Hi, same disclaimer, hope u enjoy, bye…

When the communicator beeped, the impulse to reach out and grab it was so strong that Kirk was only just restrained by a Trellian guard on either side of him. Aa'lya, raised her eyebrows, picked it up and opened the channel:

"McCoy to Kirk! Jim come in!"

Chekov opened his mouth to shout something but a large guard clamped a hand firmly over his mouth. A'alya spoke calmly, in a voice that brooked no contradiction:

"This is Commander A'alya, of the separatist vessel Sarda. We hold Captain James Kirk and his navigator as our hostages. State the purpose of your communication."

Mutters – words they couldn't hear, then the channel closed.

"You have resilient friends, Captain," said A'alya in mild surprise. "We have disabled ship-to-ship communication until you are ready to co-operate: that call came from the surface."
'Alive!' Kirk thought exuberantly, McCoy at least. And somehow, irrationally, he could not believe Spock dead if the two of them were together. He imagined the Vulcan's look of polite disapproval: 'an entirely illogical conviction.'

"I am afraid," said A'alya, rising, "That your time is up. We cannot afford to remain in orbit any longer. Ga'ar, Siyat," she gestured to a couple of her henchmen. "Last chance, Captain."
"Wait!" Kirk closed his eyes. There was no suicide missions – surrender was better than death, for the hundreds of men and women aboard the USS Enterprise, even if not for himself.

"Keptin!" exclaimed Chekov. "We can't-"
Just at that moment, the communicator beeped again. Keeping an eye on both of her prisoners, A'alya flipped it open.

"Sarda."
"A'alya." A different voice: strained, controlled other choice. He had never believed in, eloquent. Somehow familiar….Kirk couldn't place it. A'alya evidently could. She paled abruptly and almost dropped the communicator:

"Harek," she whispered.

'Harek…' Kirk's eyes widened. Of course! That was the voice of the young Trellian first minister. Anger roiled in his stomach. He had liked that Harek, had trusted him…obviously too soon.

"A'alya," the voice came again. "I am with you. I have managed to escape from the Federation men holding me prisoner. Beam me up now before they come. The codeword is tiaghat."

"Harek…no!" Bitterness flashed across the woman's features. "You are not one of us!"
"I am one of you, rel-sai. I have been for many years. How do you think I managed to infiltrate the council? Beam me aboard, now – alone. I am unarmed. If you do not they will kill me when they find me."
A rapid pageant of emotions flashed across A'alya's features. Then something inside her snapped. "Ga'ar, Siyat, transporter room, now. You two remain on duty." She nodded once to the guards keeping watch on Kirk and Chekov, then disappeared into the corridor.

Harek moved slowly, carefully beside A'alya, trying not to betray his injuries. If she knew he was hurt she would take him for treatment at once. And all this depended on timing, to the last split second. If the first part of his plan failed – well then, all would die. But if there was a chance to save the representatives of Starfleet – he would take it. Grief at the twisted images of his home outer worlds would develop gnawed at him – just for the actions of a few desperate Trellians. But if his plan worked…'the universe will know the true meaning of what it is to be Trellian.' Comfort in death.

"I knew you would come around," A'alya was beaming. She was still heart-breakingly beautiful. The fire of ardency lit up her violet-streaked eyes like electricity.

He loathed what she had become.

"A certain amount of secrecy was necessary," he said calmly.

"Yes," she nodded. "One day, rel-sai, no more secrecy will be necessary. Trell will embrace the True Ways again, free of contamination."
"Yes," he said woodenly, saw his chance – and set off at a mad dash. A'alya gave a brief cry of anguish and somewhere an alarm sounded – the guards were already after him. His vision dimmed and wavered. 'No! By the gods, just a little longer…' a wall came up abruptly as a wave of nausea assailed him. Harek turned and drew a small stun-gun from his torn ceremonial robe, took out the two guards who were hot on his heels and lurched towards the brig. One door-guard he stunned before the separatist could move – the other raised a gun to him but the Starfleet captain took him out from behind.

"Harek?" asked the man, wide-eyed, catching the Trellian as he staggered. Alarms screamed in their ears. "No time – beam aboard your ship, NOW! Your friends are beneath the council chamber!" He threw the doctor's communicator to the floor and the Captain scooped it up. Then he turned, whirled and raced off down the corridor, flinging his cloak backwards to slow up the new guards who were already following.

He made for the engine room.

"I have them, Captain! Both of them. They look fine."

Engineer Montgomery Scott grinned happily over his controls.

"Beam them aboard, Mr. Scott," said Kirk with relief, and watched as two sparkling hazes of light on the transporter platform materialized into his friends. Both were dirty, dust-covered, somewhat bruised, but more-or-less intact.

"Jim!" was the first word out of McCoy's mouth, then: "He pulled it off!"

"That remains to be seen," said Spock gravely. "He may have illogically sacrificed his true end in order to save our lives."
"Illogically-!" McCoy spluttered. "How can you…!"

"Indeed, from Harek's perspective. Remember, the Trellians hold certain values dearer than life – our friend certainly does."
"Pulled what off?" Kirk asked in total confusion. "Will somebody fill me in? What was Harek doing over there on the Sarda? Is he on our side or not?"

Spock and McCoy exchanged glances.

"I do not believe," said Spock carefully, "That it would be fitting to assign the First Minister to either our 'side' or the separatists'."
"Captain!" Uhura hailed them suddenly from the bridge. "Sensors read an explosion! It looks like a ship, sir, in close proximity to Trell…total destruction…no survivors."
"He did it," McCoy said, shaking his head.

"He blew it up?" exclaimed Kirk.

"That was his plan."
"More death," observed Spock without inflection. "A dark day in the annals of Trell."
Over the bright-glowing orb of the planet below them, a haze of stars gleamed and glittered oblivious to the slowly spreading debris of the Sarda.

"Therefore," said the grave Trellian woman, "Trell thanks the Federation gratefully for its assistance during this time. However, it is decreed that until the radical separatist movement is adequately suppressed, alliance would not be desirable or producitve. The Honour Rites for my predecessor, Former First Minister Harek, are to be held tomorrow at the council chambers. You and your senior officers are welcome to attend."
"We should go Jim," McCoy said quietly. "This is one Trellian ceremony I actually need to see."
Kirk looked to Spock.

"I believe that it would be…appropriate," said the Vulcan.

"We'll be there," Kirk told the new First Minister Yuran, 'HQ will understand.' The Trellian woman acknowledged gracefully, and Kirk closed the channel.

"It's frightening," said McCoy, "To see that terrorists can wield so much power."
"Not power," said Kirk.

"What d'you mean?"
"Don't call it a power. While Trell remains Trell, barbarism will never be a power there. When Harek risked his life to save us – that was the spirit of Trell. The council is a power. All that separatists like A'alya can be is a dark, destructive influence."

"Yet influence spreads," said Spock calmly: "slowly and pervasively, through many channels, until one day the ruling power is undermined enough to be overthrown, and so a new power rises."
"I can't believe that will happen on Trell,' said McCoy firmly.

"Perhaps, in time, we shall know."

End.