Salan tried to stand, but his legs felt suddenly weak; his head spun as the room danced before him, the Vulcans body raked with stomach and chest pains, breathing laboured.  Was this how he was going to die?

He flung the now half empty bowl at his poisoner, but Jia easily avoided it; laughing hysterically as she did so.  But the wooden bowl had merely been a distraction, so the Vulcan could make a desperate lung for the open doorway.  The Commanders legs half buckled under the weight of his own body as he grasped the door frame and stumbled out side.

“You won’t get far!” The woman mocked from inside.

The world seemed blurred and hazy; trees and building around him distorted and menacing.  Frantically Salan ran through the layout of the settlement, hoping that something familiar would guide him towards the barn where 30 years ago had been a makeshift medical facility.  Then again he couldn’t even guarantee the place was still there.

He stumbled, hit the side of a building and dropped to his knee with a thud.  The Vulcan felt pain like never before, every part of him was in agony; somehow he drove himself on.  Even though now, he was basically crawling on hands and knees, unable to get back on his feet.  Every muscle of his body was on fire, and his insides felt like they were desperate to be outside; head pounding, vision now just blobs of colour.  How he kept moving was a miracle in itself.

The sense that someone was standing over him, was confirmed by the two female, sandaled feet. “It’s such a pity.” Jia tutted. “You were destined for more than this. But that doctor had to interfere.”

Salan coughed up bile, which stung the inside of his throat; simply unable to give any reply to his assassins taunts.  He heard voices, the woman’s and at least one other.  An argument, shout; he was too far gone to understand any of what was going on.  Strong arms grabbed him under the shoulders, lifting him from the ground.  His feet dragged as they were unable to offer any support of their own.  The Commander tried to explain that the Jia had poisoned him; the words however came out garbled. The light and shadow danced across his vision, before darkness finally enveloped him.

**********

Doctor Frank de Havilland was a man just turned 40; he was part of an eight strong, Medical Field Team, currently operating on Elas.  The team had spent the last 6 months working their way across the more remote parts of the planet; offering help and medical assistance to any inhabitant unable to travel to the main clinics or hospitals.  Once they’d completed their 6 months a new team would be sent in to continue the work, whilst the members of this group were reassigned to other posts. He’d only got a couple of days left of this assignment then he’d be off to pastures new.  Where he didn’t know, but Frank was sure he’d find out soon enough.

Doctor de Havilland felt he could get just one more village in, before his time was up.  This was what had brought him to Ridaar that afternoon.  There had been a number of odd goings on since the team had arrived.  People acting strange; and it had got more noticeable during the past 7 to 10 days.  But what he had just witnessed moments ago was weirder still.

A dozen of the locals stood in a wide arc across one of the through-ways between buildings.  They varied in age and size, both male and female, stood in a trance like state all chanting the exact same words.   ‘All hail the Helgeshran, he of the light, for his time approaches.’  The doctor didn’t have a clue what any of that meant; it did however send a chill running down his spine.  What was also odd, was how no one seemed concerned by these odd goings on.  No, actually that wasn’t right, people had been concerned to start with, only to later act like everything was fine.

Just past the group of locals he spotted a lone woman in a long robe standing over a man on the ground.  He’d shouted at her, and she’d just laughed, as Frank went to the aid of the man who turned out to be a Vulcan.  The Vulcan was extremely ill, possible dying, from the look of him.

Grabbing the Vulcan under the arms, Doctor de Havilland had managed to lift him up.  The Vulcan said something half incoherent; which may have contained the word ‘poison’ in it, before passing out.  This was the moment the assembled crowd started to move; heading towards the two of them in an apparent hypnotic state.  The woman was laughing.  “It’s too late.” She mocked, “Too late for him, too late for you, too late for everyone.”

Dragging a near lifeless body was no mean feat; de Havilland was just glad he kept himself fit.  He managed to push the first two locals that reached them back.  They both staggered slightly then like the rest, came forward again.  The group were attempting to surround them and had forced him up against the wall of a building.  It was someone’s house, the door of which was tantalisingly close, and it was open; may be one of his would-be attackers lived there?

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t hit a woman, but this was far from normal.  The doctor struck her hard, and then gave the man next to her a sharp hard kick in the right shin.  That gave him the gap he needed reach the door.  He unceremoniously dropping the Vulcan on to the hard stony floor; swung round and slammed the door shut.  Or would have had least tried to, had it not been for the hand in the way.  de Havilland was sure bones had been broken by the impact.  It was a strong wooden door, and he’d put his full weight behind closing it.  The hand withdrew; allowing the doctor the opportunity to close the door fully and lock it.

**********

Slumped on the floor back resting against the door, Doctor de Havilland noticed the thump of fists and feet hitting it, had stopped. He’d been there, a good five minutes, breathing heavily, heart pounding in his chest.  The Vulcan he’d tried so desperately to save; was dead.

May be if he’d got access to medical equipment or knew the nature of the poison used, he could have saved this guy’s life.  However with nothing but a Medical Tricorder; which in fact now lay on the ground a few metres from the building, after it had been dislodged from his belt in the struggle to escape the crowd.  The vehicle he’d arrived in was parked even further away.  There were a few basic medical supplies in the back, but probably nothing which would of helped.

No one had answering his call for assistance either.  Leaving him to wonder if the rest of the team had been attacked or possibly even affected by what ever was going on.  A window smashed to his right and hands appeared in the hole created, clawing at the air.  Someone was attempting to climb in; cutting themselves across their hands, lower arms and legs as they did so.  The doctor was horrified to realise that the man, neither felt the pain nor cared about the injuries he was inflicting on himself.  The man three quarters of the way in, blood everywhere; when de Havilland slammed a heavy cooking pot hard across the back of his head.  The attacker dropped forwards, causing even more injuries to his arms and legs, plus a huge deep gash in his chest; the glass still imbedded in it as he landed face first and drove the shard even deeper.

The doctor had killed only once before; that had been in self-defence to, during a Klingon ground attack in 2399.   A couple of small medical station had been set up behind the front line, in order to treat any injured personnel or members of the local population caught in the cross fire.  With the battle in full swing, it had been impossible to beam anyone in or out of the area.

He’d been operating on a Lieutenant-Commander from one of the Science departments, who’d been thrust into the front line.  A hit from a Klingon disrupter had left a nasty wound in the up part of his left shoulder, and burns across the side of his neck and chin.  The guy had been in a lot of pain, but that had been dealt with.

The Ensign who should have been keeping careful watch had been distracted by an explosion not far from their current position; which is when the warriors made their move. How these two Klingons had got behind the lines was never fully understood.  But within seconds the young man on guard’s throat had been cut and his lifeless body dropped silently to the ground.

A medical technician, assisting with treating the four patients currently at the medical station, turned as the nearest Klingon struck; raising his arm in a last second attempt to save himself’ the bat’leth severed it just below the elbow.   The other Klingon having killed the Ensign, now plunged that same dagger into the heart of a female Bolian as she lay on one of the beds.

Only when the nurse standing next to him screamed, did de Havilland realise what was happening.  She was to become their fourth victim in less than a minute.  With her blood joining that of the patient he was dealing with; spattered across his doctor’s coat, he’d assumed the next swing of the bat’leth had been aimed at him as he dove to one side.  Whatever the case; its deadly tip was driven hard into the Science Officers chest, between the third and fourth rib.

He didn’t remember grabbing the small hand phaser, which presumably belonged to one of the patients.  Nor did he remember firing it.  The next thing de Havilland remembered was two dead Klingons and the stench of blood from all those they’d killed moments before.

It had taken several months of therapy to recover from that traumatic ordeal; now he was covered in someone else’s blood once more; and he felt sick.