Hello again, dear readers! It has been quite some time since I promised a sequel to my first story, Stark Trek, but I've finally got a chapter for you all. The summer holiday is in full swing, so hopefully I'll be able to update fairly regularly. I will be going through and improving Stark Trek too, as some reviewers have pointed out problems in the story. Reviews are always welcome, even on a completed story, so I know how to make my writing better.

If you haven't read Stark Trek, I highly recommend that you do. This story probably won't make much sense otherwise. So, without further ado, here's the first chapter. Enjoy!

Weaving in and out of the crowd, Rosalina Stark sped towards the Kelvin Memorial Archives. She couldn't afford to be late; not again. If Admiral Marcus could afford to lose such a 'valuable asset', as he called her, then she would certainly have been fired already. After a year of late nights finishing mountains of paperwork, she was starting to lapse in her ability to wake on time. Clutching her collection of Padds to her chest, Rosalina dodged one last business man as she entered the library. The Archive had been built to honour the service men, women and other gender-variants who had died in their service to the Federation. Its function as a secret Starfleet research facility was known only to a select few; those who worked there had to pass thousands of security checks. Either that or they were blackmailed into silence, like she was. The Admiralty certainly knew how to deal out threats.

The colony on New Vulcan was now thriving, with a small Science Academy set up. Ambassador Sarek had offered her a job as a lecturer there, but with Admiral Marcus' offer, she had to turn it down. Spock had agreed that the investigation should be put above all other projects. Besides, the Great Loss had just made Vulcans more protective of their culture; having a human teaching at their most prestigious establishment when it was just getting restarted may well be a step too far. With the USS Enterprise back in full operation, she never saw Spock; even their once-regular Comm calls had fallen by the wayside, mostly down to their busy schedules. Her father kept her up to speed on how the crew was doing, but she missed having friends. The few Vulcans she had got to know whilst at the academy had perished. Feeling her eyes welling up for the thousandth time, Rosalina steeled herself. There was no point in dwelling on the past; they were gone, and she remained. This was a simple fact. Her work took precedent over all else.

She slipped through the closing elevator doors, scanning her fingerprint and pushing the button for the research floor. They had upgraded to biometrics shortly after she had hacked their systems and infiltrated the facility. As it purred into life, she moved towards the back and stood straight, actively avoiding eye contact with the guard already in the compartment. Most of the Starfleet security officers here were Brits with highly military-based training. She had endured a month of 'physical conditioning' before being allowed to work here; all personnel received advanced hand-to-hand combat training and bi-monthly booster sessions to keep them up to date. When the doors finally opened, she walked briskly to her private workroom. The Admiral had insisted she have it; whether to keep her from getting distracted, or make it easier to control how much she knew about Sector 31's operations, she wasn't quite certain. Arranging her Padds on the desk, she moved over to the bench. Her work from yesterday was seemingly untouched, but a quick scan showed that the usual security officers had done a sweep of the room. The complete lack of fingerprints was a dead giveaway. She was somewhat hurt that the Admiral didn't trust her, but it was a small price to pay. The Arc-reactor research she was able to do here would help further Starfleet's technological progression, and that must be her focus.

A quiet chime from her Comm unit snapped her back to reality. Continuing with her work, she called for JARVIS to read her the message. When the familiar voice failed to answer, she sighed and went to read the message manually. The AI wasn't allowed into the facility for security reasons. It was only when she was no longer able to make use of the technology that she realised just how dependant she had become on him. The short message was a request for her attendance at a conference on the other side of the city; obviously she was expected to give a speech of some sort. Great. Something else she had to work on. Another chime reminded her of the meeting she had to attend this morning, reporting her progress to the Admiral. One of the charades they played to keep up appearances. He knew exactly what she was doing at all times, thanks to the ridiculously high level of security. That and the daily search of her work area. Sighing in exasperation, Rosalina grabbed the nearest Padd and headed to the Admiral's office.

After a long day at work, the last thing she needed was to have to write a speech. Unfortunately, that is exactly what she had to do. Booting up her laptop, she decided to unwind by attempting to make her own dinner. JARVIS must have sensed her intentions because a suit was soon by her side, fire extinguisher in hand.

"Thank you for your confidence in my culinary abilities, JARVIS."

"If I may remind you of the popcorn incident, Miss Stark…"

"I had that fire completely under control…"

"Of course."

"Are you sassing me, J?"

"Not at all, Miss Stark. Shall I read you Lady Amanda's recipe for Plomeek soup?"

"Oh, JARVIS. You read my mind."

It was the only thing she could actually manage to make, though it had taken her quite a while to master it. Amanda had spent months teaching both her and Nyota how to make the soup with her altered recipe, allowing them to use terran vegetables in place of the Vulcan ones needed. Nyota was, seemingly, a natural in the kitchen, much to Amanda's delight. Rosalina's attempts became increasingly edible as time went by; even Thor wasn't brave enough to taste it at first, and Steve's kind words of encouragement helped spur her on. Now, she was able to enjoy her favourite Vulcan meal in her own home. It still wasn't as good as Amanda's, but it was palatable. Maybe she'd even manage to cook and eat it without breaking down, eventually. Memories of her lost friends always bubbled to the surface when she smelt the aroma of the soup, the memories of that day crippling her emotions. The worst nightmares had subsided with the help of her therapist, but they returned in full force when she least expected it. Her respect for her father had grown even more now that she understood what he battled against every day. This PTSD business was horrible.

Feeling the tears welling in her eyes, she left the suit to finish off the soup. Writing a speech may not be very interesting, but it would distract her at least. It was difficult working at a secret research facility; whenever anyone asked how her day went or what she does now, her answers were always vague. It would be nice to have someone to confide in about the stress she was under, but none of the others really spoke to her. Whether this was out of fear or spite she didn't know; the general consensus seemed to be that her father had got her the job. That was irritating, especially as he had no idea about the place, but she could hardly tell them the real reason. Just as she was finishing the intro, her Comm chimed. The contact was unknown, which put her on edge. After JARVIS confirmed that there was no virus attached to the message, she opened the file. Seemingly, it was encrypted. Interesting. After a few moments she had cracked it, and a simple message was displayed on her screen;

2000 hours, the Hilton, room 278.

We have much to discuss.

A friend.

Odd. Who was this person, and how did they manage to get her contact details? The fact that the message had been encrypted made her even more suspicious. It was obviously meant for her eyes only. After another hour of writing, curiosity got the better of her. Putting the soup in her stasis unit for later and grabbing a jacket, she left her apartment and started walking.

The weight of the Phaser in her pocketed hand was comforting as she made her way through the darkening streets. Rounding the corner, she realised just how ridiculous this was. Why the hell had she thought this was a good idea? Wandering around London in the dead of night; had she completely lost her mind? Rationalising that it was too late to turn back now, she pushed open the hotel doors and entered the lobby. Her Aunt Natasha had taught her that you should always walk with purpose in a situation like this. If you look like you know where you're going, nobody will question you. Luckily she knew where the lifts were from a previous visit, so she walked straight to them. It would make sense that the room she was looking for would be on the third floor. Or the second, as the Brits called it. Thinking about it that made more sense; the ground floor being on the ground and all. The lift doors opened onto an empty corridor. Room 242 was directly in front of her, and 243 to its right, so she quickly moved down the left hand corridor. Finding the room, she knocked hesitantly. The sound of the door unlatching came only seconds later; clearly whoever this was had been waiting. Her guts tied in knots as the door cracked open. The room was dark, but she could see a face peering out. The door opened fully and she found herself walking into the room. Hearing the door close and the lights blink into life, she turned to see a woman around her own age standing by the door. Her bobbed blonde hair swayed slightly as she approached the sofa, smiling as she passed. Once the stranger was seated, she beckoned for Rosalina to join her. With a sudden swell of courage, she pulled out her phaser and aimed it at the other woman's face.

"I'm not doing anything before you explain who you are."

The woman seemed remarkably calm as she spoke. "My name is Carol Marcus; I believe we may be able to help one another."