Ren Carstairs put the final touches on her new holodeck program.

The weekly poker games between some of the officers had become legendary for their competition not only with the cards, but also with creating the most original setting for hosting the game. They had played in such varied settings as a Mississippi river boat, to a canvass bivwack in 20th century Korea, Earth, during a war. The weekly winner not only walked away with the velvet, but also with the honor of hosting the next game. This week it was Ren's turn, and she wanted it to be extra special. It would be the last game for a while since Mira Montgomery and Simon McRaney would soon be too tied up in wedding plans to be playing poker.

"Computer, save program 'Court-skin'. Initiate program use at 18:00 hours." she ordered. She smiled at her own play on words in naming the program Court-skin. It was a slang term for a face card, but fit so perfectly the setting she had provided. The others would appreciate the detail she had included as the program changed with each round of play; starting in the exotic halls of one of the ancient Pharaohs's of Egypt, then the glittering court of King Louis IV, then on to Queen Ferris' palace on Calerri Prime, and on and on. Each royal setting would out do the last until the game was finished and a winner earned the chance to host the next game.

She was done with the preparations just in time, now it was time to go "ashore" to the station to wish Paul Daniels farewell, since the Endeavour was docked for personnel transfers and brief shore leave. It would also be a good opportunity to seek a private legal council to advise her on the divorce her soon-to-be ex-husband had initiated.

*** The meeting with the legal advisor had taken longer than she had expected. Ren dodged past a beverage kiosk, and skirted a group of chattering Binars, speaking away in their artificial binary code. She barely paused to apologize when she bumped into a lumpy looking humanoid form from a race she didn't recognize. She still had eighteen hours of leave left, but she was late for the big poker game. She looked at a chronometer as she passed a public display consul, "Late, shoot!" Ren gritted her teeth and picked up her pace as much as the crowds would allow. If she were much later, her friends would start the game without her, and she wanted to see the look on Cam and Mira's faces as the pillars of Pharoahs's palace formed around them and handsome Nubian servants took up positions to sweep cooling breezes over the players with ostrich feather fans.

She chose a deserted looking corridor and left the main public area. She had a pretty good idea of the layout of the station and knew she was in a corridor reserved for support crew and maintenance. It would take her to a turbo lift that was off limits to anyone not part of the station's personnel. But Ren had a way with security codes and computers. It was a skill she rarely used since her teen years in the Home had reformed her, but once in a while she found it handy. No one was around right now, and there was very little chance of anyone spotting her entering or leaving the lift on the docking ring. Besides, her security uniform would give her credibility. With the time she saved by taking this rout to her airlock, she be able to meet the others only slightly late and surprise them with her masterpiece.

Checking over her shoulder as a precaution, she removed the access panel beside the door to the lift. Seconds later she was smiling in anticipation as the turbo lift doors whooshed open in response to her tampering.Before she was even aware that there was someone already inside the lift, a fist shot out from between the parting doors and slammed into her face, connecting with a shattering blow! Her vision swirled with pain and color, and bile rose in her throat. A second blow across the back of her neck and shoulders stole any chance she had to react. The last thing she was aware of before darkness claimed her completely, was the stench of foul breath as her attacker bent and drug her into the lift.

A dank cargo-hold and the coppery taste of blood were the first clues that she was still alive. Though the throbbing pain in the back of her head made her doubt the benefit of this fact.

"God, security protocols on turbo lifts have sure changed since the last time I tampered with one." She carefully sat up, using her hand to support her bruised neck muscles. The pressure from the back of her head suddenly surged to the swollen sinus cavities of her nose, the pain nearly caused her to vomit.

"Quite an head-ache, I imagine," said a voice from an open hatch to her left. "I'm afraid the nose is badly broken, but you'll heal."

Ren sat tense, waiting for the speaker to move out of the doorway where he was silhouette, trying to see his face. "Who are you?"

"Cute," he said sarcastically, "as if you didn't know. You came looking for me, remember?"

"Sorry, I don't- must be the knock on the head. Care to refresh my memory?"

"Look!" He stepped into the hold and light washed across his angry face. His cloths were plain and made from ordinary, common fibers. Nothing there gave her a clue to his identity. "We don't have much time before the others come in here to interrogate you. Showing up in your security uniform was one hell of a mistake! I don't know what kind of a death wish you have, but I am not letting you blow my cover and get me killed along with you! You understand me?"

She didn't understand anything he was saying. Apparently he didn't like her uniform. She looked to see if her com badge was still attached. It was gone, so there was little chance of escaping this lunatic. And that part about interrogating her didn't sound good.

"Interrogate me?!"

"What did you expect? You show up at the rendezvous in Starfleet Security dress, without the goods, and you don't think they are going to have a few questions?" He gave her a look of contempt as if he thought she were a complete idiot.

The pain was beginning to recede and she was desperately trying to piece together his ravings. One thing was obvious; she was not who he believed her to be. She could try to convince him of that, but she just didn't have enough information to guess weather clearing up her identity would get her out of this mess, or put her in even more danger. Ren decided she had best try to bluff her way through for now.

"What are my chances with the others?" she asked calmly, trying to feel her way into a roll she wasn't sure of yet.

"Manil Ocks, the Bajoran fellow that hit you, he's the muscle. Don't even waste your time on him. Chris Corrin, he's the leader of this cell- and the most decent of the bunch- he's the important one to convince. But he listens to Ro Wella. She's the dangerous one; she's been at this resistance game a long time, and she can smell Feds."

The echo of footsteps on metal deck plates alerted them that someone approached. Suddenly Ren found herself being jerked roughly to her feet by the man in front of her, one arm twisted behind her back for leverage, and another hand viciously grabbing a fistful of her hair.

"Hey!" she yelped in pain.

"Shut up!" he hissed in her ear as he moved her towards the door of the cargo hold, "You're here 'cause of your own stupidity, you're gonna play it through." He shoved her through the cargo hatch just as the other man arrived. "She's awake, where do you want her?"

The new man was taller than any other Bajoran she had ever seen. There was a little blood on his clothes; her blood, she assumed. She guessed he must be the Ocks her informant had been telling her about. And ox was a fitting description. He filled the corridor with his bulk.

"Corrin and Ro are waiting in the forward cabin," the Bajoran gestured over his shoulder towards the front of the ship. "Can you manage her?" He looked eager to help 'subdue' her if she showed any signs of struggling.

Her informant didn't bother to answer the other man. He pushed her ahead of himself and past Ocks, still holding onto her hair. Ren decided she was in no position to protest her handling, but inside she swore she'd repay him for every tug he gave on the back of her head. Fear was giving way to anger.

The forward cabin turned out to be a spare room with a table, a few chairs, and a replicator. It looked like it was used as the ship's mess from the food stains and left trays littering the table. A human male in dark, plain clothing sat in a chair by the table, tipped back on its hind legs. A Bajoran woman stood stiffly near the far wall- as if she always kept something solid at her back. Someone used to combat, Ren guessed to herself. She stood before them, and the man from the hold who had escorted her here moved off to stand away from them all. Ocks took up a position between her and the door.

"So, what have you got to say for ourself?" the man in the chair asked non-nonchalantly, almost in a friendly tone of voice.

How she answered could save or cost her her life. Ren frantically fought to put the pieces of information she'd been given together. Apparently the maintenance lift had been a rendezvous point at which these people had expected to meet someone with "the goods," whatever that could be. And the someone they were meeting was not supposed to be dressed in security gold. According to her informant in the hold, that had been her biggest mistake, wearing the uniform. It didn't take much to figure out that these people were up to something illegal, besides knocking unsuspecting Starfleet officers unconscious and taking them prisoner.

She looked around at each of the players. The man in the chair must be Corrin, the 'cell' leader. He was deceptively casual in his manner, but clearly in control. He held the aces and he knew it.

Ro Wella played close, her expression giving nothing away and her eyes missing nothing that might give her an advantage. She was sharp, calculating, and not one to be easily bluffed.

She sensed that her informant had been correct in his assessment when he told her that Ocks wasn't important. He had nothing personal at stake here. He just enjoyed his job of being a bully. But the mysterious man who had been there when she awoke- the one who thought she should know him, who spoke of keeping his "cover," and who seemed separate from these others in spite of appearances, he was the unknown quantity. She had a feeling he was cheating, that he knew what cards had been dealt to the others, and was playing by his own rules.

They all waited expectantly for her response. The play had come to her. "You mean the uniform?" she gestured to her dress, "Jeez, you could have given a girl a chance to explain before you knocked her senseless!" Ren played for time.

"So explain." Corrin pushed his chair upright and pinned her with a cool stare.

"Well," she forced her muscles to relax. If her body language gave away her fear, she would never convince them. "Nobody stops security and questions them. It gave me complete freedom on the station. I thought it was a good idea," she glanced over her shoulder at Ocks, "at the time." Ocks shrugged her glare off like a splash of water.

Corrin seemed to think over what she had said. "And the anti-microbial vaccines?"

She had no answer for that. The vaccines must have been "the goods" she was supposed to have met them with. "I..."

"Where did you leave them for safe keeping?" her informant broke in and asked before she could form a reply. Corrin glared him to silence, but the man ignored him. He kept eye contact with her trying to signal her which cards to play next.

"I...I put them in an access panel near the lift, in case someone were to come along before you arrived." she bluffed.

Ro Wella aimed an accusation at her like a drawn pistol, "The story stinks! She's lying!"

Ren pulled out every one of her acting tricks she had ever learned. It was time to up the anti and put the pressure back on the others, force their hands. She ignored Ocks standing ready to pummel her again, and dared to stride over to stand toe to toe with the other woman. "Look lady! I've been punched in the face, knocked cold, and brought here. I'm tired of this crap! You don't believe me, fine, deals off! You go your way and I go mine!" Their eyes stayed locked in a hostile contest of wills, neither backing down.

"I'm afraid it's not as easy as that." Corrin said, breaking the tension between them. "If you're lying, you won't be leaving." And no matter how light the tone, there was no mistaking the threat. "So, you're going to tell us exactly where you left the vaccines, and we will go back to the base to retrieve them. When we have the vaccines, then you can leave."

Ren looked over to the only person who appeared to be an ally here. He shrugged imperceptively, letting her know that she was on her own from here on out. He was no longer going to risk anything to help. Her bluff had been called.

"Right, then let's go back." Ren agreed. Outwardly she appeared confident. Inside she was desperately running out of ideas. "I'll take you to the hiding place."

Corrin rose from his seat, ready to play the hand to its conclusion. "Take her back to the hold until we get there." he instructed her informant, "Keep an eye on her. I'm not ready to trust her yet."

This time she was escorted back to the hold without the rough treatment as cover, since they were alone. "They will kill you, you know." he said tonelessly.

An exasperated sigh escaped her as she sat down on a standard cargo crate in the hold. "If I'm gonna be killed, you might at least tell me why! What is this all about?!" she demanded, sweeping the hair out of her face and glaring at him from two blackened eyes.

He looked back, his eyes giving away nothing, studying her expression carefully. Then a look of incredulity came over his face. "You really don't know, do you?!"

It took all of her self control not to stamp her foot in frustrated rage. "I want answers, now!"

"You're not my contact, are you?" as if her identity were only now in doubt to him, "No, of course not," he answered himself before she could reply, "This never would have happened if you were." He turned away and seemed to be thinking to himself.

Ren had had enough, fury surged through her! She lunged to her feet and swept his legs out from under him with a simple drop kick before he could react. Standing over him, fists on hips and eyes filled with acid ice, she demanded, "Start talking sense! I want to know what is going on, and you're gonna tell me, now!"

A smile spread across his face, disconcerting her with his unexpected reaction to her attack. "I wondered if you really belonged in that security uniform. Guess I know now." He saluted her as she allowed him to stand. "All right, I'll tell you what you need to know. You deserve that."

He gestured to the crate she had been sitting on. "Recognize that symbol?"

She hadn't noticed the strange, forked outline until he had pointed it out. She recognized it immediately. "Bajoran Freedom Fighters?"

"Used to be their symbol," he acknowledged, "Now it's Maquis." He waited for a reaction from her and when he got none he went on. "I'm Federation Intelligence, undercover. I got a message to set up a meeting so that I could pass along information to my contact about this cell. The vaccines were a cover for the exchange. The Maquis need medical supplies as much as they do weapons. Only Ocks came with me to the meet, and when he saw your uniform, he reacted before I could do anything. So that's how you got involved." he ended apologetically, spreading his hands in an ironic shrug. "I'd never seen my contact before. I assumed since you were there..."

"Wrong place, wrong time," she said humorlessly.

Ren had listened to the story and had realized that she really was on her own now. He couldn't risk exposing himself to attempt to save her. It would blow months of undercover work, and likely only succeed in getting them both killed. His mission had to come first for him.

"I'm sorry you're involved." he said.

"Not half as sorry as you're gonna be." Without warning Ren snap-kicked him in the solar plexus! He bent double unable to breath. "If we're both gonna live, I've got to make this look real." she said as she brought a chop to the back of his neck. He fell limply to the floor. For a moment he seemed to smile just before he lost consciousness.

Ren searched his clothes and found his phaser. She palmed the grip securely and moved to the hatch. There was no one else in sight set to guard her, so she turned into the corridor and headed in the opposite direction from the way she had been taken before, towards the rear of the ship. The ship felt small, and she had seen no other people on board thanthe four who had taken her prisoner. So it was reasonable to believe that it was a small vessel, crewed by four people and automatic systems. Since they had not passed an airlock when traveling fore of the cargo hold, she assumed it must be aft. She hoped that the intelligence agent wasn't discovered unconscious too soon.

Near the rear of the ship, just in front of the engines, she located the air lock. She was assuming a great deal in hoping that it was the only airlock. Her only chance was to wait near it and be ready to escape the moment they docked with the space station. If she were discovered before they docked, or if they used a different lock to attach to the station, she was dead.

"Lady Luck, don't fail me now." she whispered to herself.

She'd chosen a curve of the bulkhead to crouch behind. It wasn't great cover, but it would have to do. The air lock had a double cycle safety-lock, meaning she would have to be through the inner hatch and cycling the outer one before anyone realized she was gone and over rode the command. Seconds would make the difference. She had no time to waste once they arrived at the station and docked.

She was feeling cramped from her position when she felt a slight jolt through the hull of the ship. It was unmistakably a docking connection. At the same moment running steps heralded the discovery of her escape. She fired the phaser blindly around the corner as she leapt across to the air lock hatch. A glance over her shoulder gave her a glimpse of Ocks. He was trying to get a clear shot at her without exposing himself to her phaser. A feral grin stretched his mouth in concentration on the kill.

The hatch rolled aside and she dove into the lock, landing hard on her side and scrambling for the control pad. Ocks threw caution aside and dashed towards her. She caught him full in the chest with her next shot just as the door rolled shut and the outer door began to cycle. She smiled maliciously as she thought about the head ache he would have when he awoke. The outer hatch rolled open and she nearly fell into the station, earning startled glances from a couple of support crew in the docking ring as they glimpsed her swollen face and haggard appearance. Ren didn't pause, she raced for the nearest consul and called station security.

Alarms blared wildly! The support crew waved to her frantically. For a moment she wasn't sure what the alarms were signaling, then she recognized the decompression warning. The Maquis ship was separating from the docking connection by force! They were cutting their losses and making a run for it, hoping to escape before the station could lock on with a tractor beam. Depending on what kind of pilot they had, they just might succeed.

Ren and the support personnel made it behind the safety fields that snapped into place to seal the decompressed area just in time. A security team rushed up from behind them, unwilling to accept that their prey was escaping beyond their grasp.

Ren spent two hours briefing the head of station security on what had happened, then filing a report for Starfleet Intelligence, and finally having to retell the whole series of events for Commander Remmington and Captain Forrester. Finally she was sent to sickbay. By then it was the night shift on the Endeavour and Dr. Montgomery was no longer on duty. Another doctor tended to her, regenerating the cartilage in her nose so that it healed straight, and doing what he could to speed the healing of her bruises.

Just as she was being discharged, Mira Montgomery strode into sickbay looking very concerned. "They called me and said you had come in injured," she said, indicating her staff.

"Just a broken nose and some bruises. But I can honestly say that the other guy is gonna feel worse than I do." she smiled with satisfaction.

"You were in a fight?"

"Not exactly, nothing to be upset about. How was the game?" Ren tried to divert the doctor as they moved into the hall and headed toward her quarters.

Mira wasn't fooled, "What on earth happened? We were worried when you didn't show up- you never miss a poker game.

"I, um, ended up in another game. They wouldn't let me leave until I had played the hand I had been dealt." Ren hedged. For security reasons she had been ordered not to tell anyone else what had occurred. Starfleet hoped that their agent's cover was still intact.

The doctor gave her a searching glance. She was curious, but knew that Ren must have her reasons for putting her off. She decided to let the other woman off.

"How did you like the poker program I created?" Ren asked.

A laugh escaped Montgomery as she described the varied reactions of the group. "St. Jean was winning heavily, until the scene shifted to the harem of the Emperor of Orion. Suddenly he lost his ability to concentrate."

Ren joined in the laughter. "I thought that might put the odds in favor of us ladies." She grinned wickedly.

Mira wagged a finger at her, teasing, "Playing both ends of the cards against the middle?"

"Oh I wouldn't call it a brace game exactly, everything was square, but I was going to keep Lady Luck at my elbow. Who won?" she asked

"Cam won, and gloated as she raked it in past St. Jean's nose. You should have been there. It must have been the tensest play you have ever seen." Mira answered.

Ren let the doctor leave her her at her quarters. "You have no idea, Doc..." Ren said to herself with a chuckle as she fell into bed.