Author: RSR
Disclaimer: The characters here are not property of the author. No money is being made out of this story.
Rating: PG
Recipient: Leyenn
Day and night ran together in this place, with the only clues to the passing of time being a tiny, unreliable trickle of sunlight through a grimy window near the ceiling and the clang of boots on concrete when the guards went off shift. Ivanova grumbled at the darkness because it was a good listener, and nursed her cuts and bruises as best she could. She couldn't quite keep up with the rate at which they were inflicted.
On the sixteenth day, there was a new arrival. They threw a red-haired woman into the cell. She was clean, far too clean for this place.. The woman called back after them, telling them to come back, that she wanted to speak to someone.
"Hey," said Ivanova, looking up, "Don't attract their attention."
"This is all a misunderstanding," said the woman, "It can be sorted out, if I can just talk to them."
Ivanova smiled, but just barely. "Oh, no. It's no misunderstanding. You've landed yourself in the finest resort on the planet, with hot and cold running interrogations on demand. All you need to do is have a word with the maitre d'." She lay back down again, and settled into the dirt and blanket, barely distinguishable from each other.
On the eighteenth day, the woman paced. "There must be some way of getting through to them," she said.
"Kathryn, sit down. You're giving me a headache." It's funny, thought Ivanova, even a black uniform like Janeway's shows dirt in this place. Whatever you do, the dirt wins. So not much different from the rest of the universe, then. Well, that was worth a smile, at least.
Every day was the same here. They'd try to sleep, maybe succeed a little; try to eat, force themselves to succeed a little. And then their faceless jailers would take one of them out of the cell for a few hours, to a small room where they would sit and answer questions, all the standard, paranoid questions, with all the standard, violent incentives. In this case, "faceless" wasn't just a euphemism, a nod to how anonymous, how bloody generic this captivity was, but a literal description - how could she spit in the face of a creature that didn't have one? Ivanova laughed quietly and humorlessly at that, breaking the silence that hung inside those cold, damp walls.
Janeway looked up at the sound. "Something funny?" Her voice was tired, very tired indeed, but Ivanova heard a rough hint of challenge in it, and was glad.
"No. Nothing at all is funny." But she was still laughing.
On the twenty-fifth day, Ivanova turned to Kathryn and said, "Are they looking for you? Your ship?"
"Not yet," said Janeway, her voice a little hoarse from physical exhaustion, and her words a little slurred as she tried to ease them around a cut in her lip. "Told them I'd be gone a month. And they won't start looking here, that's for sure. They expect me to be ten days' travel from here."
"Shame. Rescue would've been nice. Oh well, can't have everything." Ivanova slumped against the wall, and looked up at the tiny, grimy window to the outside world. Presumably to the outside world, at any rate.
Janeway looked over at Ivanova. "We may have to organize our own." The tired note in her voice and the dull look in her eyes had both faded, and Ivanova could have kissed her on those cracked, pale lips, dried blood and all, just for that.
They would have to, and soon, that much was plain enough to Ivanova. Soon, before neither of them was in any condition to stand, much less fight. Their bodies and their minds were taking a punishing here. Hunger and fatigue were already slowing their immune responses, right when their bodies were straining to heal new damage every day.
Janeway gazed around the cell. "Any ideas?"
"Yes." Ivanova held up a tarnished spoon from their meal tray. "I've been digging while you sleep."
"You're joking." Janeway stared at the spoon.
"My father used to say that a drop of water hollows out a stone. Old Russian saying." So much for her poker face. She wasn't hiding that faint smile all that well.
"But it takes one hell of a long time." Janeway had started smiling, too.
"That it does." Ivanova put down the spoon. "So my recommendation is sudden, violent action, followed by an improbably miraculous escape."
"That sounds like a recommendation I can get behind."
They didn't have much choice at all in the timing; the only time the door opened was to take one for questioning or dump her back again after. The guards were wary of two prisoners together, and always showed up in greater numbers before interrogations. They got careless afterward, thinking they were dragging dead weight back to the cell, rather than a woman thinking about how to kill or incapacitate one of them in one of the hundreds of techniques in which she's been trained, and a few in which she hasn't. The only choice they truly had was whether they made their attempt after Ivanova had been 'questioned' to semi-consciousness, or after Janeway had. It wasn't a clear choice. Janeway had almost twenty years on Ivanova, but Ivanova had been in this cell two weeks longer. In the end, it was a choice they let the guards make for them. Escaping at night would make them no less invisible to their captors' sensors, but it would make the terrain a mystery to them, so morning it had to be, and that morning the guards took away Ivanova. Janeway waited on the concrete and dirt, rubbing her cramped muscles and hoping Ivanova would be in any sort of shape to fight and run.
The window of time was narrow, just as long as it took to open the door and throw their prisoner in. As soon as the door was open, Ivanova lurched backwards and sank down, squatting on the floor. It wouldn't buy them much time, just a couple of seconds, but it was enough for Janeway to get through the door.
Neither one of them was in the sort of shape to fight well, and it showed. As many blows landed as were fended off, and they struggled to finish off what, in normal circumstances, they should have been able to do quickly. Their luck didn't turn until Janeway, reaching to help Ivanova out of the grip of one of the guards, fumbled and palmed his weapon. With a couple of shots, they were, not free, but free enough to run, completely lost, through a complex of which they only knew a few corridors, with only their guards' stolen weapons and a dim sense of ground level working in their favor. They headed down a staircase they didn't know. The lights overhead buzzed and flickered, casting a sickly greenish pall on everything below, and their progress was slow, as they limped and dodged through unfamiliar hallways, hiding sooner than confronting, confronting sooner than being recaptured. As they moved lower in the building, and further from the cell block, they started to hear engine whine.
They rounded a corner slowly, and Ivanova pushed Janeway back against the wall. "Wait," she whispered, "not quiet enough out there. And it's been too long since we've seen one of them."
Janeway nodded curtly, and readied the rifle in her hands. She brushed away a sheen of dampness across her forehead that threatened to run into her eyes.
Ivanova held her gun cocked, and eased out into the main passageway, sliding along the wall, then along the far wall, to the next intersection. A few moments later, she returned, just as silently. "Large door. Looks like an exit, or maybe a hangar entrance. It's loud. I'd say the hangar. It's well-guarded."
"It would be," muttered Janeway.
"Well?" said Ivanova, a little impatiently. "Are we going in or not?"
Janeway shook her head in amusement. "I have nowhere else to go. Lead on." With a mock-flourish, she gestured for Ivanova to take the lead.
The door had four guards posted and two more nearby, and, between them, Janeway and Ivanova managed to pick off two before the others realized they were being fired upon. After the first lucky shots, however, they lost their cover. They had to move out into the open to get clear shots at the guards and press closer to the door, while their opponents had the advantage of numbers; they could merely defend their positions and wait for reinforcements to flush out the two women.
Energy bolts volleyed back and forth, and the corridor filled with thick smoke and the acrid smell of burning metal. As if something inside them gave up all sense of caution at the same time, Janeway and Ivanova both stepped out into open sight, almost surprised to see each other there, and dodged shots to advance on the guards. Their enemies were used to guarding broken, unarmed prisoners, not trained and experienced military officers, and the next three guards fell without doing any better than inflicting glancing burns on the two women. The fourth opened the main door and ran through to safety.
Ivanova tensed, as if starting to run after him and catching herself, and turned to Janeway. "He's probably got reinforcements in there."
"We were planning to go in anyway," said Janeway, checking the charge on her rifle. She tilted her head to indicate the door, and they both dashed through, into a passage between the main hangar and a side bay, quickly taking cover behind an equipment rack. "What do you see?" she asked quietly, craning her head over the winch handle.
Ivanova raised her head carefully, then ducked back down. "People in the main bay to our left. Probably mechanics, it looks like it's taking them time to sort out which end of their weapons to point at us. Ships in there all seem to be of one design. The ones in the hangar to our right look collected. I see one shuttle labeled "U.S.S. Voyager", and I see one Starfury. What I don't see is any chance to get either of them out of here, with the whole place on alert." She tugged on Janeway's arm, pulling her to the right. "Watch it, our mechanics seem to have mastered the concept of the firing trigger. They're coming."
"They wouldn't be stupid enough to fire energy weapons in a hangar full of active fuel cells," said Janeway. A cascade of sparks showered down from the metal beam overhead, then another. "Then again..." she said, giving Ivanova a look that dripped with disbelief. They both moved to the right, deeper into the dark side hangar.
"Hey," said Ivanova. "What do you think that is, supply cupboard or outer hatch?" She pointed at a small door, dusty enough to almost seem disused.
"They've got to need supplies more than that." Janeway looked at the door dubiously. "What does it say about the outside, if no one ever goes there?"
"Don't ask," said Ivanova, "just run." She picked up a small hand tool, and quietly moved towards the door, staying under cover. Janeway followed. When they neared the door, Ivanova threw the small metal tool to the opposite side of the bay, where it clattered loudly on the ground, drawing a barrage of poorly-aimed weapons fire. She used the time from the distraction to force the lever on the door, stiff from long abandonment, and close the door quickly behind them.
On the other side, they found themselves running through thick jungle-like cover.
"Did your plan involve anything past the miraculous escape?" Janeway asked with a faint smile, pushing aside a large frond-like leaf to let Ivanova pass.
Ivanova nodded. "How many days until your ship comes looking for you, twelve, thirteen? We wait them out. We stay on the move out here. And when time's up, we go back in, steal our ships back, and pray like hell your people really are out there."
Janeway merely looks at her for a moment, somewhere between amused and incredulous. "And here I thought one miraculous escape was pushing our luck."
"Hey, have my plans let you down yet?" Ivanova led them both deeper into the vegetation. "I hope your... Spacefleet, or whatever it is, gave you jungle survival training. Earthforce, my employers - previous employers - didn't bother."
"Wonderful," said Janeway, dryly, but following, nonetheless.
They kept on the move. The plan was simple: six days out, six days back, moving as much as possible to avoid recapture. Ivanova restarted her mental count of the days. A few hours into their march through the trees and mud, she turned to Janeway and pointed to the base of old, thick tree trunk. "What do you make of that?" she asked.
Janeway looked. "It's rusted away to almost nothing. Hull shielding, it looks like. Rusted from the inside. Must have been damaged in a crash. Some time ago, too."
"Looks like one of theirs," said Ivanova. "Same markings as what we saw in the hangar. We're only a few hours' walk into the jungle, I wonder why they didn't salvage it."
"Maybe we're in luck. Maybe their fliers don't work well in the jungle. I haven't seen any other technology around here, even near that base."
"Maybe. I can't imagine we're the first to escape, though. They must have some way to bring us back."
Janeway shakes her head. "You're a pessimist, you know that?"
"It's been said before." A thought struck. "Kathryn, all the fliers in there were short range. Barely anything that would go further than from the Earth to the moon. Does that strike you as odd?"
"A little, I suppose. I suppose we must not have been in the main hangar. Why?"
"No reason. It just seemed... odd." Ivanova surveyed the area around them. "I think we should get deeper in before we stop to rest." She stopped to look at Janeway, as the older women wiped her forehead again. "You're bleeding."
Janeway looked down at her fingers, dark with a mixture of sweat, blood, and grime. "And we're both burned. It can wait. Let's keep moving."
Ivanova nodded. "Right."
They walked on. The foliage overhead blocked out most of the light from the sun, but, even so, it was possible to tell the light was fading. They found a grove of trees near a running stream, and sat down near the banks, dipping in pieces of their clothing to clean each other's wounds.
"You sleep first," said Janeway, wiping the last of the dirt away from a rash of spark-burns on Ivanova's neck, "you went into that fight worse off than I did."
"Won't argue," said Ivanova, settling down into the dirt.
Early the next morning, some time before dawn, they switched. When Janeway woke, Ivanova handed over a small dense fruit, identical to ones they'd seen hanging off trees everywhere in the jungle. "Smell this."
"Why?"
"Just smell it."
Janeway did, at looked at it with equal curiosity and distaste. "It's what they were feeding us in there."
Ivanova nodded. "So at least we know this is safe to eat cooked."
"Sleeping in the dirt, eating... this... So far our great escape is not so very different from our imprisonment."
"Fewer interrogations," said Ivanova.
"Fewer interrogations," Janeway agreed firmly.
On the third day, Ivanova woke up and took her turn at watch while Janeway slept, as usual. When Janeway woke, Ivanova passed her breakfast of standard prison rations, waited a few carefully calculated moments, and said, "You know, according to Minbari law, we're married now."
Janeway choked on her first bite in surprise, and smiled. "Minbari?"
"You don't have them? Humanoid aliens," she made a gesture around her head, "bony heads, obsession with the number three..." She paused as Janeway shook her head. "Well, anyway, one of their obsessions with the number three involves spending three nights watching over your sleeping lover. At the end of which, either you both move onto a higher plane of existence together or you're married or something."
"That custom would apparently require us to be lovers first." Janeway resumed eating.
Ivanova shrugged. "I have a loose definition of the term. You haven't picked a fight with me, shot at me, insulted my parentage and/or species..."
"I see."
"...ignored direct, and very sensible, instructions from me in an official capacity, tried to scan me telepathically, died..."
Janeway looked more than a little amused. "I must be the best lover you've ever had!"
"It's certainly starting to look that way." Ivanova smiled, and picked at her own breakfast without enthusiasm. "Do you remember what real food tastes like?"
"I'm trying not to," said Janeway. "It goes down easier that way."
On the fifth night, Ivanova looked up at the sky. "No stars," she said.
Janeway followed her gaze upward. "No."
On the sixth day, they turned around to walk back, first into any patrols sent to follow them, and next into the hangar of the prison block itself. There wasn't as much joking now; walking towards danger takes a focus that walking away does not.
On the tenth day, they found the trouble they wanted to avoid. It came marching towards them, not quietly, but unexpectedly enough that they had little time to hide. And with the guards came the downpour, just a few drops at first and then growing until it drenched them through, simultaneously testing them and protecting them, by washing away their tracks in a sludgy layer of mud. That night, they sat huddled together in a small rocky hollow, listening through the sound of rain for the more dangerous sound of footsteps.
"You want to sleep first?" Janeway breathed more than whispered next to Ivanova's ear. Ivanova shook her head. The two huddled a bit closer.
On the eleventh day, Janeway woke up slowly, still pressed closely against Ivanova. She didn't open her eyes. "How did you get here?" she asked.
Ivanova looked down at her. "Did they keep asking you that, too?"
"Mm-hmm." Janeway attempted a sleepy nod.
"Jumpgate was mined. Went off when I entered. I was lucky to get everything under control again."
"I was investigating wormholes. To take us home." Janeway paused. "There are no stars at night. Like you said. Just the one sun."
Ivanova looked out over the damp jungle floor. "I don't like where this is going."
"They only have short-range fliers." Janeway joined her in looking out at the mud and leaves.
"What are you telling me, once we grab our ships, we can check out but we can never leave?"
"All I'm saying," said Janeway, "is that there are maximum security prisons, and then there are maximum security prisons."
"Yeah, well, we got out awfully easy, if this is a maximum security facility."
"Not if the prison is the entire pocket universe. If that's true, we haven't even found the front door."
Ivanova swore. "I knew I didn't like where this was going."
"At least we know what we're up against," said Janeway.
"Much good it'll do us." Ivanova settled in against Janeway again, as if to go back to sleep.
"My whole reason for being out here was to look for wormholes. If the one we came in through is the prison door, I've got more recorded data on it back in my shuttle than we could go through in a week."
"How much of it can you go through in forty-five minutes while under attack? Because that's what we'll get, if we're lucky."
"Enough. Especially if you have any navigational data from your incoming flight path. As long as the wormhole can be opened from both sides, I can get us out. Getting us back home is another matter."
Ivanova smiled. "I'd start by settling for out." She got up slowly and stretched out. "You ready to keep going?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
On the twelfth day, early in the morning, they passed the stream where they'd spent the first night. They walked quickly, resting frequently, so as not to over-tire or be taken by surprise as they neared the prison building.
"Can we get back in through that hatch?" asked Janeway.
"I think so. I saw the same opening mechanism on both sides. It won't be very quiet, but they won't be expecting us. And our ships are close."
"We'll have to get the hangar doors open."
"Yeah." Ivanova looked distant, as if concentrating.
Janeway looked up in surprise. "What, no brilliant plans involving miraculous escapes?"
"I'm working on it! Some take longer than others."
Janeway shook her head, amused.
They stayed under the forest cover near the building. "When we're in, you get to your shuttle," whispered Ivanova. "I'll get us out."
"But you'll need backup," said Janeway.
"You'll need time to get through that data. Once we're out, we shouldn't stick around."
Janeway nodded.
The hatch was stiff, and didn't open quietly. As soon as they were in, Ivanova swung around to cover Janeway's route back to her shuttle. Two mechanics were in the bay, and moved towards them at the sound of the door. Two shots stopped them, but attracted attention from the workers in the main hangar bay.
"Go, go!" said Ivanova, tensely. Janeway went. She kept low, and didn't attract attention, especially with the distraction of an Earthforce officer firing dangerously reckless shots, carefully (or so Janeway hoped) designed to avoid hitting anything capable of blowing the entire hangar into a large smoking crater. She turned on the shuttle systems, keeping the power at a minimum and waiting for Ivanova's signal. She could hear the sound of weapons fire from outside, and, just when she was considering heading back out to make sure Ivanova was all right, she got a voice signal through comms.
"Bring it up to full power, we're getting out of here," said Ivanova. "We won't have much of a window to do it."
"How are you getting the hangar doors open?" asked Janeway, keying data-processing routines into the main computer.
"Game of chicken."
Janeway sat straight up, looking at the shuttle's external monitor. "What?"
"Don't you have that on your Earth? You bear down on your opponent hard, and see who flinches first. Best played while drunk, but you can't have everything." Ivanova sounded almost amused.
"Yes, I know the game. You're not planning to ram the doors, are you? Neither of our ships has the mass to get through."
"No, no, of course not. I've rigged some explosives to a fuel cell. Either they open the doors, or they have a massive contained explosion on their hands."
Janeway rubbed her forehead tiredly. "You must be joking."
"Anyway, it leaves us with a very small window. We need to be out of here before the blast goes off. So be ready."
"You're not joking." Janeway took a deep breath, put herself together, and readied herself at the navigational controls. "All right. I'm ready." She sat there, wondering how long Ivanova's luck could possibly hold, when the hangar bay doors opened. Her shuttle cleared the doors moments after the Starfury, and moments before a burst of heat and debris spewed out of the hangar behind them.
The comm crackled. "Good, you made it," said Ivanova. "Beauty of this plan is that we've just made it harder for any interceptors to come after us. How's that data coming along?"
"Nearly there," said Janeway. "The computer's working on it."
"Make it fast. I said harder, not impossible. They'll be up here after us soon. I'll keep them away from you as long as possible."
The first few ships sent to intercept them came out in disorganized trickles, from here and there, no doubt simply whoever they could get into the air first and fastest, rather than the best-prepared and most-qualified pilots. There was no formation to speak of, no attack plan worth mentioning, and Ivanova picked them off as fast as they came.
Then they got their act together. A squadron of six, followed by a squadron of eight from a different part of the base. "Shit," muttered Ivanova. She took a position between them and Janeway's shuttle, maneuvering to draw their pincer formation out of alignment.
A blast from nearby rocked the Starfury. "What the hell was that?" Ivanova shouted. Bits of debris floated past, as five of the fourteen incoming blips fell off the screen, and the others moved into retreat.
The reply came through, a little staticky from the weapons interference. "Photon torpedo. Relax, Commander, that's our cavalry. You timed our hike long enough for them to get here, and they're here."
"Hey, my miraculous escape plans are pretty good!" said Ivanova.
"That they are," said Janeway, smile almost audible over the comm channel. "I'm sending you an exit trajectory now." She paused. "I think this is goodbye, Commander. Susan. Good luck."
Ivanova smiled to herself. "Goodbye, Kathryn." She put in the new course data, and headed for the horizon of the wormhole.
Before she cleared it, the comms device crackled again. "Hey, wait a minute," said Janeway. "What about our Minbari divorce? I don't want to be brought up on charges of spousal abandonment when I finally get back to Earth, you know."
"I'm not sure it's legally binding if you're not Minbari. I'll ask them when I get back, and send you the proper forms. In triplicate, knowing them."
Janeway laughed. "Good enough, Commander."
Janeway watched as the Starfury rocketed past the wormhole horizon and disappeared. Just as it did, a memory surfaced. "You want to sleep first?" she whisper into Ivanova's ear. Ivanova shook her head, and they huddled closer. The rain fell in large drops over the canopy of leaves, rustling and shaking them, falling to the muddy ground below. Her face was pressed into Ivanova's hair, and she smelled like ozone and rain and leaves. She was warm and solid, and their bodies fit together smoothly in that small space, curve against curve. When she finally fell asleep, Janeway held her, and when Janeway slept, Ivanova did the same. Janeway smiled, amused. "Almost a pity about the divorce," she said to herself. "We probably could have worked it out, in time. I don't think we had irreconcilable differences after all." She set in a course through the wormhole and back to Voyager.