The comlink ended. Exhaling a little, I leaned back before rubbing my eyes on the back of my hand. It came away dry and I shrugged to no one in particular.

‘That’s done.’ I sighed.

I could feel the rumble through the chair, tapping its way up my legs, along my spine. My forehead tightened, both eyes focusing on the console. One tap. Two taps. Three taps. There it was - the inertial dampers were out of alignment again. I worked quickly, forcing the controls to do as I wished. Beside me, in the passenger seat, was a soft bag full of shining bars of latinum. It was a little lighter than I’d like it, and it seemed to wave goodbye to me. Another starbase, another search for spare parts.

The Badlands were still more than a day away, with plenty of time to turn back. Tap. Tap. Tap. ‘I know,’ I muttered. ‘I know.’

The proximity alarm began to pulse, gently informing me of a coming headache. Turning my attention from one control to another, I saw the tell-tale forked emblem of the Cardies. One ship, small, but fast. I glanced at the bag again and sighed.

The pulse grew brighter and the comm started to chirp. I steeled myself, squaring my shoulders and adopting a face that would sour milk. In one move, I hit two buttons, and then the face of a plaid-looking Cardassian blossomed in front of me.

In the moment it took them to register my appearance, I felt a twinge of guilt. Their eyes went from the glaze of a desk-jockey to the fear of one confronted with an angry rattlesnake. They stumbled over their words as they tried to speak.

‘Unidentified Klingon,’ the Glinn stammered, ‘You are in Cardassian patrolled territory. State your business.’

‘My business is my own, and the business of Gowron, of the High Council,’ I barked. ‘You presume to deter me from my task?’

The reptilian face grew, if possible, even paler. ‘This is our territory, Klingon,’ he began, but I cut him off.

‘This is territory annexed by the Klingon Empire, as is our right. State your name and location.’

The Cardassian’s eyes widened in fear, darting around the room. I could hear muttering on the other side of the panel. ‘Oh no,’ the man muttered. ‘The link is faulty.’ The screen went dark in an instant. I leaned back in my chair.

It was expensive, and seemingly programmed by a first-year cadet, but the holo-filter had come through once again. I knew that that short exchange would mean I would be spending the next few hours tinkering with the imaging system if indeed those damn dampers would play ball. I shook my head, keeping one eye on the proximity sensor that showed the Hideki-class vessel moving off in the other direction as fast as their nacelles could take them.

Everything buzzed, ready for my next frustration, but I took a moment to punch up the memory banks. Scrolling to the end of a short list, I found ‘48315.5’ and hit play. It was a short burst from a holo-imager, following my father’s back as he made his way towards one of the gear-shaped airlocks.

‘Dad!’ recording-Davey laughed, before Alexander Honigsburg turned back to him, smiling and rolling his eyes. He stopped and pulled his son into a side hug while he swung the imager around, capturing them both in the frame. They shared the same nose, the same curve of the jaw, though Alexander had a little more hair on his round head. The recording froze in place, holding that moment alive in my eyes once more. I took a minute, ignoring the shaking of my chair.

Hours passed. The old ship shook, but held together, a marvel for the amount I paid for it. My eyes had begun to glaze, even as I poured over the latest reports about tetryon phenomena. It took a full paragraph to realise this was an extract from a Bajoran report I’d read over a year ago, reshuffled and reshared to look new. I only just about kept myself from flinging the PADD across the small cockpit. Instead, I tossed it into the bag, checked to make sure the autopilot was still targeting the Badlands and stood.

There was just enough space that I didn’t have to stoop, but this was far from a Federation design. The big-eared grinning alien who rented the ship to him didn’t seem all too keen on discussing engineering updates - or a list of previous pilots, either.

I was struggling on this trip. I’d barely slept since the gathering, nervous to give over control to the autopilot for too long. I could handle a crisis - it was waking up in the middle of a Klingon armada that worried me.

But I’d been fortunate so far - no Klingons had passed in my way, while the Cardys had been mostly fooled by the filter. I wasn’t entirely sure about one little ship, but I had given the engines a bit of a harder push and I wasn’t pursued. The further I got into this region, the closer I knew I was getting to Deep Space Nine. Nothing was stopping me from docking, but I hadn’t been back since that first gathering the year after Voyager disappeared.

Three years. Three years of sensor ghosts, of counselling sessions, of continually being let down by those around me. Three years of being the only person who cared if Alexander Honigsburg was dead or alive. The other families were nice enough but too many of them accepted Starfleet’s finding a year earlier, listing Voyager as ‘lost.’ For me, I’d want someone to care enough to keep looking.

I found that person in T’Pel. The wife of Voyager’s tactical officer. She was the last one who really seemed to care, which was strange enough from a Vulcan. She knew that her husband was still alive in the same way that I knew my father was alive. Alexander was too good of an engineer, too clever of a tradesman, not to keep Voyager flying, wherever it ended up. And ended up was the key - that, I was nearly certain, was the truth.

Tetryons were the key to the key. I knew that they could help move mountains, so why not starships? They’d never collected any significant debris from Voyager - a little, sure, but hardly enough to build a shuttle, let alone come from a ruptured warp core. The currents may drag small objects through the Badlands, but entire ships? Not a chance.

T’Pel believed me. T’Pel didn’t pander to me. She did notice how thin I’d become and had even commented on my now bushy beard, but she didn’t try to act like my mother. She merely made the observation - one we both could see as clear as day - and asked how my search was progressing. She offered some of her own research, though I had already come to the same conclusions several months earlier. I didn’t mind, because she was doing something.

I had almost lost my temper with Mark at the last gathering. He was solemn as though it were a funeral, and wandered around like a widower. I had just done my best to ignore him, though that made me angry on Voyager’s Captain’s behalf. No body, no death - I repeated this every morning and every night like a mantra. Mark obviously didn’t. Mark seemed ready to move on. I had had one-night stands that cared more than Mark cared about Kathryn.

Leaning my forehead against an upright bulkhead, I punched my command into the replicator and waited for my raktajino to appear. This was, what? The fourth one in two hours? Was it really the ship that was shaking, or was it my body? Did it matter? I tapped the console to check, just to be sure. Once an Engineer... Even if I wasn’t in that club anymore either.

I sipped, then spit a little back into the mug. Too hot, too sweet. I gave it a second then sipped again. Same result, but what’s a little pain to make you feel alive? I oscillated between dead and alive these days, determined though I was to stay alive for my dad. The Klingon coffee may still be the best thing the brutes had brought to the Alpha Quadrant, but I needed it all the same.

Days of searching, or was it weeks? Was I losing track of time?

The sensors flashed up front and I turned, surprised to see the great, explosive clouds of the Badlands directly ahead. The ship had dropped out of warp, hours earlier than I expected. What was happening? I checked the ship’s chronometer and - no, it was correct. I was losing time again.

At full impulse, the little ship shot forward towards the storms. I quickly dropped back into my seat, sitting the coffee on the little platform next to me. Tap. Tap. Tap. Coming in too fast. Was it the dampers or my own body? That rumble through the hull wasn’t my body. Then the coffee cup was knocked free of its platform and fell into my lap - that wasn’t my body shaking. The sudden shock through my skin, sizzling as the liquid bit through my clothes - it consumed me.

I took my eyes away from the panels, trying to wipe the coffee away, but it burned through, searing my flesh, though in the moment I felt alive - in the moment.

The ship hadn’t decelerated quickly enough, or the storms were reaching further out than they ever had before. I looked up in time to see a tendril of plasma energy splayed across my path, twisting to grab me like the hand of a giant, space-borne monster. I reached for the console knowing there wasn’t enough time to get out of the way. Instead, I gripped the seat as hard as I could, bracing for the impact.

It was sudden and it was brutal. Sparks and charred pieces of hull dropped onto my head as the violent storm tossed me like a house in a storybook. Around and around I went, latinum and PADDs and coffee cups clipping my face, my head, my body. Everything found purchase. Everything screamed at me - or was that my own voice?

The computer flashed red while its voice was crying out. I couldn’t hear the words but as long as it wasn’t...

Warp Core Breach, imminent.

I tapped the console - it still worked - and felt my body disassembling, as everything shimmered in front of my eyes. In a moment, everything was solid again. The small glass frame in front of me was dark, though hints of sparked light threatened to ignite.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I felt the force of the escape pod’s departure, flinging me backwards, away from my little rented ship. My eyes narrowed with the sudden glare of the storms, though they were interspersed with little dark objects. I knew without scanning it was the remains of the ship I had just left.

My chest heaved. Which way would the storms take me? Would I be pulled further inside the Badlands? For one moment, I imagined being buffeted along until I appeared directly in front of the ship, its crew, my father - I could see it. And then, once again, the proximity sensor went off. I glanced around. The escape pod was designed to send an automatic distress call on launch, though I hadn’t consciously chosen to do anything about it. Something was coming closer - a small ship.

My stomach was churning as the tides of the storms moved me along and - out. Though the escape pod seemed stronger than the ship to which I belonged, I couldn’t help but feel the centrifugal force as I was twisted through space. It was black now, save for the lights inside my tiny space. Distant stars zipped along in the giant nickelodeon surrounding me, broken only slightly by the approaching darker shape. I spun.

There it was. Gone. There it was. Gone. There - a small cargo ship? Maybe a Starfleet shuttle? But no - it was the wrong shape - I breathed out as, once again, my world dissolved into a haze of blue shimmering light. A moment later, I was standing on the transporter pad of a Maquis Raider, with three disrupter pistols pointed directly at me.

‘How many times, Honigsburg,’ came the familiar voice of Amaros. ‘How many times are we going to have to save your ass?’

Was the pad still spinning? Was I? Was the ship? I took a moment to breathe, holding myself up against the bulkhead. Looking forward, I saw weapons being lowered as Amaros stood, walking towards me. He gripped my shoulder, before turning to his pilot.

‘Set course for the closest uninhabited moon to a Federation ship - fast as you can.’

Without waiting for an answer, he steered me into the back of the ship, passing several more scowling faces, some of whom I knew, some of whom were new to me. I said nothing. I didn’t even fight the man moving me.

‘They’re gone,’ Amaros barked, framed in the door of the small cell.

‘Honigsburg, they’re gone. We can’t keep saving you.’

‘Didn’t ask,’ my unfinished reply was gruff and cut short.

‘You’re looking for your Dad, I understand.’ Amaros’ tone didn’t soften. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a war out there. If the Cardies don’t get you, do you think the Klingons will hold fire long enough to talk?’ I said nothing.

‘You’re no good to anyone dead. You know this.’

‘I just need a better ship,’ I replied, looking up now into the man’s face. There was no give there.

‘Maybe, but you’ll need one a lot bigger, and a lot faster, to navigate the storms.’ Amaros swallowed. ‘An Intrepid class couldn’t handle it. What chance does a courier vessel have?’

My knees cracked as I stood up quickly, but Amaros didn’t move. ‘They’re out there, Am. They’re out there, and no one is looking!’

‘Honigsburg, even I know that people are looking, and I have enough to deal with here.’ he took a step back. ‘I’m dropping you off, then I’ll signal someone to come get you. But that’s it. We were nearby, and I’m glad we were because you’d be dead otherwise. Keep going this way, and you’ll be dead regardless.’ He took a breath. ‘What use are you to your Dad if you get yourself killed while looking for him?’

I had no reply.

‘I’m locking you in here. You weren’t part of our day. Davey, you need to think about your life. Don’t spend what’s left of it chasing ghosts.’

Amaros moved away and the door slid shut behind him. I heard the click cut through my thunderous mood. I sat again, unable to do anything else but think. For twenty minutes, my heart pounded in my ears while I cursed Amaros, the Badlands, the Cardies, and everyone between Earth and Bajor. A few minutes passed and I began to mourn my little, expensive shuttle. How was I going to cover that expense? More time passed and, as my hands unfurled from fists, I thought about T’Pel.

‘It is not logical to abandon one’s own life in the pursuit of another’s,’ she had told me at the last gathering. ‘Your father will be found, either by you, or others. Should there not be a son waiting for him when he returns?’

If I only knew, one way or the other. Lost - lost meant nothing. I had toys that had been lost for years, only to turn up behind a console.

Lost means alive. Lost somewhere in the galaxy, unable to reach anyone, but alive. I forced my breathing to return to normal.

I sat in that chair for another three hours, until Amaros signalled me to prepare for transport. A nice, warm little planet was waiting. They’d sent a distress call - it had been picked up by Deep Space Nine. In the meantime, I was being sent down to the planet with a beacon and a bag of rations.

‘Don’t be the kid that gets himself killed,’ Amaros shot. ‘Focus. Build something. Work with Starfleet.’

I gave him an incredulous look at this statement. Amaros’s face darkened.

‘You haven’t seen your family killed. Your Dad might still be alive. Bring him home, rather than avenge a man who may not need avenging.’

For the third time that day, the world became a blue, shimmering field, before I blinked and found myself standing on a small beach, in warm weather, with waves gently lapping the shore. I knew I couldn’t see the Raider as I looked skyward, but I imagined them going off on their mission, fighting those who seemed determined to destroy them.

I slipped off my shoes, letting the sand roll over my toes, before looking into a little pool of sea water.

‘Dad,’

I said out loud.

That was all. I didn’t say another word that day, at least until the Runabout came to pick me up. I did think. I thought about my father, about my mother, dead five years now but always smiling. I thought about the other families, the ones who wanted to help, and the ones who wanted to move on. As I sat there, I could, for a moment, understand that desire. Did everyone’s life suddenly stop on the day Voyager went missing?

I picked up a stone, tossed it into the surf, and in that moment, before beaming away, I thought:

I’ll never give up, Dad. I’ll find you.