What if a redshirt from security had beamed down to Cestus III with the tactical team? This is his story…

Thanks to Anna for encouraging me to proceed with this story when it wouldn't fit into the original parameters I wanted.

No beta on this one – working without a net – so all mistakes rest squarely with me. ;-)

See The Cosmos

"See the Universe. Travel to the far corners of the Galaxy," the recruiting posters said. "Experience first-hand the wonders of space. A great way to meet new and interesting people," the commercials on his favorite vid program had promised. "You'll gain valuable experience for all kinds of promising careers, depending on your chosen specialty," the recruiter had emphasized. Gee, funny how all of them forgot to mention it was also the number one way to get ones' self killed.

"Don't do it, Jerry." He and his best friend Kyle were seated in a restaurant styled after the diners of 20th Century Earth, the food authentic in every way. "You'll be sorry," Kyle said around a mouthful of fries, a dribble of ketchup rolling down his chin. "There's no way it's gonna be like they say – you'll just be some grunt stuck in the bowels of some ship subject to the whims of officers who don't give a rat's ass what happens to you, just so long as you do the scut work so they don't have to. Your feet probably won't touch Terra Firma for the entire four years of your enlistment contract." They had graduated from high school three months ago and both were adrift, without direction, trying to figure out where they fit into this new reality called adulthood. Kyle was helping his dad and older brother with the family business – repairing skimmers and flitters and all manner of mechanical things; it wasn't a great job, but at least it was a job. Somewhere to go, somewhere to be. A temporary sense of direction until Kyle could sort things out.

Jerry didn't have that luxury. His parents had split when he was four, dad running off with that 'evil, candy-assed whore' as his mom liked to call her. She was ten years younger than mom, and it was a slap in the face from which she'd never recovered. Booze had become her best friend, her confidant and counselor. She'd made dad pay through the nose for his indiscretion however, her settlement more than adequate, enough so that she didn't ever have to work again. She could stay home, watch vids all day, and make love to her vodka bottle. Jerry had learned to fend for himself at an early age. It was a survival mechanism – the neighbors, often seeing Jerry out and about by himself, would call Child Protective Services. Even as a young boy he'd known CPS would take him from his mom if he didn't appear well-fed or clean. This wouldn't have been a bad thing if he'd been able to go live with his dad, but dad's new wife didn't want anything to do with Jerry; didn't want dad's firstborn usurping her own son's place in the hierarchy of this complicated family.

And being with mom wasn't really so bad. She might be a drunk, but she was a benevolent drunk, never hitting Jerry, providing little discipline at all as a matter-of-fact. As long as Jerry pretty much left her alone and kept the fridge stocked, mom was content to let him be.

"Not if I go into security," Jerry countered, "and I won't be enlisted. I talked to a recruiter today, and he says I'd be a good candidate for OCS, if I was interested in going into security. I'm a big guy, and I've always been able to handle myself." Jerry had been through more than his share of schoolyard brawls, and always seemed to emerge victorious. Or at least less battered and bruised than his opponent. "Landing parties always need security to protect them planetside."

"Dontcha mean to step in the line of fire to protect the muckety-muck officers?" Kyle was now attacking his burger with gusto, his cheeks swelled to capacity trying to chew the enormous bite he'd just taken.

Boy had he ever been right!

Lenz's thoughts snapped back to the present as he heard disruptor fire sizzle past his left cheek, the heat from the glancing beam palpable, the smell of ozone, combined with the puffs of acrid smoke and grime spewed forth where the photon grenade had exploded three meters in front of him causing him to choke and wheeze, wiping the moisture from eyes squinted against the glare, stinging and burning from the foreign substance's assault.

He returned fire in the vicinity of where the blasts had originated from, despite the fact that he couldn't see anything. Kelowitz and Lang were nearby, helping him to provide cover for his two senior officers and the ship's CMO. He'd watched in horror as O'Herlihy had been vaporized by a disruptor blast from their unseen enemies a few minutes ago.

As the smoke cleared and the shelling ceased for a few moments, he risked a glance at the ridge about 300 meters in front of them, staying low to the ground, poking his head sideways around the remnants of a low wall that was all that was providing him cover for the moment. Seeing nothing, he withdrew, twisting and placing the small of his back against the gritty stone, scanning the vicinity for his two comrades.

A streak of yellow caught his eye, and he realized with utter dread that the captain was headed back out into the center of the main complex, or what was left of it, weaving and darting among the small depressions and bits of debris scattered about the vestiges of the outpost. Damn it all to hell! Just where did the captain think he was going?! Another blast whizzed over his head and he ducked, losing sight of his CO for a moment. When he was able to see through the haze again, Mr. Spock was running the gauntlet, rolling unceremoniously into the crater that housed his captain. Shit! Shit! Shit! He needed to get to them, provide protection for his CO and XO, who were pinned down by enemy fire.

He could see the captain hunched over, the first officer at his side. His CO had his communicator raised to his lips, and while Lenz couldn't make out the words, it was obvious by the captain's animated expression that the situation was not good. Sonofabitch! He'd been a fool to let himself get suckered in by all those glowing recruitment ads.

And now he was probably gonna pay for it.

His thoughts drifted again…

The main mess was crowded, as was to be expected for the end of Alpha shift. Mechanically, he pressed his meal card into the slot, and took the tray when the door opened. He turned and took a few steps away to make room for the next person in line.

"Hey Lenz, over here!" It took him several seconds to focus on the voice, and he realized it was coming from LTjg Hicks, his roommate in the junior officers' quarters on the Enterprise. Hicks was on alpha shift as well, and the two often shared a meal during off-duty hours. "C'mon over," Hicks called again amiably.

Lenz traipsed over to Hicks' table and plopped unceremoniously into a chair, the cacophony of the mess no more than a dull roar in his ears.

"Man, you look awful!" Hicks commented. "Wanna talk about it?"

What could he say? Unfortunately, it was a routine occurrence for crewmembers in his specialty. He did not meet Hick's gaze, but resorted to poking the food on his tray with his fork instead.

"Jer," softer this time, "what happened?"

He met the other's eyes squarely then, and swallowed reflexively before beginning quietly, "Gaetano and Latimer both bought it on the last mission."

"What?" Hicks was clearly shocked. "Scuttlebutt had it that the captain's gamble paid off, and the shuttlecraft was retrieved at the last possible moment."

"Yeah, it was, but Latimer and Gaetano weren't aboard. They were both killed planetside. Seems there were some humongous, Neanderthal-types down there. Skewered them both with gigantic spears. Worst part is they couldn't even bring the bodies back with them. It was a miracle they were able to get the shuttle in orbit at all, and it wouldn't have been possible with the extra weight." He turned haunted, hollow eyes on his friend. "They had to leave 'em there…with those…things…," Lenz trailed off, his gaze focused inward, lost in his own private hell.

"Sweet Jesus. I'm sorry, Jer."

"Latimer and I went through Officer Candidate School together. He ribbed me all the time about specializing in security. Tried numerous times to get me to switch to command track with him. 'You're gonna get your brains scrambled in security. Command's a helluva lot safer,' he said." Jerry let out a harsh laugh, devoid of any mirth. "Not for him it wasn't. He was top of our class; being assigned to the Enterprise was a given for him. He's the one who persuaded the Gunny to recommend me for this posting. He knew the risks of starship duty, regardless of your specialty, and was more than willing to take them. It just sucks that he had to die such a meaningless death. What a waste," Lenz's eyes were distant, empty, bleak, as was his voice.

"As much as it hurts, Jer, I wouldn't call his death meaningless." Hicks' eyes softened, the compassion and empathy openly on display. "They may not have made it back, but five people did, including three of our senior officers. That's got to count for something." On some ships, senior officers were just that – people who gave the orders the rest of the crew had to follow, but somehow it was not like that on this ship. The seniors, especially the captain, made the effort to get to know as many of the crew as possible. It's not like they were drinking buddies or anything, but members of this crew felt their worth in the eyes of their command team, and it went deeper than just being a grunt who followed orders without question. Their seniors took a genuine interest in and had tremendous compassion for the average crew member.

And it didn't go unnoticed.

Even the Vulcan, who claimed to be all logical and unemotional would go out of his way for any member of the crew. Hell, several months ago he had pulled Lieutenant Stiles out of auxiliary control when the navigator had succumbed to the fumes from a phaser coolant leak. And word had flown along the ship's grapevine recounting the Lieutenant's bigoted remarks on the bridge concerning their First Officer earlier that day. Mr. Spock could very easily have chosen to let him die, but he didn't.

And Dr. McCoy, although known for his acid tongue and gruff personality, often exhibited a soft and gentle side when dealing with injured crew members. Tormolin's death had haunted the man, and Fisher had openly praised the medico's sensitive and compassionate demeanor when he dealt with his injuries - those sustained on the planet and those received later at the hands of the Imposter claiming to be Captain Kirk. Yes, their seniors were a breed apart, and inspired a fierce loyalty and devotion in their crew unmatched on any other starship.

"I'd say that Gaetano and Latimer would have deemed it a worthy sacrifice," Hicks assured him.

Visibly dragging himself from these dark musings, Lenz attempted to switch gears. "So. How're things down in Biolab 4 these days?" He met Hicks' eyes, his expression desolate, hopeless.

Hicks was clearly at a loss as to how to respond, his meal forgotten. "Nothing like that. The worst thing we've had so far was when Ensign Kim got careless and dropped a whole rack of test tubes. Fortunately, none of them contained Antarean Plague, or the whole team'd be in sickbay right now with green skin covered in purple pustules, coughing black goo from our lungs." Hicks smiled wanly, trying to add some levity to a very dark moment.

Lenz was back to chasing his food around his plate. "Where do you fall in the rotation for landing party duty?" Hicks asked earnestly, his eyes searching the other's pale face.

Jer tossed his fork aside. "Next time they go planetside, I'll be along for the ride." His knuckles had gone white, fists clenched convulsively, resting on the table. Lenz's anguish and uncertainty hung between them like a curtain.

"Don't worry, not all landing parties go south." Hicks rested a reassuring hand on his friend's forearm. "Odds are, if this last one went bust, yours should be fine. I don't think there've ever been two in a row where people died."

Lenz glanced up, a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes playing over his features. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. What're the odds lightning will strike twice?"

A blast six meters to his left snapped him out of his reverie. The enemy had a fix on them; they needed to get moving, get to a more defensible position. Their asses were hanging out here. And he needed to get to his CO and XO. As the only security officer here, it was his duty to protect them at all costs. He signaled to Kelowitz and Lang the need to move, to retreat to a safer location. Dirt and debris rained down on him as another grenade went off four meters in front of him, disruptor fire crackling overhead again. He covered his head with his arms in an effort to lessen the impact of the rubble on his skull. The conversation he'd had with Hicks yesterday sprang to mind unbidden…

"Hey Hicks, guess what?" Jerry asked his roommate breathlessly, scrambling through the door to their quarters and flopping on his bed, a stupid grin plastered on his face.

"You finally got Ensign Steele to go out with you?" Hicks responded, a twinkle in his eye. He was smacked squarely in the head with a well-aimed pillow for his trouble.

"No, dumbass." A self-satisfied smirk creased his features. "I just got my first landing party duty. And guess what it is?" Jerry was unable to contain his exuberance.

"You get to muck stalls for the Governor of Pleiades IV?" Hicks asked drolly.

"Nope." Jerry didn't miss a beat, the words tumbling forth like water over a broken levy. "I get to beam down to Cestus III as part of the tactical team. Rumor has it that Commodore Travers has his personal chef along, and since he wants to make a favorable impression on our noble Captain and First Officer, they should be laying out quite a spread for us," he finished smugly. "My first landing party duty, and I get to stuff my face with honest-to-goodness, non-reconstituted food." Lenz was positively beaming.

"See Jer, what'd I tell ya? You couldn't have asked for better duty, lucky dog," Hicks finished with a certain amount of envy evident in his voice. "I'll be stuck in the bowels of this ship for the duration of my assignment, probably only setting foot off her when we're docked at some godforsaken starbase, and you - you'll have chances to walk on real grass, breathe uncirculated air, not to mention dining on fine food and rubbing elbows with the higher ups. Way to go, Jer!" Hick's no longer begrudged the man his assignment; he was genuinely happy for his friend.

The smoke cleared along with his thoughts, and at a signal from Kelowitz, Lenz was off, running for the command team's location for all he was worth. Just a few more steps and he'd be safe…