“I dread the night. It always gets worse after dark.” For three days and three nights, ever since the explosion at the reactor sent fear rippling through the colony, that’s how it’d gone. During the day, speeches and signs, and at night, the unadulterated rage of a frenzied mob.

“That it does,” Lieutenant Commander Gabe Rivera nodded in agreement. The sun had just fallen beneath the horizon, and the night was once more upon them. Glancing down, he rechecked the settings on his phaser rifle. If things got out of hand, this would be what kept him safe. That’s what he told himself, at least. “Keep your head on a swivel, and show no signs of weakness. Just as we did the last two nights, we hold the line, and we don’t let them pass.”

“Yes sir,” the young man next to him nodded eagerly and trotted off. He was ready to do his part, as ordered by his chief. They’d hold the line, even if it came to blows.

Lieutenant Commander Rivera looked over his shoulder at the fusion reactor. The fires were out, but smoke still rose from the gaping hole in the superstructure. Why again were they putting their lives on the line for this? The ungrateful colonists of Duraxis didn’t even want their help. If only Commodore Agarwal hadn’t been so self-righteous, they could have already been half way back to Archanis Station by now. There was an exotic dancer on the station who was waiting to trace ice cubes along his chiseled midsection, but instead, he was stuck here on this dusty shithole, risking his life for a bunch of nobodies the galaxy had forgotten. They should have just been left forgotten.

The chants grew louder and louder, minute by minute, and quickly, the mob swelled in size, and in temper. “Your lies aren’t worth our lives! Take your ships, and leave our skies!” they shouted, now so close to his men that their spit hit the visors of their face shields.

Over the next few minutes, the messaging devolved to disorderly shouts and jeers, the momentum continuing to build. Starfleet needed to go. Soon, words became sticks and stones, but for now, the small projectiles bounced harmlessly off the ballistic vests and riot shields. It would be only a matter of time though, Lieutenant Commander Rivera knew, before something would get through.

And then it did, as a flaming bottle arced overhead. The bottle collided with a shield. The glass was deflected, but as it shattered, its contents splashed against the holder, singeing the face behind the mask and the skin beneath the armor. The man – his man – howled in pain and dropped to his knees as another rushed to his aid.

At least two more filled into their places along the line, and the line held, but that was it. No more, Lieutenant Commander Rivera resolved in that moment. If he didn’t draw the line here, it’d just get worse and worse. The protest needed to be put in its place. “Rivera to Saito,” he said as he tapped his combadge, calling up to the captain of the Pacific Palisades.

“Saito here. Go ahead.”

“Sir, the mob has escalated to kinetic force and chemical incendiaries,” Lieutenant Commander Rivera reported. “As we agreed this morning, we can’t have another night like last.” Four of his men had ended up in sickbay as a result of injuries sustained on the line. “I am hereby requesting authorization to declare an illegal assembly and issue a dispersal order.”

“I leave it to your discretion… but ugh, what a mess.”

“You’re telling me,” Lieutenant Commander Rivera vented. He was the one down here trying to protect the reactor they shouldn’t even be bothering with, and it was his men paying the price. “I’ll keep you in the loop. Rivera out.” The security chief tapped his combadge, closing the link, and then tapped it again to open another. “Rivera to all teams. We got the greenlight!” His voice was laced with adrenaline and excitement knowing that they could, at last, finally stop sitting on their hands. They could finally put down this mob. “Prepare to move in. It’s time to end this thing!”

Along the line, his men straighten their stances. They knew what would come next. They’d gone over the plan at the morning briefing, and admittedly, some were almost even looking forward to it. He couldn’t blame them either. He felt that way too. After three nights of abuse, he was ready to finally do something about it.

“Attention! Attention! To all in the proximity of the reactor, this gathering has been declared an unlawful assembly!” Lieutenant Commander Rivera shouted the words through a megaphone, his chest thrust in the air projecting an aura of confidence and charisma. “You are ordered to disperse immediately! Failure to comply will be met with force and arrest!”

His men on the line beat their batons against their riot shields and began to advance forward towards the waiting protestors.

The protestors, though, were undeterred, their voices shouting in unison: “First you come with gifts, but we said no! And look at you now, your real colors show!” The order had just incensed them further as they howled at the advancing line of Starfleet security officers.

Again, Lieutenant Commander Rivera shouted over the megaphone: “You are ordered to disperse! I say again, you are ordered to disperse!”

They weren’t dispersing though.

They would not back down.

This was their home.

And so, the melee began. 

Riot shields pressed against protestors, and protestors pressed back. Then came the plywood, cracking against shields and glancing off vests, the colonists trying to repel the phalanx. The security officer, in turn, swung their batons without mercy, dropping protestors one by one.

This’d be over in minutes, Lieutenant Commander Rivera thought to himself. Never did it go through his mind that this was not how it was to be done, that this wasn’t becoming of a Starfleet officer, and that this wasn’t winning them any friends. All he could see was red.

His confidence was a fool’s confidence too. The chest thumping and fancy gear hadn’t scared the colonists, nor had it defused the mob. It had, instead, ignited it. The colonists were in a frenzy now as the once-peaceful demonstration turned into all-out riot. Starfleet might’ve had better equipment, but for each colonist that fell to the strike of a baton or the shove of a shield, five more took their place. They had something to fight for, and fight they would. This was their home.

Soon, as the line began to crumble, it became clear to Lieutenant Commander Rivera that they were losing control. He tapped his combadge again: “Rivera to Palisades! I need more men or we’re gonna be overrun! Send more men!”

“How many?”

“I need every single…” he began to reply, but then he stopped as a crack pierced the night, a sound he recognized instantly. It was the sound of energized polarons igniting atmospheric ions as a phaser rifle coughed out a shot.

Lieutenant Commander Rivera looked out over the line. He couldn’t see the shooter, but he could see the shots themselves. One burst, then another, and finally a third. He could see where they’d come from too. His side of the line. And then he saw the bodies, three of them, dressed in civvies, definitely colonists.

“Shit,” Lieutenant Commander Rivera muttered to himself.

“Rivera, say again. How many?” came the voice from his combadge.

But the chief didn’t reply. He was frozen. Everyone was frozen. For a moment, it was perfectly silent, protestor and officer alike, everyone trying to process what had just happened, the three bodies lying motionless in the dirt.

“What the fuck?” came a voice from the crowd.

“Did they just shoot us?!” gasped another.

“We’re unarmed!” shouted a third.

And then all hell broke loose.

Starfleet had shown its colors. If it was willing to shoot them, to kill them, they had nothing to lose. So fuck it. The colonists threw their bodies forward with reckless abandon, fists flying, feet kicking, projectiles and molotovs sailing overhead as they howled with unadulterated rage.

“Lieutenant Commander Rivera?” the officer on the other side of the link asked again.

Oh, that’s right, Lieutenant Commander Rivera remembered. He had the Pacific Palisades on the line. “We have a problem, Palisades. There was a…” He had to pause for a moment to duck as a cinder block flew past his head. “A shooting! Shots fired!”

“Say again, Rivera? Did you say shots fired?”

But Lieutenant Commander Rivera never got a chance to reply as a colonist, one of horde that’d broken through the line, was suddenly on top of him, dislodging his rifle and driving him into the ground.

As the security chief’s head hit the dirt, he looked to his right. There was nothing left of their line. The colonists were everywhere, swarming like hornets, climbing over riot shields, knocking away batons, and pelting his men with anything they could get their hands on. This was not good. Not good at all.

And then he felt the pressure on his chest. He looked up to see a big burly beast of a man with his knee pressed against the chief’s chest. The man had at least fifteen centimeters and twenty kilos over the chief, his eyes full of fire and his hand raised over his head. Before Rivera could even raise his hands to defend himself, that hand curled into a fist and fell upon him, striking him square across the jaw. Once… twice… and then a third time… a barrage of hammer fists, each strike harder than the last.

As Lieutenant Commander Rivera’s skull bounced off the ground, again and again under the barrage, he began to see stars. And then he started to see bright splotches.

Was this the end?

No, those bright splotches weren’t phosphenes, the repeated strikes evoking random impulses across his occipital lobe. No, those splotches were shimmering, almost like… like transporter signals.

Had the cavalry arrived?

As the shimmers faded, in their wake stood Starfleet officers. Dozens, and then well over a hundred, materializing all around him, around his men, and around the protestors. Overhead too, he heard the sound of starfighters, a trio in fight formation blasting overhead. It was a show of force, and it was nothing like what Captain Saito and the Pacific Palisades could have mustered. 

What the hell was happening?

An officer, a lieutenant commander in yellow, someone he didn’t recognize, was suddenly there, standing over him and his adversary. Barely 1.6 meters in height, but well-built and muscular, she reached down and plied the man off him with almost effortless grace. There was no emotion in her movements, nor on her face, almost like it was just another day in the office, just a practiced joint lock creating pressure that allowed her to separate them.

The protestor recoiled as he stepped back, and then he drew himself into a fighting stance, ready to lunge at her. But that’s when her Type-II compression pistol came up, lightning fast on the draw, but also somehow precise and measured in the movement, her face still exuding a calmness that seemed out of place against the chaotic backdrop. “I have no quarrel with you, my friend,” she said, her voice somehow both gentle and forceful at the same time. “None at all. But I need you to step back. Now.”

There was something different about her, the protestor thought as he eyed her over. There was a cold professionalism in her unlike the pricks he’d been protesting against the last week, and so, after considering his options, the man raised his hands and took a couple steps back.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she offered in a tone that almost seemed compassionate.

Behind her, Lieutenant Commander Rivera got back to his feet, gave off a great huff, and then reached down to retrieve his rifle. 

“I don’t think so,” the female officer snapped, spinning on the fellow officer. “Your rifle stays on the ground!”

“What?!” Lieutenant Commander Rivera gasped. “We’re on the same team!”

“We’re all on the same team – you, me, and our friends here on Duraxis,” she replied, nodding at the protester who’d just been mounted atop him. “But you – all of you – you all need to cool it until we can talk things out.”

He still looked indecisive, as if he might not honor her request.

“Consider it an order,” the woman stated. “From someone that far outranks you and Saito.”

That caused him to pause. Someone who far outranked Captain Saito? Huh? She seemed damn serious though, and she was the one with the gun, not him. “Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Commander Kehlani Koh, USS Diligent.”

He didn’t recognize her name, but he recognized the ship. The Diligent was an Alita class heavy escort assigned to Polaris Squadron. It’d been over Vespara Prime when the Pacific Palisades had responded to Admiral Reyes’ distress call.

“I see…” Lieutenant Commander Rivera said as he glanced around. He’d brought forty officers down, but now, there had to be at least two hundred, maybe more, and the newly arrived officers were busy separating officers and protestors with military-like precision all around them. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Don’t thank me,” Lieutenant Commander Koh shook her head. “Not ’til you talk to Vox.” She gestured with a nod towards a clump of officers who’d secured the scene around the three shooting victims. Several medical officers were down on their knees, assessing the downed colonists, and standing over them was a hawkish-looking man with captain’s pips. “He, and the admiral too, they’ll expect an explanation for this… this travesty.”

“I… uh…” Lieutenant Commander Rivera fumbled for the words, caught off-guard by her evident displeasure. But before he could say anything more, a new voice drew their attention.

“Excuse me… excuse me…” came a voice from the crowd, and then, swiftly and deferentially, the crowd split at the seam. In their wake, an old man with soot-stained cheeks, shadow-drowned eyes and weather-worn skin stepped forward. “Who the hell is in charge? I demand to speak to whomever is in charge!”