THE EDGE OF THE FEDERATION

EPISODE 6: "WHERE NO SUN SHINES, PART ONE"

Written By Alex Matthews

Based on 'Star Trek' 
created by Gene Roddenberry

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 fiction 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) 2021

Produced by Sojournerverse Productions

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 
Devan Chandler Long as SECURITY CHIEF HANK ANDERSON
Sanaa Latham as DR. OLIVIA KENDRICK
Jeffrey Dean Morgan as JACK BATESON
TBA as ASSISTANT DIRECTOR VERAN LERAK
John Hoyt as CADET PHILLIP BOYCE
TBA as ELDER ANAKI
and
Mark Lenard as SAREK

========================================================

Chris April detested hospitals. The smell. The stark lighting. The lingering despair and grief of those who had lost loved ones. He hated it all. 
During Melinda's final days, he had barely left her side. He had spent every waking moment keeping vigil, praying for some kind of miracle, of medical breakthrough, that might have saved her. But it had all been for naught. Since then, he did everything to avoid them, a habit that Dr. Song had patiently come to understand in her time as his Chief Medical Officer. 
Today was not one of those days. Today, he had joined Hank Anderson at standing vigil over the broken and bruised body of Freida Rasmussen. The science officer had sustained multiple fractures to her legs and damage to her spinal cord, as well as significant internal bleeding from being crushed by falling debris.
She had been rushed into emergency surgery several hour ago and was now in a private room, sleeping off the anaesthetic. It would take her some time to recover, but she was receiving the best treatment that New Jalyel Memorial Hospital had to offer. 
But as he looked at the Danish woman's frail form, all April could focus on was the desire to make someone pay for inflicting this harm on one of his crew. 
"It all happened out of nowhere," Anderson muttered, his arms crossed. He'd only sustained a handful of cuts and bruises from the initial explosion, but he'd stayed at Rasmussen's side since being released. His uniform was still streaked with dirt and blood. "The explosion knocked me across the room. I tried to help Freida but the rubble was too heavy, I couldn't shift it by myself."
"I spoke with Mr. Sarek, told him I was going to get help, but before I could, I heard the shots." He shook his head. It was clear to April the security chief was blaming himself, the hints of self-loathing in his face giving him away.
He did what he could to console him, "There was nothing you could do, Hank." He put a hand on the younger man's beefy shoulder, "The only people you should be angry with are the bastards that did this."
Although Anderson nodded at his captain's words, he seemed reluctant to believe otherwise. His gaze remained on Freida, who remained still and silent. The overhead bio-response monitors maintained a steady beeping of her heart-rate and breathing. The image sent a cold shiver down April's spine, reminding him far too much of Melinda's last hours.
"Chris?" The gentle voice of Olivia Kendrick brought April out of his dark thoughts. Seeing her was a pleasant surprise, but the look on her face made him realize that she was here on business, despite the use of his name. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you."
She stepped into the room, which was when April noticed the large data-slate she was holding, "Director Lerak has promised full disclosure on anything the local constabulary find in their investigation." Kendrick then offered him the slate, "I have the preliminary forensics report from the Consulate attack."
He offered a brief smile of thanks as he accepted the report, "Do they have any suspects?" Given who Sarek had been investigating, April already recognized there might be a few people who wanted the Vulcan out of the way. But then, why not just kill him? Why take him and Hemmingway? What was it they had to gain?
"Well..." Something in her tone made April look up from the data-slate. She looked like she was struggling to find the words. Conflicted, almost dubious. "According to Lerak's contacts in our Intelligence Directorate, they believe it might be the work of one of the anti-Federation groups."
April remembered the crowd in front of the Consulate he'd witnessed. But they had just been a group of rabble-rousers, of people needing to give voice to their fear and small-minded beliefs. A nuisance, they'd been called. "You can't be serious?" How the hell does a 'nuisance' get hold of that kind of fire power? And why the Hell haven't we heard anything about this before now if they're this dangerous and mobilized?!
He listened with growing incredulity as Kendrick continued, "They're looking into all of the groups, but the Directorate just released a report about recent intercepted chatter about weapons being bought." 
April could tell there was more she had to say, so he waited with what little patience he had left, "The forensic scans show that the weapons used in the attack were Mazarite disruptors."
Mazarites? What passed for a government in their system was little more then a mafia, pulling the strings of bureaucracy behind the scenes. Even the Vulcans had limited their diplomatic relations with them after the V'Lar Affair. But it wouldn't be a stretch to see them selling weapons to the highest bidder to cause some dissent within a newly-inducted Federation member. Especially one as prosperous and developed as the Rigel system. 
Kendrick shook her head, mouth curled in disgust, doubt obvious, "I mean, yes, some of their protests have gotten a little out of control, but they've never armed themselves like this before! Never made anything like an organized attack!"
April remained silent. He understood exactly why she had her doubts. When he had explained the investigation that Sarek and others at the Consulate had been undertaking, she had been shocked and dismayed. But she trusted in the process enough (and maybe in April himself, more then a little, he hoped) to accept that it was a very really possibility, especially with recent events on Rigel IV. 
What he hadn't told her yet was their suspicions about Lerak's involvement. Since they had no direct link to his involvement, beyond the collective general dislike of the man, it didn't seem prudent to point the finger at a man Kendrick considered a friend. 
Still, April was glad she shared his doubts. It would make things easier to have Kendrick on their side. Because something about all of this just was not sitting right with him. 
He could feel it in his gut. 

*             *             *

It was only once she was alone that Maya Kent allowed herself a moment to give into her worry.
While performing the unenviable task of informing the crew of what had happened on Rigel V, Kent had done what she could to appear unflappable. She understood that as their commanding officer, she needed to project strength and resolve. Grace under fire, as the phrase went.
But now, in the ready room after leaving the bridge in Tsougarakis's capable hands, she felt the delayed shock and anger hit her hard. Like a gut punch that knocked the breath right out of her. With only a complement of forty souls, the Hannock crew were as close as family. To have one of their own badly injured, while another was snatched away, their fate unknown... 
The intercom chirped for attention. Forcing herself to pull it together, she toggled the wall control, "Kent here. Go head."
[Sorry, Commander,] replied Tsougarakis. [There's a transmission from Captain April on Rigel V.]
"Patch it through." She closed the intercom and took a seat at the desk, activating the monitor, where the image of her captain blinked on after a moment. As they briefly exchanged pleasantries, Kent took stock of April, noticing how haunted and pale he looked. I doubt I look much better, she realized. 
The conversation moved onto other matters that needed addressing, "We've finished cleaning up the mess of the crashed ship. It's an old Malurian blockade runner, fitted with an even older Suliban cloak. We found viral containment modules in their cargo bay, which still had detectable traces of the Olieni Fever."
April's countenance grew more severe, [So, they're the ones who dumped it into the Argus River.]
"They were probably monitoring the area under cloak," she postulated. "Making sure the virus was doing it's job. But when the Zami crewmembers onboard went on a rampage, the friendly-fire brought the ship down."
[Did they mishandle the modules?] April queried, [Is that how some of their crew get infected?]
Kent allowed herself a grim smile. Normally, she was hesitant to speak ill of the dead, but these bastards were most likely responsible for dozens of deaths. "They were deliberately exposed. We found a smaller module covertly hooked into their water recycling system. A very concentrated formula, according to Patricia."
April grunted noncommittally, [Someone was trying to cover their tracks.]
"Maybe." Kent wasn't so sure of that. It would have been cleaner to set up an explosive with some kind of time-delay or remote detonator. "The ship was crewed by a band of privateers who claim they were only doing the job they were hired for. We found two survivors. They say they have no idea who actually is behind it all, but confirmed it was their ship that fired on the shuttlepod. Apparently, only because some of the crew being contaminated gave them itchy trigger fingers."
[It feels like this whole mess has been a case of 'wrong place, wrong time',] April groused. [Have you found anything more from the ship's computer?]
"We've copied their entire database, but it's taking some time to decrypt." If Edward was there, he could have done it easily. He just had a knack with computers, 'talking' to them in such a way that no system could hold its secrets from him for long. 
[Fine. Hand over securing the site to Commander Bard and her people for now. I want you and the Hannock to get to Rigel V with all due haste.] 
There was something in the way that April spoke that made the hairs on the back of Kent's neck stand up. A cold, hard undercurrent that was rather disconcerting, "Sir?"
April's face darkened, [I'm having a hard time believing that a group of xenophobic malcontents pulled this off. I've looked over intelligence briefs and none of them strike me as being in the same league as Terra Prime or the Vulcan Isolationist Movement. There are too many different things that don't add up here.]
Kent studied the face of her C.O. There was a determined, flinty resolve in his blue eyes, a fierceness that she remembered all too well. Something she hadn't seen since Landris III. She did her best to maintain her poker face, "Understood, sir. But regarding Commander Bard? She's requested to lend us her assistance. She has contacts with the Rigel V police force that could be beneficial."
[Tell her permission granted.] April's demeanour became grim. but determined. [I'm done playing by the rules now,] he announced. [Edward is one of ours, and Sarek was under own protection.] 
[We're going to get them both back.]

*             *             *

As another wave of negative emotions coursed through her, making it feel like her blood that ran through her veins was on fire and clouded her thinking, Siranna focused on one simple fact: that these 'feelings' were not truly her own. 
I am in control. I acknowledge these emotions exist within me, but they will NOT control me. 
Of course, the news that Dr. Song had delivered to her had been disturbing, adding a further distraction to her concentration. While in her healing trance, she had sensed Sarek's mind-touch, reaching in through the whirlwind of emotions she had been fighting against at the time. Siranna had naturally at first dismissed it as a simple memory of one of their many melds of years past. However, it appeared that she was in error. I did not honestly ever expect to see you again, ashayam.
As her grip on the edges of her bio-bed tightened, Siranna felt her nail digging furrows into whatever material it was constructed from. She forced her hands to relax, calling on the familiar inner center of calm that she had spent years developing, using techniques of her own devising. Methods that would never have been approved by her peers back on Vulcan, but ones she knew worked for her, time and time again. 
After a moment, Siranna felt the anger subside. The fire of rage diminishing as she pushed them deep, deep down into the furthest recesses of her psyche. The same place she had kept the grief for her dear husband Kirov before it had almost consumed her. Before she had learned other ways of dealing with the volatile emotions that were a Vulcan's birthright and curse. 
"Are you okay?" Song seemed genuinely concerned for her. 
She nodded stiffly, "I am as expected." Hearing the heat in her words, seeing Song flinch, Siranna mentally berated herself. Calm yourself. You are in control. "Apologies. The anger, it comes and goes."
Taking a soothing breath, she tried again. "I appreciate you informing me of current events, Doctor," she finally managed to reply, very aware of the scrutiny she was currently under. She allowed herself a moment of pleasure at the fact her voice now remained steady. "However, Sarek is a most adaptive and resourceful individual. He was raised by parents who were no stranger to dangerous situations, experiences which will supplement the training he would have received from the Diplomatic Corps."
Song nodded, somewhat absently. During her own Starfleet career, Siranna had learned to read the micro-expressions and subtle body-language cues of many different humanoid species, as part of her anthropological studies. She realized that the medical officer was concerned she had approached a subject of a seemingly personal and private nature. "If you are worried that discussing this subject is upsetting, Dr. Song, please do not concern yourself." 
Understanding the use of humour in these kinds of situations, Siranna made a feeble attempt at pulling on her restraints, "As you can see, I have more pressing issues."
Song offered a small smile of relief, "That's good. As a doctor, I always recommend doing what you can to keep your spirits up." Her smile took on a hint of mischief, "Of course, I wasn't aware Vulcans had a sense of humour."
Siranna deliberately arched her eyebrow in an exaggerated gesture, "Humour is not a logical concept." She then allowed the vaguest ghost of a smile, "But I am not like most Vulcans."
"I'll say," Song responded. "I've never seen a Vulcan with tattoos before."
Perhaps one day, I will tell you the story behind them, Siranna considered. If I survive this ailment. Not wishing to dwell on that matter, the Vulcan felt it would be best to change the subject. "What have the latests tests shown?"
Song's smile faded as she picked up a data-slate, reading it as she shook her head, "Physically, you and the two technicians are all responding well to the anti-viral sent over by the Trade Commission. It's taking care of the regular symptoms that come with Oleini Fever and stopping the virus in it's tracks." 
"I take it from your obvious disappointment," Siranna gently pushed, "that the anti-viral has has made no change on the effects of the brain?"
The human woman sighed in frustration, "None at all." 
On the wall screen, Song pulled up and then pointed to several images Siranna recognized as deep-level neurographic scans. "Neurochemically speaking, the brain of anyone who contracts this virus has been re-wired. Essentially robbing them of the ability to control their anger. Combining that with the excessive levels of neurochemicals that cause those kind of feelings, that person becomes a ticking time bomb."
When she looked back at her patient, her disdain was obvious, "But that's not the worst of it." The neurographic images were replaced with scans of viral DNA helixes. "I swear, if I find whoever did this, I'll make them sorry they ever even conceived such a hideous concept!"
Siranna, intrigued, couldn't help but scrutinize the images. Certain sections were highlighted where the different amino acids linked up, "Something about the structure of the virus has been bothering me since I first laid eyes on it."
After studying the screen for several moments, Siranna realized what the doctor was talking about, "You have ascertained that the virus is not a natural mutation, but the result of deliberate genetic engineering."
She felt a small degree of amusement at Song's startled reaction. "My specialty may be anthropology, but I am versed in the basics of various scientific disciplines, including genetics and comparative biology." Since her arms were still bound, she inclined her chin towards the screen, "I can see that foreign gene sequences have been added to the viral helix structure."
As Song confirmed it, Siranna understood what the next course of action would be, "This means that we will need to devise a specific means of treating the areas of the brain affected by those additional sequences."
"Exactly," Song agreed. "It's some kind of hormonal trigger, implanted into the Oleini Fever, using it as a delivery system. While the virus itself infects the copper-based blood of Zami Rigellians and Vulcans, the inserted material detaches itself and acts as a neurotropic, infiltrating and targeting the hypothalamus and amygdala."
"Which in turn, causes signficant alterations to those areas," Siranna realized. "Eventually, those changes reach a certain point, after which there is no turning back." She tried to remain emotionally detached from the scenario, but she was acutely aware that this fate could very well befall her. 
"Maybe..." Song seemed reluctant to voice her thoughts, until Siranna gave her some encouragement. "This is just a theory, and I'm no expert on Vulcanoid brain structure. But I think we can develop a way to chemically 'reset' the brain with medication. It used to be done on Earth a few hundred years ago, to help patients with mental health issues."
It was clear to Siranna that Song was not entirely convinced of the veracity of her idea, "You do not sound as certain as one would hope."
Song shook her head again, "It's just, given the way the affected brains have been changed, the dosage required would have to be considerable. Perhaps high enough to severely impede quality of life." 
Siranna considered the doctor's words. Her studies of Vulcan history as a child had mentioned similar practices back during the initial decades after the Sundering. When Vulcans had strived to live the lessons of Surak. That drugs would be the way to keep their emotions under control and allow logic to be their guide. But eventually, Vulcans had embraced the teachings of meditation and control, to quiet their volatile feelings naturally, not artificially. 
But now, as these emotions threatened to overwhelm her delicate control, Siranna wondered if that was to be her future. Would she dependant on chemical assistance to keep the anger and rage at bay, alongside her mental disciplines?
There was a human phrase she had heard during her earlier career in Starfleet. About how an individual could have a 'monkey on one's back'. At the time, it had very much confused her - why would anyone voluntarily carry around a non-sentient simian life-form? 
Now, she understood. These emotions, that were not even truly her own, may very well be a burden she will have to deal with, to live with, for the rest of her life...

*             *             *

Meditation had proved elusive. But given his current situation, that was not entirely unexpected.
The pain from what Sarek believed to be a mild concussion had subsided greatly, but there was still an ever-present dull throbbing. It had thrown off the Vulcan's attempt to find his center of inner calm, to allow himself to disengage from his cramped, foul-smelling surroundings. So, instead, he had chosen to determine what he could about where he and Lieutenant Hemmingway were being held.
Those observations were halted when he heard the first gentle moans of stirring as the young human, laying on the cold and dirty deck-plating next to him, came back to consciousness. Edward Hemmingway blinked blearily several times as he tried to take it in, "What happened?" 
Before Sarek could begin to articulate an answer, he saw the flash of vivid panic in the lieutenant's eyes, as he undoubtably began to remember. He scrambled into a seated position, "Where--?!"
"Easy, Lieutenant." Sarek hoped his gentle, relaxed tone would help calm the young man. If he did indeed give into his emotions, it would make Sarek's work all the more difficult if he had to aid the human in keeping it together. 
Hemmingway's breath came in short pants, his eyes wide with fear as he looked around in the dim light of the compartment they were sealed in. "The last thing I remember," he finally muttered, "we were in the Consulate. I was looking over discrepancies in data packets..."
Sarek nodded, "Yes. There was an explosion. Men in stealth armour abducted us." He went to confirm that it had only been the two of them taken, since falling debris had cut off access to Anderson and Rasmussen.
It was with a certain degree of carefully concealed surprise that Sarek noted how Hemmingway soon got a handle on his adrenaline-fuelled emotions. After a series of steadying breaths, he became noticeably calmer. "I suppose that's something," he responded. He winced in apparent name, hesitantly touching at some of the cuts to his face, "Any idea where we are?"
"Not specifically," Sarek admitted, "however, I have deduced we are no longer on Rigel V, due to a discernable difference in both gravity and temperature." Indeed, the compartment was cool enough that it was causing some measure of discomfort for the Vulcan, but he declined to share that for now. 
Hemmingway nodded anxiously, "Yeah, I can feel it to." He closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly taking in the ambient sounds and vibrations, "We're not on a ship, though. I can't hear any kind of engine noise."
Since the lieutenant had much more experience with recognizing that fact, Sarek took him at his word. He had already ascertained for himself that they were in some kind of storage compartment, now being used as a makeshift holding cell for them. The room was dimly illuminated by emergency lights overhead, and there was a single hatch, which was securely locked. Opening his eyes and letting out a resigned sigh, Hemmingway massaged the back of his neck, "How long have we been here?"
Sarek faltered for a moment, before replying honestly, "I am uncertain. It has been several hours since I awoke, but I do not know how long I was unconscious for."
"Which means we could be on the other side of the Rigel system by now, at best," the human reasoned aloud, "or at worst, in another star system altogether."
As the lieutenant spoke, Sarek found it oddly difficult to catch his breath. It felt like a weight was pressing down on his chest. This was odd, considering he was not restrained in any way. He could hear his breathing become more ragged with each intake of air. It garned some concern from Hemmingway, "Mr Sarek? Are you all right?"
He shook his head slowly, focusing on regaining normality in his breathing - and the turbulent emotions he realized were responsible for his lapse in physical control. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Curious. Most unpleasant. If he were to indulge in his strong emotions, he would also be rather embarrassed and ashamed by his display. 
It appeared Hemmingway understood what Sarek was experiencing. He offered what Sarek took to be a comforting smile, "We can trust in my crewmates, sir. If anyone can track us down, it will be them."
Offering a nod in reply, a most peculiar realization struck Sarek at that moment. He pondered it as Hemmingway got to his feet and began his own assessment of their current conditions. While the lieutenant had been unconscious, Sarek had earlier concluded he may need to provide emotional support to the young officer. A task he recognized he was ill-suited to, but would be left with little choice.
However, it seemed instead that the roles had been reversed. Perhaps I should not be so quick to rush to judgements in regards to humanity, after all.

*             *             *

Captain's Log, March 22nd, 2203: Thanks to the concentrated efforts of my crew, the files recovered from the crashed ship have been decrypted. They have led us to a class-D moon of Rigel IX, where some kind of facility has been covertly set up. We are engaging silent running on low-power mode to mask our approach for a polar orbit. 

"Report."
The massive gas giant that was the ninth planet of the Beta Rigel system filled the viewscreen. Vibrant bright swirls of colour danced in its atmosphere. It would normally be a sight to enjoy, but at the moment, Chris April's attention was entirely focused on the pock-marked, dirty-looking moon that the Hannock was carefully taking a position over. 
"We're in position, Captain." Despite objections from Dr Song, Timothy Di Marco had discharged himself from her care and insisted on being on board the Hannock. His official reason was that the ship would need its best pilot for possible close-combat and atmospheric manoeuvres, but April was very much aware that, while that was true, it was also a load of bull. 
That said, April couldn't fault the helmsman from wanting to be involved in tracking down and retrieving Hemmingway. "No signs of detection, or any other ships in orbit, either."
“How’s our patch into the satellites?” Thanks went out to Olivia for securing permission for the Hannock crew to access the collection of out-dated monitor drones that dotted the moon’s upper atmosphere. It meant they could remotely check the moon without resorting to active scans of their own and give themselves away. 
"Sensors are picking up several small habitations inside an environmental-support dome at the designated coordinates," Kent reported, as she stood over Lt. Tsougarakis at the tactical station. "Multiple life signs.” Something in the way both officers were frowning at the console worried April. “But we can’t seem to get any thing more clearer then that."
It was Chief Leroy at the science console that begrudgingly explained, “It’s the composition of the dome, Captain. It’s made from various alloys that protect it from the vicious dust storms that the surface experiences, but also prevent detailed scans.”
A nagging doubt pecked at April’s brain. “Are we absolutely sure this is where Sarek and Mr Hemmingway are being held?”
Leroy nodded only once. “Yes, sir.” The experienced non-com gave him a cocky smile, “I took the liberty of accessing the recent logs of the monitor drones. They confirm a ship matching the description and profile of the one that attacked the Consulate made planet fall only a few hours ago.”
That was good enough for April. “Nice work, Chief.” He looked back to Kent, "Will the make-up of the dome interfere with the transporter?"
The fire and determined resolve he saw in his first officer‘s gaze was answer enough, before she even spoke. “Targeting scanners are already locked on a suitable beam-down site, sir. Once inside, we can use hand-scanners to locate human and Vulcan bio-signs.” There was the briefest of pauses. “Connor and Sorenson already have their teams ready and waiting in the transporter bay.”
April met her gaze steadily. He and Kent had already discussed the plan of action. She knew what was expected of her and the team she was taking down. “At your discretion, X.O.”
Straightening up, the Scottish woman gave him a brief, stiff nod. “Aye, sir.” She swiftly turned on her heel, and headed for the port-side turbo lift.
“Captain.” Di Marco’s voice cut through the sudden hush that had fallen over the bridge in that moment. April looked to the helmsman, who was now standing from his chair. The angry burns he’d sustained had been partially treated by a tissue regenerator, but he’d left medical care before they’d been fully healed. “Request permission to join the tactical extraction team.”
April felt his eyebrows draw together in surprise.  “Permission denied, Lieutenant.” The reply was instinctive, but also sensible. He didn’t want Di Marco charging head first into danger
The handsome Italian-American met his level stare, “Sir, with Mr Anderson off-ship, we’re down a security chief. May I respectfully remind the captain that I have the second highest marksmanship rating next to his.” 
It irked April more then a little that Di Marco made a fair and logical point. He also knew the lieutenant’s claim wasn’t empty boasting; that he had served two stints in shipboard security division before as a junior officer before focusing on flight control full-time.
On seeing his commanding officer vacillating on a decision, Di Marco took a step forward, “Lieutenant Mishra is more then capable of keeping Hannock on station.” The young man’s eyes pleaded with him, “Sir, please. I need to do this.”
Tearing his own gaze from the helmsman, April looked to Kent. The X.O. said nothing. But she gave an almost imperceptible nod, the faintest hint of a proud smile on her lips. Finally, April looked back at the expectant, waiting Di Marco. 
“Bring our boy home, Tim.”

*             *             *

A bead of sweat trickled down Maya Kent’s back, while the phase-pistol she held in a white-knuckle grip thankfully began to cool down, now that the non-stop shooting was over. 
Their insertion had gone off without a hitch, but the element of surprise had not remained on their side for longer then two minutes. As soon as they encountered hostile forces within the facility, the exchange of energy weapons fire had begun  with alacrity. Kent worried for Team Two, concerned that they too might be encountering similar resistance on the other side of the domed base. 
But now, the shooting war was at an end. The still or twitching bodies of the hostiles lay on the deck plating, with Markham and Petty Officer Gemma Parker standing over them, weapons at the ready. Crewman Jerome Adamu made quick work of relieving them of their weapons, before checking them over with a hand scanner, confirming they were out for the count. 
They had fought hard and dirty, their weapons on settings that had left burns on the bulkheads, narrowly missing the Hannock crew. But thankfully, none of her people had been injured. Small mercies, I guess. 
Wiping perspiration from her brow, Kent pulled out her communicator with her free hand, flipping it open, “Team Two, status?”
[Hostile forces dealt with, Commander,] came back the reply from Petty Officer Melissa Connor, the Hannock’s assistant chief of security, who lead the second group. [The individual in charge decided to cut their losses and surrender.]
Allowing herself a wolfish smile at the assistant chief’s deserved pride, Kent acknowledged the report and closed the communicator back up.  As the adrenaline of the fight wore off, she couldn’t help but a sense of macabre amusement that, for the third time in as many days, she’d been involved in a running fire-fight. 
It made the blood pump faster, reminded her of the early days of her career, aspects of life in Starfleet that she‘d moved away from as she progressed in rank and station. Missions on the Lexington had never been like this. Sure, first-contacts and diplomatic meetings were nerve-wracking in their own way. But this..? This is seat-of-the-pants, heart-racing stuff. 
It kinda feels good to be doing this again.
“Commander..?” The faint tremor of concern in Tim Di Marco’s voice pulled Kent out of her momentary reverie. While the security team had dealt with restraining their prisoners, the helmsman had focused on his scanner, fine-tuning and making detailed sweeps for their quarry. 
Now, he looked up from his readings, pointing at part of the burned bulkhead in front of him. “Something in the material of this wall is blocking scans.”
Kent frowned. When they’d beamed in, they’d locked into this location because of the small group of life-signs nearby they’d registered. Team Two had chosen a likewise beam-in site. The thinking had been that those locations would be a central point of focus, like a control room or mess area. 
Their current position, however, was not any of those things. It was just a random corridor, in what seemed to be a large stretch of cargo modules, according to the Hannock’s scans. The group of hostiles they’d taken down had been crowded around an improvised table, seated on crates.
She remembered some of the old Boomer diaries she’d read as a kid. About how captains taking out their ships on less-then-legal cargo runs would have a secret area, a ‘smugglers hold’ installed to hide their booty. I wonder…
She ran her fingers over the edges of the bulkhead. Soon finding purchase on a small section, she pulled it free. Behind it, a small control panel lit up. Jackpot. 
Di Marco ran his scanner over it. It only took seconds for the device to interface and access the functions of the panel. He looked to Kent with a determined gaze, “Ready when you are, Commander.”
Markham, Parker and Adamu flanked them, each with their weapons up and ready. Kent took a moment to take a steadying breath. Then she gave a brisk nod. “Do it.”
With the press of a control, the hidden hatch hissed with the air of pneumatic hydraulics, before retracting back and up into the compartment behind it. As what meagre light there was in the corridor joined with the dim lights inside the cramped space, Kent could make out two huddled figures.
Di Marco’s scanner beeped with new sensor contacts. “Two life-signs,” he reported. “Oe Vulcan. One human.”
“Tim..?” One of the figures carefully got to their feet, stepping forward and squinting into the light. Kent felt her heart fill to bursting with sheer relief as she recognised the lanky form of Edward Hemmingway.
“Eddie!” Di Marco gave up any pretence of professionalism as he rushed forward and scooped Hemmingway into a tight embrace. Allowing the two love-struck men their reunion, Kent approached the still-seated figure, growing more concerned the closer she got.
“Commander Kent. It is agreeable to see you again.“ Sarek did not look well. His skin was almost jaundiced and he was shivering, despite having Hemmingway’s excursion jacket slung over him. “Adamu, I need you in here!”
The team’s field-medic-trained member quickly dropped down beside her, running a scanner of his own over the silent Vulcan. “Minor concussion, low blood pressure and temperature,” he reported. “Looks like delayed shock. We need to get him back to the Hannock ASAP.”
“Mr Sarek?” Kent spoke clearly and perhaps more loudly then necessary. But she wanted to make sure she roused the Vulcan as gently as possible. “Can you stand?”
He offered a slow nod first. “I believe so. However, I may need assistance.” With great care, Kent and Adamu worked together to help ease the Vulcan to a standing position. She was about to offer some genial platitude, but lost her train of thought when she saw the mild look of surprise in Sarek’s face. 
Looking over her shoulder, she saw what had evoked such a visible reaction from the normally-stoic individual, unable to repress her own grin as well. Yeah, that’ll do it.
As Di Marco kissed Hemmingway with the passion of youth and an unadulterated joy of finding his boyfriend safe, which Hemmingway returned with equal fervour, Kent decided she wasn’t going to be the one to break up the happy moment.
It was the least both of them deserved.

*             *             *

The distraction had worked well. Perhaps not perfectly, but good enough.
Sifting through files on his desktop computer terminal, Veran Lerak felt that he was finally able to take a breath. Since he had been informed of what had happened on Rigel IV, of how the business plan, investment opportunity and generous retirement fund he’d flawlessly set into motion had gone so wrong, he’d sensed that his time was running out. 
He hadn’t gotten as far in life as he had without having contingencies in place. Several of them were now being put in play. Ready for the moment he would have to leave behind this office and everything he’d hoped to achieve since attainting his position. 
When the doors opened without so much as a knock or a chirp of the enunciator, Lerak’s heart skipped a beat, his hand immediately went to the left-hand side drawer. For the Orion disruptor he kept inside the hidden compartment. But he let out a ragged breath of relief when he realized who his visitor was, as he slipped into an easy smile and jovial tone, “Olivia, this is unexpected.”
Olivia Kendrick looked hard at him. Remaining silent as she did so. It unnerved the Jelna exomale greatly. That, along with the abruptness of her arrival, gave him pause. Olivia had worked for him for years, her skills and knowledge a vital asset in his work, her friendly demeanour and way of connecting to people a good way to supplement and balance out his own more corporate-minded philosophies. 
Finally, when she spoke, her tone was accusatory, yet disappointed as well, “How long, Veran?”
A chill of concern ran the length of Lerak’s spine. I am not liking how this is sounding. He maintained his nonchalant air of confidence and open welcome, with the appropriate amount of confusion, but his mind was already whirling through options as he replied, “I’m sorry? What do you mean?”
She looks away from him, instead directing her gaze out his large windows. Slowly approaching them, her arms crossed against her chest as she began talking, as if more to herself, then to him. “I’ve seen clues for so long, I just kinda let them pass me by. Not understanding what it was I thought I saw.”
She stopped abruptly, before letting out a dark, wry chuckle, “Actually, that’s complete bullshit.” Lerak was more then a little surprised to hear Olivia curse. It made him all the more worried. “I knew exactly what I was seeing. What it meant.”
He fought the urge to swallow as she again glared at him, “The fancy tailored outfits. The expensive jewellery that you tried to not be too obvious about. The holiday villa overlooking the Viltani Straights.”
“Y-- yes, I’ve been most fortunate in my investments and returns.” He cursed himself silently for his verbal stumbling. Dammit, Olivia! Don’t do this, not now! “But what does that--”
“Don’t treat me like an idiot, Veran!” In all the years they’d worked together, Lerak had never witnessed such an outburst from Olivia. Never seen such naked anger and disgust in her eyes as she practically snarled at him, “Who did you get in bed with? Who did you sell out to? The First Families? Or was it the Afsar Qatala? Who lined your pockets with their ill-gotten riches?”
Now it was his time to be appalled. “You think I would align myself with the likes of criminals?!” He shook his head, his beaded locks of thickly bound hair being tossed from side to side, “I did this for the betterment of the entire Rigel system!”
The words were out of his mouth before he realized it, regretted mere moments afterwards. He forced himself to take a calming breath, ignoring the forlorn look in the human woman’s eyes as she gazed at him, “I’m a businessman, Olivia. That’s what this was all about. Not some power-grab or nefarious scheme. Simply good business.”
“Dozens of people are dead.” 
Although her words were uttered softly, they had more impact on Lerak then her earlier outburst. Shame flooded his stomach, as he offered the only measly justification he could manage, “That was never supposed to happen. It-- it all got out of hand!”
“Out of hand?!” She looked at him with incredulity. “You helped poison people with a drug that drives them mad!”
“No!” He wanted - needed - her to understand, to believe him. “That was never the plan! It was just supposed to be those primitives that got sick!“ Those backwards reprobates were the cause of all this! They can’t even die right! “It was never supposed to cause a problem for decent people, or do anything like this.”
He saw the pity in Olivia’s gaze now. It galled him even more. “Don’t look at me like that! We both know those ridiculous ancient decrees have held back expansion of Rigel IV for centuries.”
As he spoke, he leaned forward on his desk, ducking one hand towards the drawer again. He couldn’t help the disgust and scorn he felt for those who stood in the way of Rigellian prosperity, “The only way this system is going to stand on it’s own feet within a growing Federation is to take advantage of every resource we have. Not squander them on trinkets and baubles made by fools who live in ramshackle tents.”
“Oh, Veran.” There was sorrow in Olivia’s voice. He could see the tears in her dark eyes as she stepped forward towards the desk. 
Those eyes went wide as he carefully aimed the disruptor at her. It took all he had to keep his aim steady, to keep his hand from shaking. 
“I’m sorry, Olivia.” Lerak really meant it too. He had no desire to hurt her. But he needed to make a getaway now. He didn’t need her causing problems until he was long gone. 
But something about the way she was looking at him made his blood run cold. “Even if you shoot me,” she began, pulling carefully at her jacket, “It won’t matter.”
As she reached into an inside pocket, Lerak already suspected what she was doing. He felt only a little pang of regret as she showed him the government-issue communicator she’d had hidden. “Everything you’ve said to me has been recorded and logged in our central database.”
Lerak barely registered the doors to the office opening again. The large human security officer, Chief Anderson, stepped in. His own weapon up and aimed at him. No, no, no, no! This isn’t how it was supposed to be! He was only just about aware of what the human was saying, “A joint team of Starfleet Security and your own Constabulary Guard will be arriving soon to take you into custody. Please don’t make this any more difficult then it needs to be.”
Something inside Lerak snapped. Before he even realized the actions he was undertaking, he had grabbed Olivia’s arm in a vice-like grip, pulling her towards him with all the strength he had. While he may not have been as powerful as some species could be, a Jelna exomale was still much stronger then a human. Her struggles did little to dislodge his hold as he positioned her between Lerak himself and the human Starfleet man. 
“Keep back!” He reinforced his demand by positioning the disruptor’s barrel tip directly against Olivia’s temple. “Don’t make her hurt her!”
“Lerak, please!” He could hear the terror in Olivia’s voice, but willed himself to ignore how much it stung him. That it was he that was causing her fear. “You’re just making this worse for yourself.”
“She’s right,” Anderson added. With a fleeting moment of relief, Lerak watched as the man slowly let his aim drop to the office floor. “Surrender now, before this goes any further.”
As panic threatened to overwhelm his cognitive reason, Lerak kept his disruptor level. “Drop the weapon.”
Anderson seemed to waver for a moment. Finally he lifted his free hand in surrender, before kneeling to let his phase-pistol fall to the floor. “Okay, okay. I’m dropping my weapon.”
Relaxing his grip on his own weapon, Lerak  released his grip on Olivia, quickly snaking his arm around her to keep her secure, while reaching for the wrist-com he wore. With a few careful touches, he’d been away from here and on his private star yacht, He almost swore as, in his haste, he blindly fumbled with the device.
He took his eyes of Anderson for a second--
--and immediately realized his grievous error as Olivia unexpectedly fought her way out of his embrace. Leaving him exposed enough for Anderson to charge into him, with a force and strength he would not have expected from a human! 
The security officer’s hands were on his, grabbing for the disruptor. All of Lerak’s earlier confidence in his own ability to overpower a human became a thing of the past as he struggled with Anderson, desperately fighting the maintain his weapon.
The sudden burst of heat, light and noise deafened and blinded Lerak for a split-second. As he blinked away the afterimage on his retinas, Lerak soon understood with growing horror what had happened.
Anderson, his chest a charred and blackened ruin, lay gasping on the floor. His quivering hands hovered over the mess that used to his torso as blood seeped onto the carpet. Kendrick was at his side in seconds, but she seemed uncertain where to even begin,
Lerak surveyed what he had wrought. It was like he was experiencing events from outside his body. He saw that his hands were covered in red human blood. Somehow he had maintained his grip on the disruptor, it‘s tip still glowing from a discharge. “I-- I-- I didn’t mean to… Oh, by Erebus. What have I done?”
“Veran!” Olivia’s plaintive cry forced him to look to her. “We need to get him to a hospital. Now!”
It was like his brain was misfiring. He heard what she was saying. Understood what needed to be done. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breath. 
“It’s going to be okay, Chief,” he heard Olivia tell Anderson, but even as detached as he felt right at that moment, Lerak could hear how unconvinced she was.
Barely a second later, it all became pointless. Anderson’s shaking hands fell to the floor, as his head lolled to one side. A final, painfully weak breath rattled out from his throat before he lay still.
I just killed someone. The full realization of what had just occurred slammed into Lerak with all the force of a shuttle bus crash. No, no, get it right - I just killed a Starfleet officer. 
Whatever survival instincts that had kicked in to take hold of Olivia came back full force. He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her away from the dead man. This time, she didn’t offer any resistance. 
I need to get away from here. Get away from this godforsaken system as fast as possible. As he pressed the control studs on his wrist-com and signalled his ship for automated transport and braced himself for the tingle of dematerialization, Lerak understood that his time on Rigel V had come to an end.
How had it all gone so very wrong..?
TO BE CONTINUED…