The cabin of the shuttle Hispania was climate-controlled. Humidity was regulated to prescribed levels. The temperature was decidedly average, neither too hot nor too cold. Both settings settled upon by engineers with far too much time deciding these values to make the climate aboard Federation starships a decidedly non-factor.

The atmosphere of the planet SE-SE-878 was decidedly not controlled.

And the stark white concrete landing pad under a clear blue sky wasn’t helping any either.

The humidity had formed a nigh-physical barrier that had to be pushed through. The sunlight glaring off the painted concrete ramped up the experienced temperature in the shuttle as soon as the hatch finished opening.

“Damn, that’s bright,” Mac muttered, the head of a rather small contingent stepping out of the shuttle and into the fresh air of a world whose local name still escaped them.

“Sir,” came a reserved voice to Mac’s left. Ensign Mianaai, his yeoman, was not cast from the same mould as his only other day-to-day example of a yeoman. She knew far more about the ship’s goings-on than he liked, was always ready with a report before he knew he wanted it, and wielded his schedule in the same deadly manner as he’d seen Stirling Fightmaster use Tikva Theodoras’ against her. But she lacked the same affable charm and ease of presence.

The young woman at his side had seen far more in her few years than most would in their entire lifetimes.

As he turned to Katlyn, eyes squinting in the harsh glare, she offered him a pair of sunglasses. A copy of the ones she was already wearing. As were the two humanoid security officers behind her, the Exocomp with them immune to such pedestrian hindrances as glaring light.

“You couldn’t have offered these beforehand?” he asked with a smile, nodding in thanks as he took the rarely needed artifact and donning them. Such a simple technology, darkened and polarised lenses, yet so, so effective. “Appreciated, though.”

“I had tried, sir,” Mianaai replied. “You didn’t respond.”

“Oh,” he responded. He had, after all, decided to use the trip down from orbit to read over Lieutenant Trid’s diplomatic brief once more, thoroughly engrossed in a few details. “Next time, kick me if you have to.”

“Does that go for all of us?” another voice asked. Cat Saez had finished securing Hispania’s flight systems and joined the away team at the shuttle’s hatch, taking a pair of sunglasses offered to her by the Orion in their midst, Selu Levne.

“No,” Mac, Levne and even Mianaai answered in unison. Mac’s had been exasperated, Mianaai’s formal and Levne’s had carried a more threatening tone to it.

“Just joking,” Cat deflected. “Mind if I stay with the shuttle, sir? I want to look over that weird engine flutter we had on the way down. Think it’s something like that field from Leytan, but would like to make sure.”

“I would certainly like to return to Republic at some point,” Mac answered. “Levne?”

“Fruit Basket, stay with the shuttle,” Selu Levne said with all the emotion one would expect from a Vulcan, not so much an Orion. A supply box was opened, and a phaser was then handed to Saez. “Keep this on you.”

“Aye, aye,” Saez answered.

With phasers then distributed amongst the rest of the away team, save for Mac, they set off.

And as soon as boots touched concrete, a door opened on the nearest building. Four Vraxiri, in even more muted and utilitarian uniforms compared to the Commandant’s from earlier, marched out two-abreast, making a beeline for the Starfleet crew. Rifled weapons were held across their chests as they approached.

“The welcoming committee,” Mac said, waving down Levne and her other security officer. “No different from if we were visiting Klingons.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Captain Charles MacIntyre,” one of the leading pair declared. “We are to escort you to the Commandant.”

It wasn’t quite a frogmarch, but not far from it either. There was no tour, no proclamation of Vraxiri might or prowess. No listing of any achievements. Just a quick, purposeful and extremely hot walk across the compound towards the keep. Doors parted only as they approached, cool, refreshing air spilling out to wash over them as they entered the darker space inside.

The doors swished shut behind them equally as quick.

“This way,” one of the guards ordered, leading them through the keep with the same promptness.

Stairs greeted them. More Vraxiri, who said nothing, just watched. A wall with hundreds of names carved into it was the only feature of note to the interior of the keep, just prior to the commandant’s office.

“Unarmed,” Commandant Temrin Rellin g’Molkar stated when he looked up from his desk, taking in Mac and Mac alone. The others were completed dismissed, ancillary to Mac.

“Should I be?” The sunglasses were removed, handed to Mianaai, before he stepped forward, approaching Rellin’s desk. “Do I need to be?”

“Naïve,” Rellin complained. “As I was warned, as I expected.” The Vraxiri commandant rose from his seat, towering over Mac even from across a desk. “Did you see the names as you entered?”

“I did,” Mac answered. “Losses, I take it?”

“To this world, to the jungle.” Rellin paused, eyes squinting slightly. “To the Spear.”

“Condolences on your losses.” It was a rote response, but not insincere. “We have had our own encounter with a similar artifact elsewhere in the Expanse. Hostile environments, a hostile occupant, yes?”

Rellin took Mac in once more, then spared a moment for the rest of the team with him. Not exactly an intimidating away team, but that was the point after all. Let the Klingons sauntering about the region use all the machismo. “You must have lost dozens, hundreds in your exploration of this Spear sister?”

Mac couldn’t contain the smile. He tried at least to keep it from becoming a smirk. “Not a single life lost,” he answered briefly. “Couple of scrapes and bruises, but otherwise fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” Rellin challenged, circling around his desk quickly to come closer to Mac. But when Mac didn’t flinch, didn’t back away at all, Rellin paused. “How?”

“Mostly luck and a not inconsiderable amount of recklessness.” Rellin didn’t need to know about Republic ploughing through a storm to give cover to runabouts, or Atlantis having to do the same to cover their own retreat. “Perhaps we can exchange notes on experiences and see what we can learn from each other?”

On cue Mianaai stepped forward, presenting a padd for Mac to take from his yeoman. Which he then offered to Rellin. “Consider this a gift, hopefully between friends.”

“Friends gift weapons to each other,” Rellin said as he accepted the padd, an errant thumb bringing a screen to life. “What is this?”

“Starfleet’s most formidable weapon,” Mac replied. “Knowledge.”