“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

Gilbert K Chesterton, 1919

The Warrior came upon the Child in the grasslands and, in doing so, knew that there was nothing left in his arsenal that could defend her from what she had lost.

The sun was setting over the sighing blue tundra of endless grasslands, the Omichor had all fled during the fighting and it was unlikely that, without the colonist’s expertise, that the great hefting – herd of the beasts could ever be corralled as they fled for the dying sun.

Lieutenant – Commander Harry Trench squatted on the ridgeline, aware that this was probably the first and last time he would expose himself so, but confident that there were now (for now) no new enemies to betray this confidence or position.

Feeling every long, hard year of service, Harry set down the butt of his weapon against the loamy – earth and regarded the Child as she clawed hopelessly at the unforgiving land and tried to find some reason, some parallel – some intangible sprite that would linger long enough to give context and justification to War and the terrible things that he had just done in the name of Freedom.

As the sargasso – wind rustled the uncaring seed-tops of the blue – green grass, Harry regretfully concluded that the answers were not that simple or easily – won and with a very genuine sigh of resignation, the old – solider willed his calves to rise him once more and with that small – victory, he padded down the shallow, dusty slope to where the Girl mourned in the harsh, black, indifferent – wound of her innocence.

Adept in his craft, Harry ensured that his approach went unheeded.

As he approached the Girl, a mind that was honed from years of threat evaluation saw none. She was young – in that awkward period between naïve child and the incandescence of teenagerhood. Coltish and awkward, not yet fully realized and yet to become the woman that these dark times would inevitably shape her to be.

For that very reason, Harry Trench had left the phaser – rifle behind on the ridge and pocketed the power – cell.

This was a conflict that would be won by more appropriate, unconventional means.

The Girl in the crater only noticed his presence after Harry had been sat on the edge of the carbon – blackened declivation for some minutes.

A Trench sat at the edge of a Trench, no less.

To his practiced eyes, the wreckage looked likely to be a non – aligned smallcraft that had fallen prey to hostile action, the carbonization and spatter – patterning were consistent with a strike from a Polaron weapons -discharge and the ablative effects of an uncontrolled atmospheric re-entry.

It was this type of attention to salient details that had elevated the Warrior to his current position, but he found no reason to celebrate this.

“Someone you knew?” Harry’s deep baritone carried over the crater after a long while, whilst the Girl seemed intent on ruining her fingernails in the futility of digging and clawing at the bare earth with her hands.

Harry knew that the impact crater would be ‘glassed’ by the resultant heat of re-entry and impact but kept this to himself.

The Girl sobbed and seemed to ignore the Warrior, she dug with such fervor that Harry though that she might just succeed in raising the dead from this sad amalgam of twisted wreckage.

He signed and tipped his head back to the evening breeze as the triple – suns of the system began their sunset in train.

Loss was universal, no matter your age or when your life had the misfortune to intersect with it.

Sometimes it just fell to you to greet its newest supplicant and explain the woeful progression to them.

Harry braved the scree and half – slid down into the crater, the darker shadows there deepening his dark features and adding an unknowable aspect.

He reached out with strong, certain hands and gently – but firmly grasped the Cardassian – youth’s fragile wrists and slowly raised them from the tortured earth.

“What was their name?” Harry asked softly, as the girl’s frantic, fevered eyes turned and saw (but didn’t really register) his own.

The Cardassian girl looked down to the wreckage, as if still seeing the spark of life somewhere and whispered in a broken voice.

“Peter…. his name was Peter.”

Harry Trench nodded, as if this was the most normal day in a series of normal days and spoke.

“Peter must have been an extraordinary person?”

The girl looked up at the sky, as if reliving a private moment and when her gaze returned to his, Harry could see that the child was more centered, becoming more present now by every vital minute.

“He was beautiful.” She said simply and that word said worlds.

Trench nodded and he let go of one hand and rose to his haunches saying neutrally.

“My name is Harry. What’s your name?”

There was the longest pause then the ragged child said.

“Challa….my name is Challa.”

Harry nodded and touched his broad chest and commbadge with his sure hand and assured.

“Challa, my name is Lieutenant – Commander Harry Trench. I am a Starfleet Officer and I have come to take you home.”

The girl blinked uncertain, still afraid and very much confused. Wasn’t she already home?

“But you’re human.” She ventured, her eyes slightly glazed.

“That I am.” Harry nodded.

“Humans call us “Greys”, that’s not nice.” Challa reasoned with bitterness.

Chief Trench’s face darkened slightly as he squatted in the crater and held the frail – girl’s hand.

“No it is not.” Harry said with certainty.

“I’ve never called anyone a “Pink”.” Challa looked earnestly at the hulking Security Chief; her voice uncertain – but certain in her veracity.

“That’s not acceptable either.” Trench nodded. “There was a time in my own people’s history when people were denied respect and liberty, purely because other people were uncomfortable with the color of those people’s skin and how those differences highlighted their own inadequacies and made them feel.”

The girl frowned, despite her trauma and asked.

“There was?” The girl wondered aloud.

Harry nodded solemnly and checked the skyline habitually, before nodding slowly and with weight.

“There was.”

“How was this resolved?”

Harry blew out his cheeks and looked up at the magenta – hued dying sky.

“Well,” He reasoned.” It took a long time; some say longer than it should – but these things take what, who and however long they take, I guess. Sometimes it took a single life, sometimes a whole generation – but eventually people just agreed that they wouldn’t put up with that kind of thing anymore and they just stopped. And then those people convinced and stopped the other people that did think that way (sadly, we also had more than one War) and at the end of the day, showed them a better way to live”

Harry’s face held the legacy of emancipation and retrospect perfectly.

The girl looked unconvinced and pointed down to the wreckage with an accusing finger.

“Peter didn’t see the world in ‘Greys’ and ‘Pinks’, he just saw what was beautiful in things and people.” Challa wiped a regretful tear from her raw eyes. “The High Command didn’t come to save us, how are you any different?”

For the longest time Harry looked mournfully at the girl and she thought he might never speak again.

Eventually Lieutenant – Commander Harry Trench dusted off the blue-grey earth from his broad hands and looked down at Challa.

“I’m different because I swore an oath to protect anyone that needs my help, Challa, regardless of the color of their skin, where they are from, what Gods they may or not worship, who they choose to love or what wars we may have fought against each other in the past.”

Harry indicated the darkening sky.

“I’m a Starfleet Officer, Challa, and I have come to take you back to your people and I will do everything in my power to make sure that you are safe now and remain to be so, including laying down my life to defend your own.”

He held out his strong, sure hand again.

“Will you come with me now Challa?”

The girl held out her thin hand, her eyes sure.

“Yes.”

“Trench to “Hikaru Sulu”. I have located the last survivor. Two to Beam – up.”