Protocols Unknown: A Decision of The Stars

Two to Beam Out

Janeway turned slightly toward him. "No, Icheb. You're staying here. Watch the patterns."

"You're not coming into the cube," Janeway said. Her voice was firm, but not unkind. "We need you here. If anything changes—if her pattern shifts—we'll need you to track it in real time."

She turned to the helm. "Paris, run him through energizing protocols. He'll keep the signal alive from here."

Icheb looked between her and Seven, clearly struggling with the decision, but he nodded slowly.

Janeway exchanged a look with Seven. The former drone gave a subtle nod of agreement.

Janeway tapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Sacajawea. B'Elanna, beam Ensign Kim to the Flyer. We'll need him with us."

"Stand by," B'Elanna responded.

A moment later, Harry materialized in a shimmer of light, already adjusting the strap on his compression rifle.

Tuvok stepped forward, his own weapon slung across his back, calm and ready.

Janeway gave him a nod. "You'll lead the tactical sweep. Standard containment pattern—nothing gets past us."

"Understood," Tuvok said.

Icheb moved to the transporter controls. "Coordinates locked. I'll maintain the link from here and monitor all biosigns."

Janeway slung her rifle across her shoulder and looked at the others. "This is a recovery mission. We find them and get out. No distractions."

"Energizing," Icheb said, fingers moving across the panel.

In a flash of blue light, the away team beamed out—compression rifles ready, nerves taut. And the Delta Flyer fell quiet behind them.

The cube was dim. Cold. The walls whispered with dormant energy—low, pulsing hums that vibrated through their boots.

Janeway tapped her tricorder. "Still nothing strong. Trace biosigns only."

Seven and Chakotay peeled off toward the power junctions. Tom watched them go, then followed Janeway and Harry down a different corridor, their steps muffled on the grated floor.

Every shadow felt too deep. Every step too loud.

After 20 minutes, Harry stopped.

His tricorder chirped once—quiet, but sharp. He froze, staring at the reading like he wasn't sure if it was real.

"Captain," he said. Barely more than a whisper.

Janeway's pulse spiked. She stepped beside him, scanning quickly. The signal was weak, erratic, but there. Ktarian-Human hybrid. Small. Nearby.

They moved forward in silence, each footstep echoing just a little too loud against the grating. The corridor narrowed, twisted. Wires dangled like vines. The cube groaned—metal straining against itself.

And then—behind a shattered alcove wall, half-hidden in flickering shadow—movement.

A small form, curled into itself. Thin arms wrapped around a blanket. Dirty. Pale. Watching them.

"Captain," he said. Quiet. Urgent.

Janeway moved beside him and followed his look. Behind a fractured wall partition—curled into herself, eyes wide—was Naomi Wildman.

She was clutching a blanket. Astrea's.

Janeway moved slowly, lowering her tricorder, crouching in front of the girl.

"Naomi," she said gently. "It's me."

Naomi looked up—saw her—and flew into Janeway's arms.

She sobbed. Shaking. Her voice broke. "I haven't seen her. Not in hours. They took her. I tried. I'm sorry."