Disclaimer: Paramount owns the Star Trek concept and characters. I own my brain. (Kind of).

Influence.

"It's no longer a question of if," said the young Trellian leader earnestly: "It is a question of when. Trell will be allied to the Federation: this is my dream. This is the dream of my fellow ministers – it is what we have worked for, and what we will continue to work for until the treaty is signed."

Thunderous applause filled the chamber, along with a few rumbles of consternation.
'Diplomacy is a good thing,' Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise reminded himself for the fifth or sixth time that hour, well aware that his polite smile was beginning to become a little rigid. The Trellians were great ones for speeches – long speeches – and the meeting chamber's heating system was designed to accommodate their far-higher-than-human temperature. Add that to the rigid collars and cuffs of a Starfleet dress uniform and –

"Hotter than summer on Vulcan," muttered ship's surgeon Leonard McCoy under his breath: "No offense, Mr. Spock."

Indeed, of the Enterprise contingent, Kirk noted, only his half-Vulcan Science Officer appeared to be keeping his cool, either literally or metaphorically. Navigator Pavel Chekov was fidgeting outwardly, intermittently tugging at his collar. Even Katherine Bright, the ambassador they'd transported from earth, had developed a glazed sheen to her sharp, distinguished features. And important as these proceedings were – vital, Kirk corrected himself – his thoughts were increasingly flitting skywards, to where the Enterprise glided serenely in orbit under Engineer Scott's command.

The inhabitants of Trell had been in talks with Federation Headquarters for almost eight months now. A proud, intelligent and capable people, they and their fertile, ore-rich planet would undoubtedly be a great asset to the Fleet. The old First Minister, Seron, had debated and delayed – but this Harek, his passionate young successor, seemed to genuinely desire progress. But he walked a fine line, Kirk thought dryly and silently, as Harek directed a glance at the first faction grouping – here sat the older ministers, grim-faced, dark-cloaked, averse to change for its own sake it would appear, and especially to change involving aliens.

"So now," Harek said,

"Let's all leave?" McCoy whispered hopefully –

"Shh," Kirk bit his lip to suppress a laugh –

"I'll hand you over to my colleague Dr. Marel Keltor, head of the Land Survey Department."
Chekov muttered something that might well have been a Russian curse. Bright appeared to deflate a couple of centimeters. Spock was either still alertly interested or putting on a damn good performance. Keltor was an older, stern-looking female Trellian, a conservative to the bone. Kirk had to smother a groan: their contributions were the driest. He then had to smother a huge sigh of relief as his communicator suddenly bleeped.

Slipping discretely out at the end of the row, he opened the com in the foyer.

"Scott to Captain Kirk."
"Kirk here."
"Is everythin' alright down there Captain? Ye've well overdue for a check-in."
"All under control, Scotty. Ceremony's just going on a hell of a lot longer than we'd hoped. No problem." A strange, grating noise cut across the channel momentarily. "Scotty?" Kirk frowned. "Is anything wrong with the signal?"
"I'm reading some interference, Captain." Uhura's voice.

"Well, find it and fix it. I have to get back."
"We're thinking of ye, Captain." Scotty had been party to Trellian hospitatlity on a previous occasion. "Scott out."

As Kirk moved back towards the chamber, applause and the mass creak of chairs indicated the speeches were finally over. His heart lifted. He waited until a swarm of movement meant he could enter observed, noted Spock talking earnestly with Dr. Keltor and McCoy standing nearby. Chekov had wasted no time in targeting an attractive young Trellian waitress – Kirk stepped over and placed a hand on his shoulder –

just as he made contact, two things happened. First, the captain felt himself enveloped in the light and tingle of a transporter beam, familiar yet alien, then just as he and ensign Chekov dematerialized, they sensed a vague and horrifying impact as the entire meeting chamber exploded into darkness.

A dark mist cleared slowly from McCoy's vision, only to be filled in by more darkness.

'Damn,' he thought, and then, as memory seeped back, profound relief was followed closely by a sense of panic.

The ceremony. An explosion – one minute he'd been wondering if he might surreptitiously escape by an unguarded back door – oh God, it must have been sabotaged! 'All those people…' he felt suddenly sick. 'And I'm alive. How…?' He lay on something yielding and scratchy. He stiff and bruised, but otherwise miraculously uninjured…the air was thick with dust, and McCoy had a sense of being closed in, hampered by unseen obstacles. Somwhere, light was filtered, falling softly in a series of pale shafts, deceptively peaceful.

"Jim!" he sat up, disturbed piles of dust and coughed violently for a moment. "Spock? Hello?" Communicator – offline, figures – medkit, still intact.

"I am here, doctor." Spock's voice – later, McCoy would deny to himself the intensity of his relief.

"Spock? Are you alright? Where are you?"
"Approximately 34 degrees to your left, six meters forward. With the exception of some bruises and a cut to my left arm, I am perfectly functional. And yourself?

"Fine, fine." Now, as his eyes adjusted to the light, McCoy could make out that they'd landed on a pile of what appeared to be packing materials – crates, made of something like cardboard, a softer filling material . The area was clearly unused – but passageways led off to right and left and – wait a minute - landed?

"Spock? Did we fall?"
"I believe so, doctor. Unfortunately, as you notice, the ceiling above us which comprised the floor of the meeting chamber has collapsed, rendering escape that way impractical." McCoy clambered over to Spock and pulled his arm into his lap, absently using the protoplase to seal a green-bleeding gash. He was functioning on automation. This couldn't be real. All of those people, dead, Jim, Chekov…

"..and the ambassador," he said aloud.

"Terrorists do not discern in the taking of life," said Spock with something like bitterness. "Still, it would be illogical to assume we are the only survivors."

'Illogical to grieve,' McCoy interpreted, 'until we're sure that our friends are actually dead.' As usual, the Vulcan was right. Panic, fear, pain, it would all have to be postponed for now. Take second place t o survival.

"Do you have your communicator?" Spock asked.

"Broken."
"As is mine, but I believe I could repair it with a small amount of ciridium."

"That helps."
"It might indeed," Spock raised an eyebrow. "ciridium is naturally occurring in many rock formations. However there is still the difficulty of receiving a signal from underground."
Just at that moment, a low moan caught their attention. Two pairs of eyes jerked instantly in the direction of the sound.

"First Minister!" McCoy exclaimed, fumbling in his medikt – Harek had not been quite so fortunate in landing. A deep, discoloured mark across his left temple betrayed the cranial impact.

"Take ts easy,"said the doctor, scanning him: "You have a concussion."

"What – how could they – this is betrayal! Murder!"
"I assure you that neither the Federation nor its allies would have anything to gain from this atrocity," said Spock firmly.

"They…" Harek looked confused.

"Lie down," said McCoy firmly, placing a restraining hand on the Trellian's shoulder: at the same time, a worm of unease began to gnaw in his stomach. Several member-worlds of the Federation had warred in past years with the Trellians – but those days were long gone, surely hate didn't die so hard…

"This attack bears all marks of the Trellian separatist movement," said Spock calmly.

"There are no terrorists on Trell! There never have been!"
"A rare world indeed that can boast of a history entirely free from extremists."
"Spock, that's enough," said McCoy. "He's in no condition to argue."
"Indeed, it would avail us more to consider our escape. Is your tricorder functional, doctor?"
McCoy checked.

"Just about."

"May I?" Spock took it and fiddled the controls. After a moment both eyebrows lifted. "Fortune, as you would say, runs in our favour. I detect a small deposit of ciridium 60 degrees northwards This passageway."
"I can't leave Harek," McCoy said worriedly.

"I would advise he come with us. The ceiling here is manifestly unstable, and any part of these passageways might collapse at any minute, barring our return."
'Or crushing us,' McCoy finished mentally, but sighed:

"Okay. I don't like to move him but you're right – it's safer than leaving him here." Harek's eyes widened as the doctor prepared a hypo.

"What is that?"
"A stimulant. It will help, for a while."
The Trellian regarded them with less-than-trusting eyes. He suddenly appeared very young, and very hurt- a child whose dreams have been shattered.

"Very well," he said, offering his arm. McCoy administered the stimulant, and they helped the Trellian to stand.

Author's note: I made up the word ciridium! It doesn't exist, so far as I know, but it does kinda sound like an ore, doesn't it? Sorry science dudes. (Come on, like Star Trek didn't make words up…:P)