obviously be dangerous. I just wanted to wish you luck, and hope for your safe return,” Tavika said. She knew her words fell short of conveying the way she was feeling, but she hoped she could pass on the sentiment while preventing an awkward conversation with her First Officer.

Turner looked into her eyes for a brief moment, then smiled. “I appreciate that, Lieutenant. I’ll do everything in my power to return in one piece.”

“I look forward to seeing you again in a few days,” Tavika said.

* * *

The stealth probe was a cylindrical device designed to deliver passengers and cargo to hostile worlds undetected. They didn’t use cloaks, because that would be a violation of the Treaty of Algeron, but instead produced a dispersion field, which was enough to fool most sensors into not detecting ships. In fact, in a now famous case from Voyager’s years lost in the Delta Quadrant, a Borg cube had once used that method to hide its presence from the Delta Flyer.

The probe’s exterior was constructed of an advanced alloy that was difficult to detect with sensors, it literally absorbed light into it while reflecting almost nothing, life signs aboard couldn’t be detected with conventional sensors, and energy readings were likewise nearly impossible to read from the outside. Once launched, a stealth probe could travel at up to full impulse power to a destination, and then its occupants or cargo would beam off to some location within transporter range. Most starships were equipped with several of these, though they were seldom used. As Turner crawled into the probe alongside Bashir, Ro, and Pressman, she immediately knew why. They were cramped as hell.

The passenger space was a cylinder approximately five feet from one side to the other. Padded matts were mounted into the walls so that all six potential passengers would face one another. The probe was designed to follow a pre-programmed flight path, although it could be altered with a single panel touch-screen control interface that could be called to drop down between them. Luckily the plane of gravity was adjusted so that the passengers felt as though they were lying down rather than being strapped in standing up. As if to make the entire thing more appealing, the interior was lit in bright white, so they could see every pore on every face within, and they were all in arm’s reach.

Starfleet Intelligence had tested this technology extensively, embedding probes within Romulan, Breen, and Tholian space, and had found them effective against detection.

To make the entire experience all the more surreal, Pressman and Bashir had had their appearances surgically altered to make them look like Cardassians. Turner felt it was a good disguise, even if they wouldn’t be able to fool a bioscan.

Turner heard Tavika’s voice come over the comm system. “Horizon has slowed to warp one, and we’re coming upon launch coordinated in five… four…. three… two… one…”

As soon as the countdown reached one, Turner suddenly felt as though her stomach was in her throat as the probe launched at three-quarters impulse power. The inertial dampeners on this thing are weak, she thought as her body tried to get used to the relative speed difference. Of course it was equipped with some sort of inertial dampeners, or a sudden shift in speed, faster or slower, would be enough to turn them into paste on the forward or rear bulkhead, depending on whether they were speeding up or slowing down.

“So,” said Turner as she stared into the faces of the other three within the probe, “I think it’s time you briefed us on the mission.”

Ro looked to Pressman and repressed a smile. “Should we tell them now, or should we wait until we’re there?”

Pressman smirked. “We’re looking at an eighteen hour ride at present speed, at which time we’ll find ourselves in orbit around the planet Rakal.”

“Rakal? That’s where they keep one of their prisons,” Bashir said.

“The prison is where we’re going,” Pressman said.

“Why?” Turner asked. “I was under the impression that the Federation has long since negotiated the release of all the prisoners from the Dominion War.”

“Because the prisoner we’re after wasn’t a Starfleet officer,” Ro replied. “At least he hadn’t been for some time.”

“So he was Maquis?” Bashir asked.

“We’re going after Thomas Riker, who the Cardassians have been holding captive for five years,” Pressman said.

“Thomas Riker?” Bashir asked. “Why?”

“It was actually my idea,” Ro said. “I can’t say I appreciated his brother very much, but Thomas risked his life and lost his freedom trying to protect Bajor from Cardassian aggression. After the war ended, Federation diplomats didn’t consider him a priority due to the fact that he stole the Defiant and used it to expose the activities of a secret Cardassian base. The Cardassians didn’t want to release him simply because he knew too much.”

“But the war’s over now. Why is Starfleet Intelligence interested in Riker?” Turner asked.

“Because he’s found a courier within the prison system, and has slipped several messages out to us over the past few years,” Pressman said. “Between that and the fact that he was capable of stealing the Defiant in the first place, we feel that his talent is being wasted sitting in a Cardassian cell. Rather, we think he’d be the perfect field operative for our organization.”

“And exactly what is your organization?” Bashir asked.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Ro said.

“Of course you’re not,” Bashir said. “But you dress in black and you follow your own agenda. I’ve encountered Section Thirty-One before, so you can drop the charade already.”

Pressman stared at the doctor in silence for a moment. Turner looked at the other three occupants in confusion. “What is this… Section Thirty-One?”

“Spooks,” Bashir replied. “They exist outside of Starfleet, and are the equivalent of the Tal-Shiar, or the Obsidian Order. They follow their own agenda, even if their charter is to protect the Federation.”

“What do you mean they don’t answer to anyone?” Turner asked.

“They govern themselves without oversight, and then get to claim that their actions are in defense of the Federation, even when those actions are illegal or against the treaties we have with other governments,” Bashir explained. “I’ve never known them to be up to anything remotely good.”

“Doctor, how could rescuing a good man from a Cardassian gulag be anything but a good thing?” Pressman asked.

“You’re assuming it’s actually him you’ve been hearing from,” Bashir said. “For all you know, Riker’s dead and the Cardassians are playing spy games with you, trying to capture Federation operatives.”

“It’s been independently confirmed that he’s still alive, and at prison,” Ro said. “We wouldn’t be going to all this trouble for one man if we weren’t positive that he’s alive.”

“So let me guess the plan here…” Turner said. “You’re posing as Cardassian prison officials with a prisoner transfer, which would be me and you,” Turner said, indicating herself and Ro. “Once we’re in, we take advantage of your assumed status as Cardassians to spring Riker out of there while we cover you?”

Pressman nodded. “I have a cover identification that I acquired, and we’ve assigned another confirmed Cardassian identification to the doctor, but otherwise yes, that’s the plan. All they need to know is that you were former Maquis, which they’re still trying to hunt down.”

“It’s a plausible enough story,” Ro said, brushing the Bajoran earring on her left ear.”

“I think there are so many ways this could go bad,” Turner said. “What if they decide to do a bioscan on you on the way in? They’ll realize right away you aren’t Cardassian. Or what if you can’t get close enough to Riker’s cell? What if the Cardassians decide to torture us the minute we walk through the door?”

“We’ve planned for those contingencies,” Ro said. “Of course there’s always a chance for failure, and that’s the chance anyone in our profession must face every day.”

“Well,” said Bashir, a broad grin on his face, “It’s a good thing you brought a doctor along. Someone might get hurt.”