THE EDGE OF THE FEDERATION

EPISODE 1: "THE DYING OF THE LIGHT"

Written By Alex Matthews

Based on 'Star Trek' 
created by Gene Roddenberry

"Do not go gentle into that good night
old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light"

~ Dylan Thomas

“Star Trek and all related marks, logos and characters are solely owned by CBS Studios Inc. 
This fan fiction is not endorsed by, sponsored by, nor affiliated with CBS, Paramount Pictures, or any other Star Trek franchise, and is a non-commercial fan-made film intended for recreational use. 
No commercial exhibition or distribution is permitted. No alleged independent rights will be asserted against CBS or Paramount Pictures.”

Copyright (c) 2019

Produced by Sojournerverse Productions

CAST

STARRING

Matt Damon as CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER APRIL
Rose Leslie as COMMANDER MAYA KENT 
Christina Chang as DR. PATRICIA SONG 
Ed Skrein as COMMANDER WARREN MACKENZIE
Gabriel-Kane Day-Lewis as LT. EDWARD HEMMINGWAY 
Jack Hunter as LT. TIMOTHY DI MARCO
Lesley-Ann Brandt as COMMANDER ANNIKA BARD  
Natalie Dormer as LT. COMMANDER SIRANNA 

GUEST STARRING

Gwendoline Christie as LT. FREIDA RASMUSSEN 
Lucy Lawless as REAR-ADMIRAL ELIZABETH HANNAH
Devan Chandler Long as SECURITY CHIEF HANK ANDERSON
TBA as ASSISTANT DIRECTOR VERAN LERAK
John Hoyt as CADET PHILLIP BOYCE

PROLOGUE

Through the darkened corridors of the underground habitat she had called home for the past several months, Siranna slowly made her way.
There is no pain, she told herself again, as a feeling akin to a white-hot lance penetrating her abdomen caused her to loss focus and stumble. As she pushed herself away from the bulkhead she had fallen against, she grimly but calmly noted the bloody hand-print she had left behind. 
She carried on with a stubborn determination born from years of dealing with Kohlinar Masters who had little patience for what they saw as an aberration of the normal development of a logical understanding of the universe. One foot in front of the other. There is no pain...
She stopped abruptly, as her keen hearing picked up an all-too-familiar sound of shuffling footsteps. I am not alone, she realized, doing her best to suppress a cold feeling of dread that ran through her veins. It was not successful, as the footsteps were accompanied by a low, menacing growl.
One of her pursuers had found her. 
She pushed herself forward, keeping in the forefront of her mind that she was only meters away from a safe haven. Every step burned through her, the pain from her wound becoming too much to ignore in her weakened state. 
She finally came to the control room access hatch. The door controls were blinking on and off. Main power was operating at only 13% of normal levels. Taking a moment to steady herself, she tapped her personal I.D. code into it - and muttered a curse in Old High Vulcan when she input two of the numbers in the wrong sequence. 
"Calm yourself," she muttered allowed, "Accept the pain. Move on from it. Clear your mind." 
Her mantras had a small effect, helping her to focus. She tapped the code in once again, allowing herself a relieved exhalation of breath as the door grudgingly opened part-way...  
...only to lift her hands in surrender as she saw what many humans called the 'business end' of a phase pistol aimed at her. The emitter was mere inches from her nose.
"I mean no harm," she quickly explained. Her eyes adjusted enough to let her see the room had two occupants. Both Zami Rigellians, she recognized them as technicians only recently sent to the outpost as part of a standard rotation. Both were very young-looking, and at the moment, terrified.
Slowly the female of the pair, the one holding the phase pistol, lowered the weapon, her grip on it trembling. As she did, Siranna saw that it was set on nearly maximum setting. 
She opened her mouth, a dry comment on her tongue about being thankful that the technician had not shot as soon as the door opened--
--but the words never came, as the girl's eyes widened in abject horror, bringing the weapon up again, finger on the trigger!
Siranna sensed the presence behind her more then she heard it, and spun around as fast as her bruised, injured frame would allow.
The last thing she saw before she hit the ground was a rage-filled glare and a savage snarl, as gnashing teeth went straight for her throat...

PART ONE

Space. The final frontier. The great unexplored vastness of existence stretched out in front of Christopher April's small view-port. A sight he could normally get lost in for hours at a time.
But right at the moment, all he wanted was a bigger ready room to pace in.
The small office just off the bridge of his current command, the U.S.S. Hannock, was a cramped affair. It only just about fitted a work area, with desktop monitor and a collection of family photos, alongside a medium-size conference area to conduct meetings with his senior staff and the situation table for tactical briefings. 
In fact, the Hannock, a Ganges-class escort, could be called 'cramped' as a whole. Comprised of four decks and somehow holding a crew of almost forty officers and crew, the ship was a scout, designed for short-term missions away from their home base of Starbase 12. The current assignment was a standard patrol run around the edges of the Rigel Sector, passing close to the eponymous Rigel system as the assignment came to an end. They were due back at Starbase 12 in a couple of days. Normally, returning back to base would be a welcome change of pace after a patrol run, but this time, April wished he had a bit longer. 
He had a decision to make, and he was no closer to reaching said decision then he had been when the Hannock had cast off and left Starbase 12 a month ago. 
April's eyes were drawn to one of the photos on his desk. It was of his precocious 8-year-old nephew, Robert, beaming at the camera with the guileless innocence of youth. 
April never considered himself a family man - his brother Desmond and wife Laura had a growing brood that would carry on the April name, and Christopher April had never been able to resist the siren song of the stars. But he was rapidly approaching his 50th birthday, and he couldn't help but feel his career (and his life in general) had perhaps hit a rut. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the right choices in his life up to now. Would he make the right choices now in regards to his future, and the offer he'd received from Starfleet Command?
[Kent to Captain April.] 
The voice of his trusted Executive Officer, Commander Maya Kent, pulled April out of his thoughts, forcing him to focus on the present, rather then the past or a possible future, "Go ahead, Maya?"
Kent's distinctive Scottish burr sounded tense, [Sir, could you join us on the bridge? We've got a bit of a situation out here.]
April frowned. Kent was more then capable. She had served as his XO for 2 years on his previous ship, the Bonaventure-class USS Lexington, before following him when he was transferred to the Hannock. It wasn't like her to need her hand holding. "On my way, Commander."

*             *             *

Maya Kent turned to look over her shoulder as Captain April stepped out from his ready room at the rear of the Hannock's bridge and moved to join her. She moved aside to allow him to stand behind the young, nervous lieutenant who manned the Communications station. 
"Is there a problem, Mr. Hemmingway?"
Edward Hemmingway, the Hannock's communications officer, shook his head in agitation, "I'm not sure, sir. I picked up some kind of very faint signal coming from the Rigel system, but I can't pinpoint the exact location."
"The content is scrambled six ways to Sunday," she explained as Hemmingway desperately fiddled and adjusted various dials and buttons on his intricately arrayed console. Wall-mounted screens displayed a dizzying array of signal data. 
"A distress call?" April inquired. A logical assumption, Kent agreed silently, but they had to be sure before they did anything. 
Hemmingway nodded, stabbing at controls with frustration, "I think so, but it sounds like the comm array was damaged or destroyed mid-transmission, and they only got out a very weak signal." He turned to address his two senior-most officers, "I'm trying to unscramble the signal's I.D. marker so we know where it came from, but I'm pretty sure it's of Federation origin. I doubt anyone else would realize it was anything more then galactic background noise."
Kent stepped over to her own station, taking her seat as she pulled up a system schematic on the forward viewscreen, "The system has three separate Starfleet installations. All on Rigel IV. There's the security forces training facility, as well as a small scientific station attached to it."
April nodded, "I did a stint at the training base myself as a midshipman. Tough place. What's the third?" 
"A cultural observation outpost," answered Lt. Freida Rasmussen, the science officer, "Minimally-manned, less then a dozen civilian anthropologists and maintenance technicians." 
The handsome young lieutenant, Tim Di Marco, manning the combined helm/navigation station in front of the command chair looked at Rasmussen quizzically "Studying what?"
"The so-called Hill People, a sub-culture that live near the Argus River. They've eschewed technology, continuing to embrace a more primitive lifestyle." Rasmussen didn't bother to hide her disdain as she explained. Kent did her best to keep her own face neutral and not show amusement at the science officer's low opinion of the Hill People's lifestyle.
Di Marco, on the other hand, grinned openly, "So, basically they're like the Amish?" 
Rasmussen wrinkled her nose further in displeasure, before she continued, "The outpost was a joint venture between the old United Earth Starfleet and the Governing Board of the United Rigel Worlds and Colonies. Now, it operates under Federation jurisdiction with a team jointly staffed by Federation and Trade Commission personnel."
Kent voiced the concern that quickly came to mind, "Does that mean we have a Prime Directive situation here?"
She was relieved when Rasmussen shook her head, "No, ma'am. The Hill People maintain regular contact with their neighbours and so aren't considered at risk of cultural contamination. The outpost now acts more as a deterrent for any groups who might wish to exploit the resources of the area."
April left Hemingway's side, and settled into his command chair, "Mr. Di Marco, bring us about and set a course for Rigel IV, warp 4." Off Di Marcos's curt nod, April looked in Kent's direction, "Have all hands prep for possible rescue operations. Ready the launch bay, just in case, too."
Kent nodded, getting to her tasks, as she heard April's next orders, "Mr. Hemmingway, send an update to Starbase 12, let Admiral Hannah know what's going on. Then, try and contact a representative of the Governing Board, let's do this by the book."
Kent studied her captain, her friend, for a long moment, and she couldn't help but notice that his thoughts seemed to be somewhere else. Yes, he was focused on the matter at hand, as any good captain would be, but she had worked with him long enough to know there was something definitely going on with him...

*             *             *

[This could get very difficult, Chris.] 
April managed to resist the almost-overriding temptation to roll his eyes at the image of Rear-Admiral Elizabeth Hannah currently on his ready room desk-top monitor. Showing a lack of patience at a superior officer was frowned on. 
Instead he cleared his throat, and simply raised an eyebrow like a Vulcan instructor he had at the Academy used to. "You don't say, Liz."
Hannah narrowed her ice-blue eyes at him before replying, [Look, I know Starfleet captains are given a lot of leeway out there, but I am reminding you that we need Rigel a lot more then it needs the Federation.] She pursed her lips in annoyance, [So don't piss anyone else off, okay?]
Anger bloomed in April's chest. He didn't need reminding of the fact that he wasn't exactly the most popular person in the halls of Starfleet Command at the moment. But Hannah's choice of wording confused him, so he fought down an angry retort and focused on that. "Why's Rigel so important?"
Hannah sighed, her image momentarily fizzing with static, a subtle reminder that Starbase 12 was only just in real-time communication range, thanks to subspace booster relays that doted the sector. [Command is currently dealing with ongoing negotiations with the Trade Commission. There are plans to expand and upgrade their shipyards, allow Starfleet ships to use it for themselves.] She paused for a moment, looking a little uncertain as to whether she wanted to continue, before she finally decided, [There's also hope that they'll allow us to construct an orbital starbase in the system as well.]
April whistled in awe, "Damn, Command is working fast." He grinned, despite himself, "But it will allow us to push even further beyond the edges of Federation space."
[Exactly,] agreed Hannah, smiling slightly herself, before becoming serious once again, [So, whatever the problem is on Rigel IV, take care of it without ruffling any feathers.]
April would never say he has a suspicious nature, but he could read between the lines well enough, especially with someone he could trounce at poker with his eyes closed, "Any feathers in particular, Admiral?"
[Starfleet Intelligence did a work-up of the Rigel system as part of Federation admittance,] Hannah explained, looking sheepish, [and well, it's brought to our attention that a criminal element is growing in power and influence within the Trade Commission.]
April scoffed, "Of course. But it wasn't enough to make the Council decide against membership."
[All I'm saying, Chris,] Hannah said, [is to be careful.] She shook her head, [I don't want you going into this blind, that's all.]
Grateful, April nodded. Liz Hannah was still relatively new to the Admiralty that she hadn't forgotten the tight-rope starship captains have to walk at times. She had been one of the few higher-ups that had stood by him when--
--he mentally shook himself. Now was not the time to go down that road. He had other things to worry about. 
[I'll leave you to it. But keep me in the loop. Starbase 12 out.] With a brief flash of a smile, Hannah vanished from the screen, replaced by the emblem of Starbase 12, before that too, blinked to an inactive screen. 

*             *             *

Freida Rasmussen worked her console with the elegance of a concert pianist, but the focus of a hawk. Pulling up and cycling through screen after screen of sensor data that she studied through a hooded viewer. Both April and Kent knew better then to interrupt her while she worked.
"Sensor readings are unreliable due to an electrical storm over the southern continent," The Danish blonde finally announced. She looked up, irate. "I'm having some difficulty getting clear readings."
"Do what you can to clear it up, Lieutenant." Leaving her to it, he and Kent moved over to Hemmingway's station. "You're sure it was the outpost that sent the distress call?"
"Positive, sir," Hemmingway replied, more confident since he was in his element now, no hint of earlier uncertainty, "The subspace carrier I.D. is unique. I'd also estimate that it was sent at least two days ago."
"What do we know about the outpost?" April queried. Kent handed him a PADD to read as she quickly outlined it, "It's a small facility that houses living quarters and labs, drawing power through geothermal converters." 
Rasmussen studied her screen further, "We may not be able to see it," she added, "but we do know where it is. We can just transport down inside."
April shook his head, not feeling enamored with that idea, "We have no idea what a landing party would encounter." He stood from his command chair, and moved towards the viewscreen, which currently displayed the seemingly peaceful view of Rigel IV. He abruptly looked over at Hemmingway, "Do you have any response from the Governing Board?"
The lieutenant replied with an annoyed shake of the head, fiddling with the transceiver that covered his ear, "They just keep bouncing our hail between different departments."
"We do have jurisdiction here, Captain," Kent offered, "We're within our rights to go down and have a look." April took note of the slight pause she made before continuing, "If Federation citizens are hurt, we have an obligation to do what we can."
April nodded, resolutely. Kent was right, and there was no time to dawdle any longer then he already had. He faced Kent, as she conferred with the relief officer manning her Tactical console, "Very well, Commander. As soon as we have a secure lock on it, you'll head on down."
"Ah, it appears it may not be as difficult as originally believed, sir," opined Rasmussen, looking up from her screen in victory. "I've pierced the interference and can now pick up the outpost as clear as day."
A sense of unease washed over April, but he knew what had to be done. "Maya, get down there. Take a minimal landing party. You, Chief Anderson, and Dr. Song."
Kent nodded, before heading into the starboard turbo-lift. As April returned to his command chair, he called to Hemmingway, "Amend our hail, Lieutenant, to let them know what we're doing. That might get them to pull their finger out."
As Hemmingway nodded and worked his console, April focused his gaze on the viewscreen, hoping that the placid view was accurate, and that he wasn't sending his officers into the proverbial lion's den...

*             *             *

On a purely analytical level, Kent knew that the transporter was a tried and tested method of getting from A to B in a short amount of time. 
But as she finally felt herself become free of the annular confinement beam, Kent allowed herself a shiver of anxiety, as well as a prayer to God that she was once again whole. 
The room that she and her landing party had materialized in was dark and smelled of death. That didn't bode well. With a flick of her finger, the light of her flashlight pierced through the darkness, but didn't offer much to see. Overhead lighting grids flickered and twitched, giving a little bit more illumination, just enough to make out the debris of broken wall fragments and overturned desks.
Then she saw the bodies.
She stayed still as Dr. Patricia Song, the Hannock's medical officer, removed her hand-held scanner from a pocket on her white medical smock, and bent down to examine the closest prone form. As she silently took what readings she could, the burly form of Security Chief Hank Anderson moved swiftly around to secure the room. 
Kent moved close to Song, guarding her back, just to be on the safe side. After a long moment, as she closed the scanner, she looked up at her, her eyes filled with regret. The expression on her face only confirmed what she knew she was about to say. 
"They're all dead."

PART TWO

Most people got into Starfleet in order to explore, to seek our new life, new civilizations. Blah, blah, blah, etc...
Not Warren Mackenzie. No, he got into Starfleet in order to fix things.
He had grown up in Utopia Colony on Mars, one of the domed colonies that were still prevalent, even as the 'red planet' was slowly but surely being terraformed. There, he'd honed his natural talents as an mechanic. He had either helped his parents with either the daily maintenance of atmospheric systems, or lent a hand with the various small shuttles or transports that used their family-run repair-yard. When he had slowly become bored with the repetitive nature of their work, his two moms took him to a trip to see the NX-01 at the Starfleet Museum. He vividly remembered his 9-year-old self looking at the huge, if outdated, Warp 5 engine and all he'd wanted to do was crawl in and understand how that thing of beauty worked! That night, they gave him his first ever starship technical manuals, and he hadn't been bored since. 
That said, he liked to remind himself of how he's started by assigning himself occasional duty on a repair team, to keep up on the maintenance any ship, no matter what it's size, will always need. Ships, shuttles, stations, he'd fixed them all at one time or another. 
The repairs he and Freida Rasmussen were currently trying to make definitely counted as one of his most stubborn jobs so far!
"Try it now!" he called out, as he gave the hyper-spanner a quick, sharp turn to the left, as the ODN relay he had been trying to align for the last 10 minutes finally slipped into its correct position.
He slowly wiggled himself out of the crawlspace access, with little thought to his dignity, and wondering just a little if Freida Rasmussen was enjoying the view of his shimmying ass. As he pulled his head free, breathing a sigh of relief on finally being clear, he grinned with no small amount of pride as the statuesque Danish woman input a command, the lights above coming on to full power.
"Control systems responding," she reported in that deadpan way of hers. "I am re-initializing primary systems." 
Her fingers flew over the bulky controls, another reminder that the outpost wasn't exactly up-to-spec, and why it had taken him far longer then Mackenzie would like to admit to fixing it.
He looked over to one of the displays that was now showing a readout of the outpost's power distribution, noting it was holding up okay under her commands, but still fritzy, "Might wanna keep an eye on it, I'm not sure the back-up generator's up for handling too much at once."
He absently wiped grease onto his pants leg, as he looked at another nearby set of screens, that slowly blinked to life to show three figures making their way through a partially collapsed section of corridor. As the lights powered up, he watched as Maya Kent, Chief Anderson and Dr. Song slowly made their way down, still looking for survivors, despite the Hannock's scans not revealing any life-signs. 
A sudden feeling of concern washed over Mackenzie for a brief moment, at the sight of Maya possibly walking into a dangerous situation. He pushed it down, reminding himself that not only was she a grown woman who could hand him his ass any time she wanted, but she had Anderson at her back. Still, his protective instincts for the Hannock's Executive Officer still came naturally, despite the fact that she had made a point of telling him to 'lay off' multiple times. 
Instead, he directed his attention on that small matter of just what the hell had happened at the outpost. He began by having the computer collate sensor records and security logs for the past few days. He knew both Anderson and Maya would want to study them in detail and at length. 
But given the state the attack had left both outpost and the staff, he wondered how any of them were going to feel with finding out the answers. 

*             *             *

Patricia Song had become a doctor for a very simple, if not entirely original idea - she wanted to help heal people. Her entire family was a legacy of medical practitioners, and worked at the job they loved, in a variety of disciplines.  But none had signed up with Starfleet, until her. She was proud to say that her daughter was a medical student at Starfleet Academy, while her nephew had enlisted as a nurse on Starbase 7. They all followed the call to do what they could for the sick and injured.
However, even with all the medical breakthroughs that the Federation had made, the poor souls around her were beyond her ability to help. 
Trying to ignore the bulky form of Security Chief Anderson looming behind her, Song held her scanner over the body of a young woman. Now that they had restored partial power to the outpost, the lights were no longer flickering, allowing her to see her fully. In life, she would have been very pretty. Now, that beauty was marred by a series of vicious slashes across her face. Her standard issue utility jumpsuit was ripped and torn, savaged by something. 
"No obvious traces of foreign matter in the wound," she noted out loud, knowing Anderson, who had studied forensics in his security training, was listening. "But I'll need to do a full autopsy to be completely sure."
"Can we handle this many on board the Hannock?" Kent's voice was calm and collected - she was a professional, and wasn't letting how much this grisly find had really got to her. 
Song looked over to where she was standing, her own scanner out and searching, ignoring the bodies and focusing on the damage to the outpost itself. She shook her head, "I'm afraid not, Commander. A couple of bodies, we could secure in one of the cargo bays, but this will require a larger ship to handle." She looked around, trying not to let the despair she felt at the sight of all this death overwhelm her, "We can at least move them into one of the outpost's cold storage areas for now, but that's only a temporary stop-gap."
Kent nodded brusquely, "I'll let the captain know." She took a long look at whatever her scanner was showing, her frown deepening, "Anderson, give me a hand, will you?"
"Sure, Commander," Anderson replied, hefting his phaser rifle over his shoulder by its strap, as he headed over. Song watched with curiosity as, between them, they managed to move a large piece of broken bulkhead that had fallen over a wall-mounted access terminal. Her curiosity only grew when they both recoiled in surprise, "What is it?"
Kent didn't reply, simply stepped back as she waved her over. Pushing herself up, knees creaking in protest and reminding her again that she was not as young as she once was, she joined them. She stared in open amazement, "Oh, my."
On the floor, partially buried under more debris, was a Zami Rigellian male. Basically Vulcanoid in physical appearance, the ear-tips delicately curved, but sporting a shaved head, and ornate tribal markings, possibly tattoos. Dressed in crude clothing that looked the definition of 'home-made', made with limited skill but still sturdy and durable. 
"Is that a Hill Person?" Kent asked, as Song lowered herself down again. She nodded as her scanner answered the first officer's question, "It appears so, yes."
The cause of death was clear - a large phaser wound on the upper torso had burned away most of the flesh and hinted at the chest cavity beneath it. What got Song's attention was how much blood they were covered in, even the teeth, bared in a macabre grin in death. 
Anderson, his rifle once again in hand, had moved away, peering around a corner into the corridor below, "There's several more down here, Commander."
"So, what?" Kent wondered, incredulous, "The Hill People attacked the outpost, somehow breaking through and killing everyone present?"
Song, feeling the question was mostly rhetorical, kept silent as she studied where the body had fallen. Next to the terminal was a door, some kind of maintenance bay, according to the decals. "Why is this door sealed?"
Kent shot the door a quick look, "It would have been sealed off when the base was compromised, most likely."
A sudden insight made Song reconfigure her scanner, as she ran it over the door. "Whatever it's made of is interfering with my scanner." She turned quickly to Kent, who looked at her in confusion, "Can you open it?"
Something in her tone must have made her realize that this was important. Without replying, she scanned the access pad next to the door, before tapping at the scanner controls. The red light on the door panel flashed green, and with a soft hiss of escaping air, opened wide--
--allowing a blonde woman to collapse into Kent's waiting arms. Her skin was pale, clammy to the touch, as Song's training kicked in and she examined her. She flinched under her touch, but she didn't let that stop her, as Kent gently lowered her down to the floor. She soon found a large laceration on her lower abdomen, that had been given only the most basic of first aid. Green blood oozed from the wound, dripping through the woman's fingers. 
As Kent pulled out her flashlight and peered into the bay, Song gently teased away the woman's long hair, to check for injury, noting the elongated tips to her ears. She also noted a ragged bite mark on her collarbone, that had just about broken through the skin, leaving traces of more blood. It was then that Song noticed the intricate IDIC tattoo on that covered the shaved portion of the woman's head. A brief check of her scanner confirmed - she was Vulcan.
"Oh my God," Kent breathed in apprehension, pulling Song's attention away from his patient, to see what had gotten that reaction from her. Inside the bay were two more technicians, judging by their uniforms. Uniforms which were torn and mangled badly, covered in blood, but their laboured, strained breathing meant they were still alive.
A quick scan confirmed what the smell had already told her, "It looks like they've been in here for several days. They're all suffering from severe dehydration and exhaustion, at least."
As she got to work, Song realized that however long they, and the blonde Vulcan woman, would remain alive remained to be seen...

*             *             *

Doing his best to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Chris April watched the large viewscreen situated at the rear of his ready room. On it was a live-feed from Sickbay, as Dr. Song and her team continued efforts to help their patients. 
Next to him stood Kent, just as engrossed as he was, as the British-Korean woman, assisted ably by her entire medical staff, did what they could for the lithe woman occupying the surgical bio-bed. 
"Who are they?" he finally asked, turning away from the viewscreen to look at Kent. 
"The two Zami," she replied, meaning the two patients who each lay on a recovery bio-bed, minor abrasions and wounds taken care of, but still unconscious, "are technicians assigned by the Trade Commission to keep the outpost up to specs."
"What about the Vulcan?" Kent used a PADD to bring up a Starfleet personnel record, reducing the live-feed to a small corner of the screen. The record showed a photo of the woman, much more presentable, with a typically icy-looking look. Oddly, she was blonde. Not a usual Vulcan hair color, although it was cut in a far more shorter and severe style compared to her currently longer tresses.
"Lt. Commander Siranna, currently on the inactive list after taking an extended leave of absence. Assigned as Chief Scientist for the observation outpost in a civilian capacity."
April whistled in awe at the list of science commendations the Vulcan woman has awarded to her, "Top of her class from the Vulcan Science Academy, defied expectations to instead accept a commission in Starfleet." 
He continued reading, his eyes following the on-screen text. What he saw next made his heart ache with a familiar pain for the woman lying on the surgical bed, "Her husband was killed on their wedding night in a shuttle accident in Vulcan's capital." He knew all too well how painful loosing a loved one could be, even more so in those kinds of circumstances. 
"Captain?" Hearing the curiosity in Kent's tone, he followed her gaze back to the live-feed, which she magnified to full size. On it, Dr. Song was moving away from Siranna's prone form, before facing the screen to address them, [We've managed to stabilize them, Captain, but I don't like what I'm seeing in their blood tests.]
On his inquiry as to what Song meant, the CMO gave a concerned shake of the head before elaborating, [Their physical injuries I've taken care of, but they've all fighting off some kind of viral infection. Not surprising given the state we found them in. It's not one I'm familiar with, but I want to study up on native Rigellian diseases.]
That was not a pleasant though. April had heard of a few ships in Starfleet that had stumbled across alien pathogens and not lived to tell of it. Song was quick to assuage his fears, [I don't believe it's contagious. The landing party each passed through a thorough decontamination sweep when we beamed back.] 
Her reassuring smile didn't reach her eyes. April could read people pretty well, and Song was no exception, "What else is bothering you, Patricia?" 
Song sighed, [The Vulcan woman. She's not just unconscious, she has fallen into a deep comatose state. I don't know enough about Vulcans to risk bringing her out of it. Not with her system weakened fighting this virus.]
That didn't sit well with April, even though he knew it could not be helped, "We have questions we need answered about what happened down there."
[Believe me, I want answers too, Chris,] Song reluctantly replied, one of the only people on board he let get away with calling by his first name, [but I daren't risk anything until I know for certain.]
"What about the technicians?" Kent inquired, "Maybe they can fill us in on what happened."
Song nodded, looking briefly over her shoulder at the two, both sleeping. None too peacefully, apparently, given the tossing and turning they were doing, [They're resting. I'd rather not wake them either, but they should be up to answering questions within a couple of hours. I'll keep you informed of any changes in their condition.]
"Thanks, Patricia," April deactivated the feed, turning to look at Kent, seeing she was just as unhappy as he was. They had a dozen Trade Commission and Federation civilians dead, not to mention the Hill People, but so far, no clues as to what had happened.
They needed answers, but April had no idea where they were going to get them from...

PART THREE

As Chris April sipped his coffee, he stared at the small screen on his desk. For the past several hours, he had been trying to write a preliminary report to transmit to Starbase 12. So far, all he had was a brief summary of what they had found at the observation post, but that was it. Neither the landing party on the surface or Patricia's tests in Sickbay had provided anything else. 
"Enter," he called out, as his ready room door chime beeped, looking up and grateful for the distraction as Maya walked in.
"Mac just sent up another requisition of parts to help out with repairs," she informed him. She handed him the PADD, which he dutifully signed off on. The sooner repairs were done, the sooner they'd a) get the outpost in working order again and b) maybe get some answers.
The intercom chirped for attention, [Bridge to April.]
He pressed the intercom circuit on the desk, "Go ahead, Mr. Hemmingway?"
The vindication in Hemmingway's voice was obvious, [Sir, I have finally gotten a response from Rigel V.]
"Good work, Lieutenant," offered April, glad to see they were finally getting somewhere, "Patch them through."
The screen lit up with the image of a sallow-skinned alien, whose hair was held back by a decorative band of beads, and elaborate facial markings. A Jelna exomale, if April was remembering his own exobiology Academy courses, [Captain April, I am Veran Lerak,] he introduced himself, easy smile at the ready, exuding charm to the point of overkill, [I am the Assistant Director of External Affairs.]
Great, April though with some distaste, a career politician. He kept his face schooled in a neutral mien, "It was good of you to respond personally, Assistant Director."
[Of course, Captain,] Lerak replied silkily, [I was shocked to hear about this attack on the cultural outpost.] He shook his head, hair-beads rattling audibly, [This is most out of place for the Hill People. Do you have any idea what happened?]
"Our investigation is in the very early stages, I'm afraid," he replied honestly, since they didn't exactly have any info to hold back as of yet. He cleared his throat pointedly, "As you are aware, the outpost is a joint operation between our people, which means--"
[Yes, yes, Captain, Starfleet has jurisdiction in this case, I am aware of that,] he interrupted smoothly, his smile not fading one bit, [but I do ask that I have a member of my staff to observe and assist in any way possible?]
April's jaw tightened, and he saw out of the corner of his eye the apprehensive look that Kent, out of view of Lerak, was shooting him. He hated the idea of having anyone looking over the shoulder of his crew as they did their jobs, but Hannah's words echoed in his head. Don't piss anyone else off. "That would be most welcome, Assistant Director."
Lerak's smile widened, and April barely resisted the near-overwhelming urge to grimace. He knew a shit-eating grin when he saw one, [I will be in touch.]
The screen darkened again, and April saw Kent mock-shudder. "That guy was oilier then an Orion merchant," she quipped. 
April grinned - she had a point - as she focused on matters at hand, "You do realize that he wants his 'observer' here to report that we can't handle an investigation like this by ourselves, right?"
April shrugged, "I'm open to suggestions, Maya, but we're not equipped to handle any full-on forensic examinations." 
He could have sworn he saw the figurative light-bulb turn on over Kent's head as her eyes widened with inspiration, "As it happens, I think I might have an idea..."

*             *             *

Taking a moment to wipe away the sweat that had fallen into her eyes, then push some errant hair out of the way, Annika Bard allowed herself a wicked smile at the expense of her fallen opponent as he struggled to find his footing.
"Much better, Cadet," she praised, as she offered her hand and helped him up, "You lasted a good 30 seconds longer."
Cadet 3rd Class Phillip Boyce gingerly wiped at the trickle of blood coming from his nose. He offered a wry smile, "Thank you, Commander."
Bard knew she was here to help these young officers-in-training to become skilled enough to hold their own in any kind of fist-fight they might encounter. But when it came down to it, she enjoyed knocking them on their asses. 
[Ops Suite to Bard] Her smile fading, Bard marched over to the intercom unit on the training room's wall, punching it hard, "This is Bard. You know I don't like sparring sessions being interrupted."
[Sorry, Commander,] came the nervous reply, [But there's a ship in orbit, the USS Hannock. A Commander Kent is on the line for you.]
"Maya Kent?" Well, this is a surprise, Bard thought, as the duty officer confirmed it. Maya was an old friend, a student from days gone by, but one she had maintained a long-time bond with, "Put her through."
She activated the monitor screen, waiting for the Ops Suite to patch the call through. She gratefully took both the towel and water bottle that Boyce offered, drinking the liquid greedily to slacken her thirst from the workout. Soon, the emblem of the Rigel IV Security Training Center was replaced with Kent's somber face, [Hey, Nikki.]
"Well, hello, mo ghràdh!" Bard was pleased when Kent cracked a smile at the flawless Scottish accent that Bard affected for her, before slipping back into her normal South African accent, "Long time, no see."
[Too long.] Kent's smile didn't last though, which left Bard wondering just why she was calling, "I was surprised to be told you were in orbit. I'm guessing this isn't a social call."
Kent nodded, [I wish I could say it was.] As succinctly as she could, Kent gave a quick run down of recent events. Bard felt her heart grown heavy, feeling a sense of shame. This heinous event has occured within spitting distance of her own base, but she had to be told about it by someone from a ship in orbit?! But she kept her stoic facade in check, a skill that came from her years of serving as a security officer. 
"Damn," she finally replied, "What can we do to help?"
[We're not equipped for anything like this, So, I was hoping I could count on you and your people to help out.] 
Bard didn't need any time to think about her answer. She wanted - no, she needed - to know just what hell had gone done on her own turf. She nodded resolutely, "I think we could be of some help. Our lab space is yours to use for as long as you need it. It's all top-of-the-line equipment, more then adequate to use as an investigative center."
[Thank you, Annika,] Kent breathed, [That will definitely be enough to assure whoever the Assistant Director sends.]
Bard allowed herself a coy smile, "Ah, not so fast," She took a little perverse pleasure in seeing Kent falter just a little, "Don't think I'm going to let you and yours squat in my house without a little something in it for me."

*             *             *

Standing with Chief Anderson just outside the observation outpost, Kent watched as a Class-B shuttlecraft came to a gentle and graceful landing a few meters away. A lot bigger then the shuttlepods that the Hannock carried in its tiny launch-bay, they could comfortably hold a large passenger or cargo complement.
That last benefit was evident when the side-hatch opened to allow an access-ramp to lower down, and let Annika Bard lead out her current class of trainees. numbering about a dozen.
"Class, fall in!" Bard barked, the cadets quickly moving into position as ordered, standing at parade rest in a row in front of the shuttle. Like Bard and Kent herself, they were all wearing standard-issue field jackets, but Academy-gray compared to the Federation-blue of officers. 
"Rigel IV Security Training Class of 2203 reporting for duty," Bard continued, snapping off a jaunty salute, to the amusement of Kent. Yeah, she thought to herself, she hasn't changed one bit.
"Glad to have you with us, Commander Bard," Kent replied, and truth be told, she was. It hadn't taken much to convince Captain April that having Bard on board was a needed bonus to their investigation. 
"Happy to be of help, Commander Kent," said Bard, a knowing little smile briefly on her lips before she focused on the serious matter at hand, "If you hadn't picked up the signal, we might not have known about what happened here before any trace evidence was lost."
Kent nodded in agreement, "Our science and medical teams are already at work scouring the outpost for any evidence they can find."
"You've got the basics done," replied Bard, as she took a moment to look around and survey the area, "but we shouldn't limit our investigation to just the base." She gestured at wide expanse of hills and grasslands the outpost was built under, "Whatever reason the Hill People had to launch this attack, it would have started out there."
"But the outpost is here for their protection. Why would they attack it?!" The query was voiced by a strawberry-blonde cadet. Kent suppressed another grin as Bard fixed a stony glare at him, a look that had been shot her way more then a few times during her time as a plebe when Bard had been her dorm supervisor. But she was also a little impressed that the cadet didn't even flinch under her icy gaze. She inquired as to his name.
"Boyce, ma'am. Phillip Boyce, Cadet 3rd Class." A sophomore? Normally, only juniors or seniors were sent for security and survival training. 
Bard must have seen her surprise, "Mr. Boyce is applying to Starfleet Medical School, so he needs practical experience. He's putting his pre-med to use as our EMT."
Nodding in understanding, Kent faced the young man, "You make a good point, Cadet. As for why, that will be one of the things we'll need to find out."
Bard stepped forward, cutting off any more questions that Boyce might be formulating with a wave of her hand, "No need for any theories right now. let's focus on looking for clues."
Kent handed Bard a PADD, "I've mapped out a search grid to follow, spanning ten square kilometers around the outpost." She watched as Bard quickly and efficiently organized the cadets to work alongside the security squad that Anderson had beamed down. Kent spoke again, raising her voice to make sure everyone heard her, "Remember to keep scanners set on maximum gain and to immediately fall back if you register the approach of any of the indigenous people." She paused for a moment, seeing the apprehension in many of their young (too young) faces, "This isn't a Prime Directive issue, per se, but more a question of security until we know exactly why they attacked the outpost."
They split into groups of two or three, then headed off in various directions. She exchanged a nod with Anderson before he lead off his own team. Soon, it was just herself, Bard and Boyce left.
"Come along, Mr. Boyce," Bard remarked, somewhat teasingly, "Time to dazzle me with what you've picked up so far."
Boyce nodded, apparently eager to show off, opening up his scanner to begin, heading off. As Kent and Bard fell in step next to each other to follow him, Bard leaned in and spoke, sotto voce, "I think we have a few things we need to catch up on, Maya. Don't we?"
Kent didn't need to look at Bard in the eye to see the intense scrutiny she was under - she could feel it. Unlike Boyce, she couldn't help but squirm...

*             *             *

"So, the Hannock, huh? That's gotta be an adjustment..?"
After a couple of hours of comparative silence, the music-like trills of their scanners echoing across the wide plains they were walking across, Kent was caught a little off-guard by Bard's rather leading question. 
Stopping in her tracks, Kent gave Bard a look, resigned to what was coming, "Don't beat around the bush, Annika. It doesn't suit you."
Bard gave her an amused smile, before nodding, "Okay, that's fair enough." The smile faded, "What happened, Maya?"
Kent remained silent, as Bard shook her head, "I mean, the last I heard, you were X.O. on the Lexington."
She shrugged, "And now I'm not. That's the career. We go were we're told to."
Bard wasn't convinced, "From a Bonaventure-class ship of the line to a 40-year old frigate?" 
Kent couldn't hold her tongue any longer, "Hey, the Hannock is a good ship, don't even think about dissing her!" Truth be told, while it had been an adjustment, she had come to value the intimacy the tight quarters instilled between the officers and crew. Kinda like the old-days of early human exploration in their ships that could barely reach Warp 5. 
Bard threw her hands up in surrender, her grin returning, "Hey, I've done my fair share of scout duty, I know what it can be like, that's not my issue." She slowly lowered her hands down, "I gotta say, I admire that kind of loyalty to your commanding officer."
"Captain April is one of the best," Kent replied proudly, meaning every word, "I've learned a hell of a lot from him."
Bard nodded, "I read his service record before heading over here with my kids." Maya smiled at that, Bard's tough act giving way to reveal genuine care for her cadets, "If I was in his position, I gotta say, I would have done the same."
Kent shook her head, not wanting to think back on it, with everything going on. She didn't like the idea of 'gossiping' about her friend and captain, either, "What's done is done. I made a decision to back my commanding officer up, and I do no regret it." 
"You were always one to live up to your convictions, Maya," Bard commented, "I always admired that about you."
Kent accepted the compliment with a slight nod, just as her communicator beeped for attention. She retrieved it from her field jacket's breast pocket, flipping it open, "Kent here."
[Commander, this is Rasmussen,] came the voice of the Danish scientist, [We've discovered an encampment site of the Hill People, a few klicks north of the outpost.] 
There was something in Rasmussen's voice that didn't sound right. Kent had a feeling she was holding something back, so called her on it. Now was not the time for keeping secrets, [Ma'am, I think it best if you see it for yourself. It-- it's pretty bad.] 
Kent felt her blood run cold, like ice water flooding in her veins, In the time she had come to know Freida Rasmussen, she knew her to be taciturn and understated. To her, 'pretty bad' was akin to some other person saying 'horrific' or 'gruesome'.
"Understood, Lieutenant," she finally replied, as she looked at Bard, seeing how disturbed she was too, with Rasmussen's report. Kent pressed a control and adjusted a dial on her communicator, opening a channel, "Kent to Hannock. Three to transport to Lt. Rasmussen's position."
She barely heard the transporter chief's acknowledgment, as she braced herself, the familiar tingle of transport washing over her, her mind raced ahead to wonder what was awaiting her, a growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach...

...and after a few seconds, she found the feeling more then justified. 
It was a bloodbath. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Some were intact, others not so fortunate. Men, women, children, no one had been spared. Even the rudimentary structures that served as their homes had been torn down or ripped apart with unyielding fury.
As she looked around what was once a thriving community of indigenous people, Kent felt her stomach roil. She swallowed several times, fighting the rising bile in her throat. As she managed to look away, she found Freida standing nearby. Her scanner was out and taking readings, but she only had eyes for the devastation around her. Looking around mutely, pale from shock at what she had stumbled across. 
What the hell had happened here?

TO BE CONTINUED...