‘…but maybe Forrester’s much better off in damage control? She’s been doing it for a few years and likes getting her hands dirty so I don’t really know…’

‘Mm.’

‘But it’s – are you actually listening?’ Thawn couldn’t keep the accusatory tone from her voice, even though her actual feeling was embarrassment as she realised she’d been getting monosyllabic responses from Beckett for some minutes now.

‘What?’ He looked up from where he’d been trying to build a pyre of garlic bread sticks. Even though Gateway Station’s Arcade technically didn’t sleep, shift patterns gave natural ebbs and flows to the hustle and bustle of the centre of life aboard the starbase. They were in one of the ebbs, deep into the evening of Galactic Standard, and the Italian restaurant simply called L’Osteria was quietening down from the steadier buzz of activity of when they’d arrived. They were through two courses of excellent food, well into the second carafe of wine, and should have been discussing dessert. But she’d been discussing work, and Beckett looked like she’d lost him somewhere. He was the one with the sheepish grin, though, straightening up.

‘Forrester,’ he said. ‘Job. Yes.’

Thawn’s shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.’

He waved the apology away. ‘You’ve had a lot on your mind. Like a whole department. And I know you do your best thinking out loud.’

She fidgeted with the napkin she’d tossed atop the checked red-and-white tablecloth. ‘I just want to get it right tomorrow.’

‘Scuttlebutt says Perrek was a bit spooked getting thrown across the quadrant and might prefer to work reliably near his family. I think that’ll determine whether Valance keeps you on as CEO – not anything you say.’

‘What rumour?’

‘Hey, I have my sources.’ He leaned forward, giving that smug grin she knew he thought of as charming, but she found charmingly annoying. ‘As for Forrester, have you tried asking her if she wants to make assistant chief or is happier running damage control?’

‘I don’t know if she’ll…’ Thawn’s voice trailed off, and she wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh. She’s not Athaka, is she. She’ll speak her mind and won’t tell me what she thinks I want to hear.’

‘Exactly.’ His smile softened. ‘You know, it never occurred to me that you should take on Engineering. But it seems like it’s perfect.’

‘I like the freedom.’ Again she felt bashful. Rosara Thawn was not particularly experienced in discussing what she wanted. ‘Ops is about running support for everyone else, and that’s fulfilling and I think I’m good at it. But you always have the duty officer breathing down your neck. Engineering is – could be – my space.’

‘Freedom.’ A smile tugged at his lips as he hefted the carafe and went to refill their glasses. ‘Seems like something you’re getting a taste for.’

She heard the edge of his point, felt him brush against the topic, but until he directly engaged, she wasn’t going to. ‘We’ll see what Captain Valance says. But what about you?’

‘Me?’

‘Intelligence. I know you say you like it, and you seem like you’re good at it, but…’ She reached for her wine glass, frowning as she tried to gather her point. He was always so prickly about anything to do with his life path. ‘But you seemed a lot more enthusiastic about finding the Veilweaver’s prison than you did about the strategic condition of the Klingon border.’

‘I mean, one of those was an unending pit of misery and despair… and the other was our burgeoning border war,’ he said wryly, then shook his head. ‘No, just, before we knew what the Veilweaver was, we were hunting through a historical mystery. That’s interesting. That’s the kind of thing I might pick up a book about off-duty. The Klingon situation? That’s all work.’

‘And you want to stay at it?’

He hesitated again. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but she knew better than to keep her telepathic abilities anything short of on complete lockdown in these conversations. At length he said, ‘I’m good at it. There’s a purpose to it. And it is interesting. I can use the same skills I do in a blue shirt, but I apply them to emerging situations. You’ve got to look at the data, then look at the people, then piece it all together.’

‘I’m not trying to tell you what you should do.’ She offered her own softening smile, hearing the creeping tension in his voice, knowing it wasn’t necessarily about her. ‘We’ve just both had a major career shift. In directions we didn’t expect.’

‘And there’s plenty of time to deal with it.’ Beckett swept a hand around the quietening restaurant. Beyond its doors, the hustle and bustle of the Arcade at night continued, Gateway Station’s pulsing population ever seeking distraction and engagement. But here, diners finished up their evening or tucked just into desserts and digestifs as staff saw to these concluding needs and cleared empty tables. They were not about to be turfed out. But with the gentle piano music bouncing off the red brick-effect walls and a good meal long gone, there was no urgency.

‘There’s time,’ Thawn agreed. ‘I think the captain might go spare if Commodore Rourke tries to send us off somewhere without a good week or two of shore leave. Even with the Feserell and border situations.’

‘There are other ships. Swiftsure and Redemption can deal with it.’

‘Exactly.’ She tilted her chin up an inch. ‘And we can come here and have good food and good drink for a little bit.’

‘Even if you decide to use the time to ramble at me about Endeavour’s personnel assignments.’

‘I was – I’ve had a lot on my mind.’ She found herself stumbling over words, abashed and defensive. ‘We usually talk work, though I know this is our first date…’

Beckett made a face. ‘Is it our first date? You don’t count that welcome party the Khalagu held for us?’

‘That was work…’

‘We spent a lot of that night not working,’ he pointed out with a smirk.

That only made her flush more. ‘And I know we’ve… made plans together and spent time together, but that was just going wherever we were – a drink on the Starfall or taking in the sights in Synnef or just meeting up in the Round Table or Safe House. Don’t pretend you didn’t make a big fuss about booking this table and planning a big dinner and making this the first time we properly went out since we decided to do… this.’ She flapped her hands a little as she gestured between them.

‘Ah,’ said Beckett, softening and sobering at the same time, despite the hint of teasing that still lingered. ‘This. Yes. Running away together.’

‘We’re a little past the running away, don’t you think?’ She twisted her fingers together. ‘We came back.’

‘We did. Back to reality. To… this.’ His gesture between them was a calmer mirror of her flap. ‘Whatever this is.’

She heard the silent question, though her heart started to pound at it, and more through anxiety than excitement. It was still the excitement that she leaned into, though, reaching across the table for his hand and offering a slyer smile. ‘What if we wrap up here and remind ourselves?’

Intimacy did not come easily to Rosara Thawn. She told herself it was the transition from Betazoid society to Starfleet, where she’d cut herself off from her foremost way of connecting with people. Even after choosing to throw half her life away, after leaving Adamant Rhade and boarding the Starfall with Nate Beckett, intimacy on those long weeks away together had been slow, faltering. Patient. Real, like leaning over the edge of a cliff she’d for so long never dared even approach, and feeling her breath catch at how far down it was, but not yet falling. Not yet letting go. Or, perhaps, not yet being pulled.

But real enough to lose herself for an evening when they made it back to her quarters on Endeavour, docked at Gateway Station while crew and vessel took time to recover from their burdens. Real enough to banish the wider galaxy for a night, for them to eventually fall asleep still tangled up in each other. Real enough to forget.

She was normally the first to rise, but the squadron command staff had a meeting he needed to prepare briefing packages for, so she was still stirring in the morning when he was already changing into a uniform and shoving a replicated pastry in his mouth.

‘I’ll comm you,’ Beckett said through a mouthful of crumbs as he pulled on his boots. ‘Lunch? Dinner? Something.’

Despite herself, Thawn smiled as she lay back in the comfortable bedsheets. ‘Something. My meeting’s not til 1400.’

‘I’ll try to not piss off Valance first.’ He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, then he was gone.

She was still slow to rise then. At first. At first, she snoozed, then sat up and thought about a cup of tea. Even when she was halfway to the replicator, only in a dressing gown, and saw the wall panel blink with a new message notification, she got her drink before she headed to a console.

And had to set the mug down so she didn’t spill it when she saw the message was from her aunt.

Her aunt, already on her way to Gateway Station. Her aunt, the matriarch of her House, the architect of the arranged marriage she’d fled from, nearly here. Her aunt, wanting to discuss her decisions and her future.

…impossible to resolve this impasse without direct discussion…

…your future, that you have placed in such jeopardy…

…consider what this means for our House…

…eager to hear Adamant’s perspective on this…

And as Rosara Thawn sat and read, and read, and let her tea grow cold, the warmth and burgeoning intimacy of last night was already more light-years away than her aunt now was. Because it was not, after all, just leaving Betazed for Starfleet that had hampered her ability to connect to and be open with other people.

Walking into the Sunny Side Diner ten minutes late meant Valance had to navigate the delicate path between not appearing rude, and not appearing as on the back foot as she felt. She settled for a brisk pace she felt was officious and headed for the booth at the far end of the diner.

‘I know I’m late; apologies.’ It was the best way to be polite without saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ to a journalist. She had not met Olivia Rivera before but recognised her from pictures: the long dark hair, the high cheekbones, the eyebrows that always seemed to add a hint of wryness to any expression.

That wryness remained as Rivera waved a dismissive hand and put the PADD she’d been reading to one side. ‘Oh, that’s not a problem, Captain; it’s given me more time to get intimately acquainted with the reactor fuel this place calls coffee. But let me guess – you’ve got an appointment after this you’ll have to leave for anyway?’

‘I have a briefing with the squadron senior staff,’ Valance said, a little hotly. ‘My work takes precedence over this.’

Rivera’s eyebrows stayed up. ‘I figured this would take more than one meeting, Captain.’

As if from nowhere, one of the diner’s waitstaff appeared at the table and set a steaming mug in front of Valance. ‘I’ll let you read over the menus for food, then I’ll be back!’ he chirped, not waiting for so much as thanks before he sashayed off.

Valance peered suspiciously at the mug. Coffee. Black. ‘This isn’t their filter.’

‘No, I’m thinking of saving some of this for my shuttle,’ mused Rivera, drinking deep from her own mug nevertheless. ‘I took the liberty of ordering you a raktajino ahead of time. I don’t know where they unearthed the beans from, though.’

Valance’s suspicion didn’t fade. ‘A raktajino.’

‘Don’t look at me like that, Captain. It’s literally my job to do my homework on stuff like what people drink before I drag them out for an interview.’

I didn’t think you were being creepy. I thought you were feeding the Klingon a Klingon drink as standard. Unfortunately for Valance’s bitterness, she did like raktajino. A sip confirmed she was indifferent to this raktajino, though.

‘Yeah,’ drawled Rivera, reading her expression. ‘We should have gone to Bean Me Up, huh.’

‘The coffee’s better there, but I’d like actual breakfast instead of a pastry the size of my fist.’ Valance tapped the display button on the table to bring up the projection of the menu, and punched in her order with little reading.

Rivera watched, amusement dancing in her eyes. ‘Do they know what avocado is here?’

‘Midgard isn’t a backwater -’

‘I mean this diner seems to think the stickiness on the table is a source of added nutrients and their idea of vegetables stops at a fried tomato,’ she drawled. ‘I’ve ridden on dropships with Reman commandos during the fall of the Star Empire; I’m not a Core Worlds girl who thinks Betazed is the fringe. I’m reading the diner, not the frontier.’

Valance observed Rivera steadily for a moment. Then swung the holographic menu around to her. ‘Do you want anything?’

Rivera gave a thin smirk. ‘I’m good. I ate first. But I admire this discipline on an athlete’s breakfast. You worked out before coming here?’

They had not formally begun, but Valance knew she was being pried for information – for, at least, more of a read on her as a person, even if it wasn’t material for publication. Although it came with the territory, the thought of even her most minor behaviours being monitored and assessed rankled.

But lying or misdirecting felt petty, so Valance just said, ‘Yes.’

Rivera wasn’t thwarted. ‘Let me guess: martial arts?’

‘Cardio this morning, actually. What do you do to keep up with Reman dropships?’

It was not the smoothest riposte, and still, Rivera gave a wicked grin. ‘I find sitting in them works. Once we land, all those triathlons come in handy.’ She settled back, expression sobering. ‘You’re wondering why you agreed to this.’

‘My commanding officer asked me to,’ Valance said, sipping her raktajino. It was suspiciously good for the Sunny Side Diner. ‘I’m wondering why you want to do this.’

‘Write a profile on an officer on the front line of some of the Federation’s biggest emerging situations? Present and past? Captain, if I’m right, you just briefed the Klingon High Council on the disappearance of Chancellor Martok -’

‘I suppose…’

‘Commanded Endeavour at the Battle of Farpoint and Pathfinder at the Battle of Izar, were in the middle of the Century Storm and the Velorum Sector. And Archanis,’ Rivera pressed on without missing a beat. ‘And now, with the Empire threatening the Republic, not to mention independent worlds along this frontier, you command one of Starfleet’s foremost ships that’ll doubtless be in the middle of the action. You’ve done stuff. You know stuff. But you’re also not shackled to a desk.’

Valance hesitated. ‘When you put it like that…’

‘Yeah, Captain.’ Rivera’s smile threatened to return. ‘You’re impressive.’

Despite herself, Valance flinched. ‘Flattery won’t get you better answers,’ she said, colder than she meant. ‘I’m here because if not me, you’ll target someone else. I won’t let my people be exposed to the judgement of the press.’

Rivera seemed to realise she’d misstepped, though clearly wasn’t sure how. ‘You’ve had bad experiences?’

‘I know that good news doesn’t get readers. Controversy gets readers. Are you going to successfully circulate articles about how wonderful and prepared Starfleet are for a potential new era of Klingon aggression?’

‘Are we wonderful and prepared for new Klingon aggression?’

Valance gave a hollow laugh. ‘I thought we hadn’t started yet.’

‘We haven’t. This meeting is to hammer out what the profile is and isn’t. What access I get. What access I don’t. And any of it can be rescinded if you’re uncomfortable. Believe it or not, Captain, I’m not here to screw you over. And if you think I am, I really can try to find someone else to write this about.’

The thought of Rivera writing a profile about Kharth was only marginally less horrifying than the thought of her writing a profile about Faust. Valance was saved from pivoting too ungracefully by the server returning with the platter of poached eggs on avocado toast, a messy pile he set before her with a flourish as if it were art.

‘Thank you,’ said Valance, courteous to buy herself time. Then she drank her coffee. By the time she’d paused to regard her food, Rivera’s words no longer hung between them so pointedly.

But still, the journalist pressed on. ‘I feel like we’re getting off on the wrong foot.’

You’re impressive. Valance shovelled in a mouthful of food so she didn’t have to reply at once. ‘What do you want out of this profile, Ms Rivera?’

‘There’s a lot of uncertainty in the galaxy.’ Rivera reached into her blazer and pulled out a stylus for her PADD, twirling it in her fingers. ‘People don’t really know what’s going on. Not out here. Romulans were our enemies, now they’re our friends; Klingons were our friends, now they’re maybe our enemies? Being in the dark makes people do stupid things. Like calling off an evacuation of a whole star system because we don’t like the people who’re gonna die very much. I want to write something which shows why we’re here. Why we should care.’

Valance stabbed an egg yolk with her fork and watched it ooze. At length, she said, ‘I don’t get how writing a profile of a Starfleet captain achieves that.’

A shrug. ‘Profiles help people connect better. They read about your life and work, they understand not just what you do – but why.’ Rivera sighed, leaning back. ‘I don’t normally say this because it makes people feel bad, but in this case… you’re not the message, Captain. You’re the medium.’

Valance wasn’t sure what to make of the idea that a concept Rivera normally found offended people should be used to reassure her. Or the fact that it worked. She yet again stalled for time by eating, before she said, ‘You’ve spent some time reporting from difficult places.’

‘I cut my teeth on the Romulan evacuation, and I was on Mars to cover the fleet when… Mars happened.’ A dismissive gesture with the stylus edited out any possible questions about that. Valance guessed Rivera was about her age, putting her in her early twenties, at the start of her career, in one of the greatest crises of the 24th century. ‘Then, yeah. Operation Gatecrasher. The Neutral Zone. I’ve been around.’

Her plate was empty. Valance reached for a napkin to wipe her lips. ‘Endeavour is in port. She needs maintenance and my crew needs shore leave. You don’t interrupt their leave – you don’t chase them for contributions.’

Rivera cocked her head. ‘It’s pretty standard to get some input from the people around the profile subject.’

‘There are people I’ve worked with on Gateway. People I’ve served alongside, people who’ve served under my command.’ Valance hesitated. ‘And not all my staff will be on leave the whole time. I’ll have them reach out to you to offer their time if they want to give it.’

Rivera looked unhappy but nodded. ‘You’ve got more terms.’

‘I’m not promising you access to Endeavour. We do this in meetings like this; interviews, whatever.’

‘It’s best if I get the chance to see you in the field -’

‘I don’t know what Endeavour will be assigned to do next, or when. So I’m not going to promise you can join us on our next mission.’

Rivera’s eyebrows hit her hairline. ‘Did I mention the Reman dropships? I’ve been embedded in worse places than a top-of-the-line Starfleet explorer.’

‘And only two weeks ago, my ship was dispatched with minimal notice and a skeleton crew to travel to Qo’noS and investigate the disappearance of Chancellor Martok. Duty comes at us fast.’

There was a pause. Then Rivera twirled the stylus in her fingers again and said, ‘Can I keep that one as a quote?’

Valance resisted the urge to roll her eyes. ‘Those are my terms. There’ll probably be more.’

‘Wow. You really do not want to make someone else put up with me.’

‘The truth, Ms Rivera, is that I’m not very interesting. You’ll likely end up disappointed. I want to create reasonable expectations.’

Rivera tapped the stylus on the table. Then she smiled, shrugged, and said, ‘Is that an agreement to do this, then?’

‘Maybe against my better judgement… yes.’ Valance pushed her empty plate away. ‘But we can’t start now. I have that staff meeting.’

‘Which I assume I don’t yet have access to.’

‘That isn’t my call. You can negotiate that kind of thing with Commodore Rourke.’

‘Oh, I will. After all, I do think you’re wrong, Captain.’ The smile widened. ‘I think this – and you – are going to be thoroughly interesting.’

Valance grumbled her way through the concluding small talk. She had more time than she’d let on before the meeting, but they’d got through the meat of the discussion and she wanted to be more prepared for anything further. Rivera would send her plans for their proper interviews, with some notice of topics they’d discuss so she could prepare notes and recollections, and hopefully, she could get this done in two or three meetings, before Endeavour even needed to leave port.

But it was, at least, a distraction while they were still at Gateway. While her work was lighter, and the ship needed her less, and she was theoretically supposed to have time off in between her duties to the squadron and double-checking the maintenance work. Time off, which just became time to brood. To reflect on the state of the galaxy. To reflect on her family, and what the state of the galaxy meant for them.

To reflect on the empty quarters she returned to at night, and the woman long gone who’d last told her she was impressive.

She should have been dirtbiking on paths down the Raum river, hurtling at breakneck speed alone in the untouched wilderness of the planet Alfheim below them. Instead, Kharth sat in the squadron briefing room, where only half of those in the meeting were there in the flesh, and tried to not claw out of her own skin.

‘Simply put, Commodore, Feserell needs to make a decision.’ It was only a holographic projection of Captain Faust, hovering ghost-like above the central comms array that overlooked the strategic map everyone else sat around. The projection still sounded as clipped and judgemental as ever as she rounded off her assessment of the Midgard Sector’s newest frontier problem. ‘They cannot retain their independence and expect to enjoy the protection of the Republic or Starfleet.’

The image of Commander Xhakaza shifted. From Kharth’s perspective, he did not directly face the projection of Faust, but the Ranger’s young skipper must have been doing so from wherever he was. ‘And if they don’t, we just let the Empire take them?’

Faust’s image shrugged. ‘This is not the first time the Klingon Empire has expanded its borders by conquest since the signing of the Khitomer Accord. We leave them be, time and time again. It is bloody and it is unpleasant, but we cannot afford to be squeamish simply because it is happening in front of us. We have no political grounds to intercede.’

‘And moral grounds?’ This was Captain Daragon of the Redemption, the normally genteel officer’s hackles up at the concept of Klingon expansion. He was a Kriosian; Kharth couldn’t blame him. ‘The Khitomer Accord’s coming apart at the seams. We shouldn’t let a collapsing treaty bind our hands and stop us from saving lives.’

‘And what of the lives lost by antagonising the Klingons?’ said Faust. ‘Commander Xhakaza’s stunt has already risked conflict breaking out with the House of K’Var…’

‘The House of K’Var already opened hostilities with us,’ Valance interjected. ‘They assaulted Commodore Rourke and attacked Endeavour unprovoked. As a house, they’re more than happy to square up with Starfleet.’

Kharth looked over at Rourke, stood as his officers argued, arms folded across his chest. It had been his wont as a captain to do this; to let his officers hash matters out and then come in once opinions had been aired. That was one thing when debating the operations of a starship. It was another when debating the fate of a planet – a sector.

And was that even why he was silent? Or did the role of the House of K’Var stay his hand?

It was Hale who stepped forward, voice gentle but guarded. ‘We cannot disregard that, by all accounts, the House of K’Var is close to the new Chancellor and looks likely to be elevated to become a Great House in their own right. Retaliation may not be seen by Qo’noS as a matter of a rogue house. It may be seen as an offence against Toral himself.’

‘All the more reason,’ said Faust, ‘for us to not overplay our hand out of sentiment. We cannot fix every crisis in this galaxy.’

‘We should fix the ones in front of us.’ Kharth almost blinked with surprise that she’d spoken. Eyes fell on her, and she stepped forward, angry now rather than self-conscious. ‘All we can do about the Empire conquering a planet on the far side of the quadrant is wring our hands. We can’t even get there. This is a planet of innocent people who’ve been ditched by their government and don’t want to be slaughtered. And we’re saying they have to join our club or die? That’s cowardice.’

Faust’s projection frowned. ‘Mind yourself, Commander. We’re considering the strategic future of the sector, and our ongoing relationship with an Empire. Being emotive doesn’t help.’

‘I won’t mind -’

‘Commander Kharth is right,’ said Valance, both backing her up and saving her from herself. It still earned the captain a surprised stare from Kharth as Valance stepped forward. ‘I won’t pretend we all need reminding of the moral reasons to intercede. But also, the last thing this sector needs is for Starfleet to signal that Romulan lives aren’t worth saving.’

That silenced everyone. At last, Rourke spoke up, his voice a low rumble. ‘We might be jumping the gun, regardless. Feserell are still deliberating. They can become a protectorate, or they can sign up with the Republic. Hopefully, they choose. But they haven’t yet. Commander Xhakaza, pull the Ranger out of Feserell. I want you surveying the borders, checking out other possible Klingon movement.’

Xhakaza frowned. ‘Sir, these people –’

‘Captain Daragon, you’re to take the Redemption to Feserell. Demonstrate why they should want to join our club, instead of withholding help on pain of death. The first day-saving is free.’

Daragon’s projection straightened. ‘With pleasure, sir.’

‘Captain Faust, continue your work with the Republic. We’re going to need to improve their border infrastructure if we’re to have a hope of withstanding whatever the Klingons are bound to throw at us.’

Faust had argued all along, but it said something that she accepted being overruled without so much as a grimace. ‘Commander Cortez and her team are making this considerably easier. We’ll be ready, sir.’

‘Good,’ said Rourke. ‘Meeting adjourned.’

But though the holographic images of the far-off captains of the squadron vanished, Kharth wasn’t done. ‘Sir, what about Teros?’

Rourke looked like he’d rather chew glass than think about Teros. ‘They’ll just have to make do without the Redemption for a little bit. Feserell needs them more. We can’t be everywhere at once.’ But he sighed and rubbed his temples. ‘Shep, I don’t want to have to dispatch the Tempest out there full time. Can we get a logistics team on it? Take over the relief centre construction from the Redemption?’

‘The good news about the cult killing the Rebirth and then blowing themselves up is that the security risk on the planet is way down,’ said Shepherd. ‘I can put Riggs and Far on the case; escort a couple of runabout teams there with Tempest, wave the flag, come back.’

‘Go for it,’ said Rourke.

Kharth hesitated, then said, ‘I want to go with.’

Now Rourke looked like he wanted to snap, but turned to Valance. ‘Captain?’

Valance shook her head. ‘I understand feeling idle, Commander, but shore leave goes for everyone. Even when we have to break things up with meetings. We have the rest of the two weeks confirmed, then I’m sure we’ll be shipping out again. I don’t want us to need to scramble and for you to be off on Teros.’

Kharth bristled. ‘I hate being half on duty.’

‘Then you can go fully off duty,’ said Rourke after exchanging a glance with Valance. Kharth read it plainly enough; he’d chosen to take on her wrath, be the bad guy. Manage her. ‘You’ve been working hard, Commander. You need a break as much as anyone.’

‘To be honest, sir, I think it’s pretty clear I should be in these meetings. Because there’s nobody speaking up for the Romulans otherwise.’

Rourke frowned. ‘That’s not fair, Commander.’

To Kharth’s immense surprise, it was Valance who spoke next. ‘Respectfully, we should consider bringing the Republic more into these meetings.’

Rourke did stop at that, exchanging a glance with Hale. She gave one of her enigmatic smiles at him before she looked at Endeavour’s officers. ‘I happen to agree,’ she said. ‘And we’re waiting on the Republic to propose what cooperation will look like.’

Rourke’s nostrils flared briefly. ‘They want to work with us, but don’t think they can bloody spare a command-level officer to sit on Gateway while they shore up their defences. And I see their point, but they need to send someone to liaise.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Alright, Kharth. You’ll just have to suck up being half on duty.’

It should have annoyed her more, but the initial burst of anger had faded, and being supported by Valance had confused her enough to dull the rest. ‘I was never going to like whatever we did,’ she accepted.

That was it for the meeting. She and Valance had their own staffing discussions about Endeavour to hold, but there was an hour’s gap in their schedules and Shep caught her on the way out.

‘Hey. Sorry about being overruled back there. It would have been fun to have you riding shotgun on Teros.’

Kharth grimaced. ‘Nothing about Teros is fun.’

‘I know.’ Shep winced. ‘I’ll try to take care of things. But what I wanted to suggest was maybe you volunteer your time with the refugee settlement on Alfheim. Secretary Grimm says they’re making good progress but they can always do with more attention. A Starfleet Romulan helping out might reassure some people after… well.’

‘After a stupid murder.’ Kharth glanced at the door. She tried to not wander Gateway out of uniform right now. Kowalski and his staff were keeping tensions from boiling over, and settling the refugees on the surface had eased things up here at least. She couldn’t speak for how they were for the rest of the Midgard colonists, half of them convinced murderous cultists had been settled on their planet, even if the settlements were hundreds of miles away. ‘What kind of thing do they need?’

Shep shrugged. ‘Not sure. Sorry. Airex might know.’

‘Airex?’

‘He’s… aw, shit.’ Shepherd smacked her forehead, realising she’d made the rookie error of blundering into the ancient history of Airex and Kharth. ‘I assumed this wasn’t news. He’s been teaching down there.’

‘Teaching?’ Kharth knew she was repeating things, but couldn’t overcome the surprise. ‘Where?’

‘At… the school? I don’t know. Something to think about, oh my, look at the time, gotta run, we’ll drink when I’m back?’

Some people were delicate in extricating themselves from this situation. Others were Shep. Kharth still couldn’t blame her as the Tempest’s commander beat a hasty retreat, making Kharth one of the last to exit the squadron briefing room and pass through the strategic operations offices on Gateway.

There were ebbs and flows of activity here, Commander Harrian harnessing staff as needed. Now the Strategic Operations chief himself was exiting his office, accompanied by a pair of officers in the pips of a captain and a commander that Kharth didn’t recognise. Harrian looked like he was wrapping up a conversation with the captain, but the commander – a lanky human in his forties – spotted her, nodded a polite extrication from his discussion, and headed over.

‘Terribly forthright of me,’ the commander said, extending a hand as he approached, ‘but are you Commander Kharth, USS Endeavour?’

Suspicious but knowing she had no reason to be rude, Kharth shook the hand. ‘There aren’t a lot of Romulan red-shirted lieutenant commanders around here, I guess. You are…?’

‘Oh! Sorry. Bishop, Elijah Bishop. XO, USS Zephyr. We’re just passing through, twenty four hour quick resupply on our way up the Neutral Zone. Commander Harrian was giving us an update on the state of affairs here.’ Bishop waved a dismissive hand. He looked like the kind of man who gesticulated a lot as he spoke, a thin moustache and slicked back hair giving him an effete air. ‘But you must be busy; I’ll skip to the end. I’m not here to talk shop. Jack Logan – he’s on your ship, yes?’

Kharth tilted her chin up. ‘He’s Chief of Security.’

‘Easy, Kharth.’ Bishop raised his hands. ‘I come in peace. I think.’

‘You think?’

‘It’s just… Jack and I go back a ways. We were on the Oberon together.’

The Oberon; the ship Logan had been assigned to when his shuttle had been lost on an away mission and he’d been presumed dead, only to be found years later assimilated on a dying Borg sphere, where he’d been extracted. Kharth still frowned. ‘That’s… okay.’

‘There’s a couple others from the Oberon with me on the Zephyr. When I saw we were passing Logan’s ship by, I reached out. Suggested we get a drink. But… no reply.’ Bishop winced. ‘I hate to ask you to play go-between, Kharth…’

‘But you want me to play go-between. I’ve no interest in being a peacemaker for some old grievance…’

‘That’s just it; I don’t know what the grievance is. I saw him after he was recovered, after rehab, but then he was off with Intel. Not many skippers would take him on those days, and I was a fresh enough XO that I didn’t have much pull.’ Bishop’s frown deepened. ‘Maybe he resents that, maybe he thinks we… abandoned him. I don’t know. But you’re his shipmate. Zephyr’s only docked a couple days before we move on. If he doesn’t want to see us, fair enough.’

Kharth swallowed. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ she said against her better judgement. ‘But I promise nothing.’

Bishop clasped his hands together. ‘That’s all I ask. We’ll be at the Keystone tomorrow night from about 2100 hours. Old hands from the Oberon. Feel free to join us, or… warn Jack if he’s avoiding.’

‘I promise nothing,’ she repeated. ‘If we don’t speak again, travel safe, Bishop.’

‘Mn.’ Elijah Bishop shook his head, rightfully troubled. ‘I’m not sure the galaxy’s got much safe bits to travel in. We’ll all have to do our best.’

It was mid-afternoon and Valance had already received the first briefing paper from Rivera, outlining the content she wanted to cover in their initial interview. None of it was a surprise – background, upbringing, early career – but it was enough to niggle. They would surely discuss growing up on Cantelle Colony, her childhood split between there and the Empire, her time at the Academy.

There were too many occasions she didn’t want to think about. Too many people. Her parents. Friends. Cassia…

‘She’s late,’ grumped Kharth, setting a half-finished mug of tea on Valance’s desk. Spilt droplets ran down the side, threatening to leave a ring on the table surface.

‘That’s not like her,’ Valance agreed. ‘Something must be up. It’s Thawn. She’d rather die than forget to make us her priority.’

But when the young Betazoid arrived at the ready room two minutes later, they had nothing more than a crisp, polite apology. No further explanation. No frantic air.

‘Thank you for joining us, Lieutenant. At last.’ Valance couldn’t keep the sting from her voice, and it didn’t help that Thawn had no reaction to it.

‘Of course, Captain. You wanted to go over the maintenance review?’ Thawn took a few extra seconds to dig out the right file before she projected it between them.

Kharth pursed her lips. ‘That’s forty hours old, Lieutenant.’

‘Oh – sorry, Commander. This one.’ Thawn at last blinked, at last looked fretful, as she changed the file on the hovering holographic display.

Valance took a moment to read. ‘Where are we at with the coil maintenance? We’re going to need to be ahead of the curve on the cleaning and calibrating of the coils, as we’ll need to slot the stress testing in with Gateway’s schedule.’ She ignored the surprised look Kharth gave her. She’d been a pilot. She knew how systems worked.

And she’d lived with an engineer.

‘I, um, spoke with Hal – Commander Riggs…’ Again Thawn went to her PADD, rifling wildly through notes and messages.

‘Lieutenant, are you okay?’ pressed Kharth.

‘Of course, Commander…’

‘Then can you bring us properly up to speed?’ snapped Valance. ‘Or do we do this later?’

‘No! Right here. Yesterday evening. Confirmation of our coil testing with Gateway Engineering.’ Another message was flicked on the display by Thawn – not that they needed to see the actual exchange.

That did not ease the irritation in Valance’s chest. ‘Lieutenant, I wanted to discuss your time in post in Engineering at this meeting. I’m now a little concerned that it’s perhaps more moving parts than you’ve been accustomed to in Ops.’

‘No, Commander – Captain -’ Thawn flushed as old habits kicked in for her to incorrectly address the ship’s former XO. ‘I’m relishing the opportunity here in Engineering. I like the work.’

‘I want to be sure we’re not pushing you too far, too fast. Endeavour is a sophisticated ship with a large engineering department. This is a responsibility unlike anything you’ve had before.’

Thawn had gone quiet, biting her lip, very clearly cowed. It was the sort of reaction Valance had expected from her the moment she’d been late to the meeting, and it did not mollify her for this to come so far into a chain of screw-ups.

‘It is, Captain,’ she said quietly, not meeting her eye. ‘I want this. I can do this.’

Valance gave a heavy, irritable sigh. ‘I’ll reach out to Riggs. Make sure you get more support on this. We’ll have to see about what we do long-term.’

‘I… yes, Captain.’

‘That’ll be all.’

Valance didn’t watch Thawn go, at once reaching for her next PADD, reviewing her next meeting. She’d almost forgotten Kharth was there until her XO’s voice came, sharp and surprised.

‘What the hell was that?’

‘I know,’ mused Valance, not looking up. ‘It’s completely unlike her to -’

‘I mean you.’ When she looked up, Kharth was staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head. ‘Thawn’s flapping – about the things Thawn doesn’t flap about – and you bite off her head?’

Valance frowned. ‘Since when were you a defender of Thawn?’

‘I’m not, so that should mean something when I say you did a piss-poor job of managing your staff back there. Something’s wrong.’

‘Thawn is always a ticking time bomb for some personal problem or another. She’s probably had the falling out with Beckett.’ It was, in Valance’s head, the falling out, because it would be inevitable and it would be final. She simply couldn’t comprehend how the two of them would prove to be anything but a hormonal fling of desperation.

Kharth was on her feet, jabbing a finger at the door. ‘Thawn was great in the Empire. She probably saved us from getting blown up before the cavalry came. We weren’t worried about her doing the paperwork and project management, we were worried about how she’d be when we needed a technical miracle worker under fire. She delivered.’

‘And now she’s struggling with the paperwork and project management. That’s a problem.’

‘…are you taking any time off?’

Valance hesitated at the change in tone. ‘Some.’

‘Some?’

‘I’ll be on the station. I have to do that profile with the journalist, remember?’

‘Oh, Hale’s damned idea. I could take that off your plate, you know.’

Valance scoffed. ‘Yes, because that’s a good idea.’ The profile was meant to demonstrate Starfleet had their act together on a frontier the wider public needed to care about. It was hard enough selling that with a half-Klingon as the face of affairs. A Romulan of Kharth’s record and temperament wouldn’t go down better.

‘I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died.’ Kharth was scowling now, really scowling. She’d doubtless picked up on all the nuances of the general judgement. ‘But you’re acting out in ways that put me to shame.’

‘I don’t…’

‘Let me and Dav – and Logan, drag him in, too – handle more of the maintenance work and personnel reviews. We’re all still on the station or the surface. You need some time off.’

‘That’s not your choice -’

‘No, but I can make it Rourke’s.’ Kharth picked up a PADD Valance had been reviewing, the one that held the overall schedule for the ship’s downtime. ‘With all due respect, get gone. I’ll split these tasks off. You need to be off-duty for a good eighteen hours.’

Valance gave her a dubious look. ‘I’m not sure this is how the chain of command works, Kharth.’

‘I think this is the exact reason you picked me as your XO, Valance.’

Thawn had whimpered and curled up at the slightest opposition. Pushing back was only making Kharth angrier. And beneath Valance’s sudden short temper was an exhaustion deep enough that she didn’t want to pick a fight. Not a fair one, anyway.

‘Fine,’ she grumbled, standing. ‘I want a fair and equitable sharing of duties on my desk by 0900.’

‘Bite me,’ said Kharth.

That would have to do.

Her quarters – Rourke’s quarters – were dim and empty when she got in. She’d not done much decorating of the larger space she now enjoyed as captain, merely taking everything she’d brought from her XO’s rooms, from the Pathfinder, to these bigger quarters. It left the walls half-decorated, everything unfinished, with only a seasoning of personalisation. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t home.

Where’s home ever been?

She was an hour into her reading – at her desk, going over more paperwork – before her console chirruped with an incoming message. The screen shone with the flag of the Klingon Empire, and Valance’s throat tightened before she saw the sigil beneath it: the House of A’trok. That replaced the tension with a different kind of knot, one which was not eased when she accepted the connection and saw the face on the screen.

‘Gov’taj.’

‘Karana!’ Her brother looked sat in his quarters on a Klingon warship – but for him, that would serve as much as an office as a sleeping space. ‘I have been trying to catch you.’

‘I’ve been busy.’ Valance rubbed her temples. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘That’s it? That’s the grateful greeting I get?’

‘I’ve thanked you for the save the other week.’ She forced a smile. ‘Do you need me to thank you again?’

‘No, but I thought the warmth might last a little longer.’ He smiled, but she could see the concern dancing in his eyes. ‘I assumed you might want an update. I’ve spoken with our grandfather.’

‘About Toral? And how he’s going to swear fealty to the new Chancellor because he doesn’t have a choice?’

Gov’taj frowned. ‘A’trok continues in his discussions with Koloth. They are not alone in their disapproval of that whelp’s rush to power. Those supporting Toral are loud, and so his hold on power appears absolute. Everyone else… must be quieter.’

‘How… un-Klingon.’

‘Our honour dictates that the Empire cannot fall to petty fighting. We cannot become the warlords of the galaxy. We have built too much since then. Foundations and bonds of blood and stone. That is what matters, far more than anyone’s distaste for a little… politics.’ Gov’taj’s frown remained. ‘You assumed the House would fall in with Toral?’

Valance hesitated. She wasn’t sure what she’d felt. She’d tried to not think about it. ‘I didn’t assume that opposition to him would solidify.’

‘Martok did not remain Chancellor for decades simply for being a war hero. There are many who believed in the sense of honour he gave the empire. Something we struggled with for a long time. Something many do not want to give up. Our grandfather is part of this. We’ve built something, Karana. We want to keep it.’

‘Alright.’ She resisted the urge to rub her eyes. It was all good news. A sign that the Klingon Empire would not fall under the iron grip of a warmonger like Toral. But she could feel Gov’s eyes on her, hopeful, expectant. He was not telling her as an officer, as someone with professional skin in the game. He was telling her like she was a part of it all.

She drew a deep breath. ‘How is it going?’

He talked. He talked about their grandfather, still going strong, taking a stand. He talked about the other Houses, the discussions, the negotiations. Trying to gauge who could be friend or foe. The burgeoning coalition of those who did not ascribe to Toral’s way. He talked a little about their father – there, at least, Gov’taj was more circumspect.

And when it was over, he said, ‘The bonds between our family and the Federation are not about to fall, you know.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Valance. ‘The House of A’trok has always been a good ally.’

‘And even if the worst happened,’ Gov’taj continued more carefully, ‘you are always a member of this House.’

Whether I want it or not.

Valance swallowed. ‘I appreciate you calling, Gov.’

‘I will… stay in touch.’ He knew something was wrong. But they did not know each other well enough for him to pry it out of her. ‘Stay safe.’

‘Qapla’.’

The screen died. Her brother vanished. And Karana Valance leaned back in her desk chair, her workstation in the rooms that were not yet hers, on the ship that was still only becoming hers, and felt the sheer emptiness as sharply as she might had there been nothing beyond her fingertips but the void.

Adamant Rhade wanted to see him, and Beckett was very worried. It could have been a source of reassurance that he’d asked to meet in Endeavour’s anthropology lab, nominally Beckett’s own territory, but that merely added to the confusion, which added to the apprehension. Beckett thus arrived a good twenty minutes early but spent the time doing nothing more than double-checking days-old reports, pacing around, and performing improvised drum solos on the control panels.

Rhade’s arrival, painfully prompt, did not assuage any of this uncertainty. The broad-shouldered officer assumed his usual respectful stance before the bank of panels, hands behind his back, and was soft-spoken as he said, ‘Good day, Lieutenant.’

They had not talked since Thawn ended the engagement and absconded with Beckett onto the runabout Starfall for six weeks. Beckett wasn’t even sure he and Thawn had talked.

Beckett stood, trying not to think too hard about what he should do with his hands. Definitely not resume the drum solos. ‘Commander! Hi. Hey. How’re you doing?’

Smooth.

‘I’m pleased to see Endeavour is back, and back at Gateway for more than two days. You’ve been through some ordeals. Everyone deserves rest. You are well, I trust?’ Rhade was completely inscrutable, painfully polite and collected. But Beckett suspected Rhade’s impeccable manners meant he could be quietly imagining caving his skull in against the edge of the control banks and still speak with the same courtesy.

‘Me? I’m great. Fit as a fiddle. Happy as a clam.’

There was a pause, the two men regarding each other. The silence went on a beat too long, so when it was broken, they both spoke, words tumbling each other.

‘I know this is weird since Rosara left you -’

‘I wanted to discuss this malevolent psionic entity your report named the “Veilweaver” -’

That stopped them both short. Beckett gaped. ‘What? Oh. The Veilweaver? That’s what you organised this meeting about?’

‘Yes,’ said Rhade with, at last, a hint of exasperation. ‘I have read the mission logs about your encounters with, and liberation of, the entity.’

‘I think… won’t Commander Airex be a better person to chat to about this?’

‘Commander Airex,’ said Rhade carefully, ‘had no direct psychic interaction with this thing. You did.’

‘Not as much as…’ Beckett swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. ‘Not as much as Lieutenant Thawn.’

Rhade shifted his feet, looking thoughtful. ‘It seemed very possible, from the report, that her experience was highly distressing. I did not want to assume she wished to discuss it.’

‘I didn’t have a great time being chatted to by some unknowable, inter-dimensional evil,’ said Beckett, sharper than he wanted, unnerved by both Rhade in general and the topic in particular. ‘So I don’t know what you want to pick my brain for.’

‘Because I am quite certain that I also had psychic interaction with the Veilweaver.’

Beckett hesitated, trapped between the broiling guilt and uncertainty of any conversation with Rhade, the gut-wrenching he felt if he thought about the Veilweaver, and the fascination that had marked most of his investigation before the horrors had been revealed. ‘You. Here?’

Rhade nodded. ‘Here. You heard of the murder of the Romulan refugee?’

‘I heard it happened.’ And Beckett listened in bleak fascination to the details of a murder case he had paid very little attention to that had rocked the station while Endeavour returned from their far-flung journey.

And then, when he pointed out the murder was bad but didn’t necessarily lead to the Veilweaver, Rhade explained more. About himself. About what he’d seen. And about Secretary John Grimm of the Midgard Colonial Government. By the end, Beckett had made a pot of tea for them both and sat listening in confounded horror.

Once Rhade was finished, the big Betazoid settled back in the chair, nostrils flaring. He stared at nothing for a moment, then he said, ‘I should have brought Draven. I expect he could have explained some of this better.’

‘I would love to speak to this guy,’ said Beckett. After the pot of tea had been replicated, he’d brought out his journal, scribbling away by hand in ink. ‘But the real point of interest here is your visions, how this thing screwed with you. Everything Grimm said – or everything you heard him say – resonates with what that asshole cultist monk we met was saying. An entity attracted to horrors which it feeds off, then it manipulates people to exacerbate those horrors.’

‘Precisely,’ said Rhade.

Beckett paused. ‘Does this mean that guy responsible for the Midgard Colonial Government’s outreach programmes – pretty much everything where they pretend to give half a shit about something beyond their own interests – is a bloody cultist?’

It was Rhade’s turn to be silent. Then he said, ‘Yes.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yes. I haven’t brought this to anyone yet.’

‘Yeah, you’d sound completely mental.’

‘So I was hoping we could review my experiences and compare them to the information we have on the Veilweaver, and see if it’s possible to evidence my claims. Perhaps bring it to Commodore Rourke.’

‘That’s a lot.’ Beckett ground his teeth together. ‘I guess Rourke won’t assume we’re asking him to immediately arrest this guy. But he can keep an eye on him.’ He drummed his fingers on the edge of his teacup. ‘Has anything happened to you since?’

‘You mean, have I had any more… communication… with the Veilweaver?’ Rhade shook his head. ‘No.’

‘And the dates align,’ said Beckett, ‘with our freeing of the damn thing. Like, you met with Grimm about a day before we did it.’

‘Exactly.’ Rhade hesitated. ‘Is it possible the Veilweaver was manipulating Grimm and others from afar in order to empower itself more? Fuelling its escape plan? And now it’s been liberated it’s done? Gone?’

‘Maybe.’ Again, Beckett drummed his fingers. ‘But the Vorkasi imprisoned this thing because it was interfering. And it seems likely the suffering from the supernova and the Star Empire’s collapse helped juice it enough to stage this escape plan. Sure, things are less awful, but isn’t the entire galaxy still a delicious, all-you-can-eat buffet if you’re an inter-dimensional monster that feeds off emotional turmoil?’ He threw a hand in the air. ‘I mean, we have Kharth on Endeavour, we’re screwed.’

Rhade didn’t look as amused as Beckett felt the joke deserved. ‘You believe it’s premature to assume the Veilweaver has returned from whence it came.’

‘First: excellent use of whence,’ Beckett complimented. ‘Second, no idea. Maybe it’ll stick around, and we reckon it can. Maybe it’s had enough of our dimension. Maybe it’s not done feasting. I guess we keep an eye out for any sign of… anything? And try to nail this Grimm guy for being a murderous cultist.’

‘Agreed.’ Rhade’s broad shoulders eased an iota at this resolution, but still his brow remained knotted. There was a shift about his manner Beckett couldn’t put his finger on until he said, more falteringly, ‘How has Rosara been? That is, since her… encounter. With the Veilweaver.’

‘Oh!’ Beckett swallowed the adrenaline that had spiked at the mention of Thawn. ‘Uh. I mean, you know her. Tough. Not prone to wallowing.’

Rhade watched him a moment, eyes cool, level. ‘It’s very much my hope that in you, she has someone she can confide. Share these burdens. In a way she…’ He hesitated. ‘In a way she often has not.’

In a way she couldn’t with you. ‘She’s been okay,’ Beckett said after a moment. ‘Ed Winters has been checking up on her, too. But she’s mostly been busy. You know what she’s like.’

A grimace. ‘With family, yes.’

‘I meant with the engineering department. What do you mean, family?’

Rhade froze. Always so calm and considered, now his eyes widened an iota. ‘I – forgive me. I’ve overstepped.’

He stood up, but so did Beckett, tea forgotten. ‘No, what’re you saying? What about her family?’

Watching Rhade squirm was like watching a mountain fuss. At length, he grumbled through gritted teeth, ‘Her great-aunt Anatras, the head of the Twelfth House, is coming to Gateway. To see her. I was notified by my family, as we anticipate she will want to speak to me, too.’

‘Oh.’ Fear did a good job of swallowing the confusion and frustration at how this was the first he was hearing about this. ‘This’ll be to talk about the…’

‘Dissolution of our arrangement. Formally. By Betazoid custom. Yes.’ Rhade straightened, gaining confidence, and looked him in the eye. ‘You are an accomplished officer, Lieutenant. A respected member of your crew, decorated for courage, and serve as your ship’s eyes and ears when it comes to the heartbeat of the universe.’

‘Uh. Thanks?’

‘You have nothing to prove to Anatras Thawn,’ Rhade elaborated, softening. ‘Rosara was sure of herself when she decided to end our arrangement. And so, she must be sure of you.’

Beckett winced. ‘I want you to know…’ But his voice caught. He was going to claim there had been nothing between him and Thawn before they’d left together on the Starfall, but that wasn’t really true, even if he ignored their misjudged kiss in the Delta Quadrant. If nothing else, he’d still asked her to leave Rhade and be with him only days before she’d done exactly that.

But Rhade raised a hand, saving him. ‘You owe me nothing. Certainly not an explanation, and certainly not guilt. It was convenient for me to ignore the ways Rosara was unhappy, so I ignored them. But you? There is a… a lightness to her when she is with you. All I could ask of you is that you try to preserve it.’

‘I’ll try.’ Beckett swallowed. ‘Can Anatras tell her what to do?’

‘Anatras can say whatever she wants.’ Rhade paused, pondering. ‘Rosara is no fool. She knows that the choice she made entailed defying the head of her house. Will it be hard to follow through on that? Yes. Which does bring me to one more piece of advice.’

‘Oh?’ Beckett wasn’t even sure he wanted Rhade’s advice, but that felt more about wanting to pretend this issue would go away on its own.

‘This situation between Rosara and her family. Do not be tricked, by yourself or anyone else, into thinking this is about you. This is about Rosara and her choices. That you are that choice is not as important as that you were her choice, not Anatras’s.’

Beckett drew a deep, raking breath. ‘Got it. It’s not about me. I should help out.’ Even if she didn’t tell me.

Rhade must have caught that wavering frustration and shifted his feet. ‘I’ve overstepped; I apologise. You of course don’t need to listen to a word I say. I’m only involved because I expect Anatras will make an attempt to reconcile Rosara and I. It will be for nothing.’

‘She… she’ll what?’

‘I’m assuming. The arrangement was her idea, after all.’ Again, Rhade looked like he’d realised his words weren’t helping. ‘I should go. You’ve been good enough to lend me your time when you should be on leave. Good day, Lieutenant.’

It was not often that Beckett got to see Adamant Rhade run. Not that he physically sprinted, but his deep and polite nod and brisk stride towards the door was as close as might happen in an actual conversation.

Rhade was right about one thing, Beckett thought. He was supposed to be on leave. But there was nothing else about the conversation that suggested this would be as restful as a holiday was meant to be.

Half of Endeavour’s crew had bolted when they’d made it back to Gateway, shore leave snatched from their grasp once already. Anyone remaining was on light duties, liaising with the starbase for the repairs and refits or any personnel changes. That made Alfheim Colony a tempting destination, as well as the recreation centres on the station itself, leaving Endeavour even more like a ghost ship. So Kharth wasn’t surprised to see only one person in the gym, and less surprised to see who it was.

The thuds and rattles of the basketball on the deck, as it hit the board and net, rang across the court enough to muffle her approach, but when the ball bounced back for Logan to catch it, he stopped and said, ‘Hey Kharth,’ without turning.

She scowled. ‘No way you knew it was me.’

He glanced back with a toothy grin. ‘Maybe I’ve said that to five people today. Maybe I called Athaka by your name earlier.’ He bounced the ball on the deck. ‘Nah; I figure you’re one of the only folks to come work out or seek me out.’ His eyes landed on her uniform. ‘Guessing the latter.’

‘I was… checking in.’ Kharth hadn’t been sure what her plan was before she got here. Now he’d wrong-footed her.

‘Oh, right.’ He tossed the ball to bounce to her. ‘Response rates from drills on the road back were good. Security team’s still young but I like Qadir. He’s a good tactician. If we’re gonna -’

‘I met Elijah Bishop.’ Lacking better ideas, she got to the point. Logan stared, and she thudded the ball on the deck twice, not without uncertainty. Ball games were not much her thing. ‘Did you know the Zephyr was in dock?’

Without the ball, he looked oddly lost, now with nothing to do with his hands. ‘I did. Didn’t know Eli was on board.’

‘Apparently with some others from the Oberon.’ Taking pity on him, she tossed the ball back. ‘He said he dropped you a line.’

‘I didn’t…’ Logan turned away, focusing back on the hoop, and took a shot. The ball proved holographic, bouncing wide and dissipating before a fresh one materialised from the air above him so he could catch it with a dissatisfied hiss. ‘Eli’s tried reachin’ out a few times over the years.’

‘Look.’ Kharth stomped over, assuming her gruffest voice. ‘I told him I wouldn’t play go-between. But I guess I’m playing go-between. He says he and some of your old shipmates will be in the Keystone tomorrow. If you don’t want to do anything or talk about it, just say “okay,” and I’ll go.’

‘Okay.’ It sounded reflexive, but Kharth was as good as her word, turning away before Logan gave another frustrated hiss and said, ‘Sorry. Sorry you got dragged in.’

She stopped. ‘I was asked by a guy who seemed worried about you to check in. If it turns out he’s a secret dirtbag and you hate him or something, that’s none of my business and I’m not fighting on his behalf.’

‘I don’t…’ Logan shot again, missed again, and this time let the rematerialising ball bounce once before he caught it. ‘I never read the message. The one Eli sent from the Zephyr. He’s a good guy, there ain’t nothing wrong with him. I just didn’t read it.’

She could have left, Kharth told herself. Instead, she turned back. ‘What’s going on, Logan? Old shipmates want to see you. Did they turn their backs on you after you were rescued from the Borg? Did they fail to save you in the first place? Is it some older grudge? They were shitty to you at the Academy?’

‘I don’t know who’s with Eli.’ Logan had his back to her, beginning to dribble the ball sharply, rhythmically, inside and outside of his feet. ‘Look, I ain’t being cagey ‘cos it’s a dark secret, Kharth. I’m being cagey ‘cos it’s stupid when you say it out loud. You should get it.’

‘Get being stupid?’

‘Get that you can’t go home again.’ He stopped dribbling and turned to her. ‘You ain’t gone back to Teros, and you ain’t gone to the new shelter on the surface. ‘Cos maybe you won’t be welcome or ‘cos you ain’t sure how to deal with it not being the same. Just for me, home means the past.’

Kharth made a frustrated noise. ‘Do you talk to anyone from your life before you were assimilated? Family?’ He shook his head, awkward, but she couldn’t swallow the next burst of indignation. ‘Do you know how many of the people I can’t go home to are dead, Logan? This is not the same.’

He straightened, brow furrowing, and it was like he’d shut a door in her face. ‘Yeah,’ he said after a beat. ‘Guess you’re right.’ He turned away again, moving at pace to dribble, head for the board, shoot. This time he didn’t miss.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t move. There were people on Teros, on Alfheim, she’d known from her old life. People who weren’t dead. People she’d run away from time and again. Kharth set her hands on her hips and said, voice grating, ‘I get it, though. We hate seeing how much we’ve changed, sometimes.’

Logan leapt to catch the ball. His laugh as he landed was hollow, but not insincere. ‘Sometimes?’

‘You know, you were more fun when I met you,’ she said, still sharp. ‘You didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of you before you made Chief of Security. That might be because you’d given up on anyone thinking well of you, but I didn’t need another miserable, self-hating bastard on this ship.’

He looked stricken for a moment, before giving a tight smirk. ‘Was that position taken?’ he asked, tossing her the ball.

‘Positions, you’ll find.’ She bounced the ball, caught it; bounced, caught it.

Logan laughed. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing with that, do you?’

‘I don’t – we didn’t have ball games on Teros. Or joy. Or laughter.’ This time, when she returned the ball, it was more of a throw at than a throw to. ‘Anyway, I’m going down to the shelter on Alfheim. Day after tomorrow.’ This had not been planned, but that was her next gap in a duty shift, and if it took spiting someone else to make her confront her demons, so be it.

He spun the ball in his hands, expression inscrutable for a moment, before he said, ‘Alright. I’ll drop Eli a line. Tomorrow night, you said?’

‘Tomorrow night. Do what you want.’

She turned away, but then he said, ‘D’you want to come?’

Kharth paused, halfway gone already. ‘And crash a reunion?’

‘It’s Starfleet officers having a catch-up. Don’t tell me you don’t have old war stories to fit in.’

‘Some more literal than others.’ She glanced back and thought he hadn’t expected her to as she caught the flash of apprehension, vulnerability in his gaze. She drew a raking breath. ‘The Keystone. Tomorrow night. Sure.’

She left before he could say anything else, like pry about her plans, or her decision to return to Alfheim. Not simply because he was right about homecomings, even to places she’d never been before.

But what the hell was Airex doing down there?

Valance knew she shouldn’t have been surprised that Olivia Rivera wasn’t staying on Gateway. The starbase was huge and comfortable but Starfleet-run, which meant a certain uniform utilitarianism to much of its amenities. Guest quarters were identical and simple and had holographic wall panels instead of exterior windows. So when they’d arranged the first proper interview, Rivera had suggested they meet at her hotel on the surface.

Most of Alfheim’s natural resources prized by its first settlers were nearer the poles, and so cities had sprung up in these colder climes. Only now, in highest summer, was the capital Ymir not frost-bound. Valance could tell as she walked from the transporter station that the streets were not made with the expectation people would be outside for long; walkways were small or covered, airspace traffic was heavy, and the walls of every building, carved from local stone, were thick and insulating. In the distance, higher than the highest towers of Ymir, loomed the mountains.

The colonists of the Midgard system had settled for nothing less than the finest of riches, even if it meant carving out a life in the toughest of lands. However much it was warm and safe within their walls, Valance was beginning to understand the harsh edge to these frontier people that made them so difficult to work with.

Rivera’s hotel was not one of the looming monoliths of granite, but a smaller, wood-fronted building that looked considerably older than most of the ones Valance had walked past. When they met in the lobby of this tidy, old-fashioned, fairly boutique hotel and Valance commented on how she’d struggled to find the place because she’d expected something else, Rivera laughed.

‘I sleep more at hotels than my own home. If I only stayed in the identical, prefab monsters, I’d go spare.’ She led them to the hotel restaurant, which had more the look of a cosy B&B than a luxurious establishment. ‘I try to find places with a bit of character. This was one of the old town halls from the first colony.’

Valance’s eyes scanned the decor, an eclectic mix of old-fashioned, perhaps antique furniture and creature comforts to keep the place comfortable rather than stark or cold. Her gaze dragged over paintings on the wall, and the tiny plaques next to them. ‘Local artists?’

‘And locally run.’ They grabbed a table near bay windows looking out on the street and, poking above rooftops, the distant mountains. ‘Being a bit off the beaten track means I don’t run into the usual sorts of people who stay at the top hotels.’

‘I would have thought a journalist would want that.’

‘Not when I already got my article topic, and a subject who might like a little discretion.’ Rivera didn’t look at the menu, probably knew it by now, and gave Valance a glance over. ‘You ditched the uniform.’

‘Like you say. I wanted discretion.’ The climate had pushed Valance towards a chunky jumper and heavy boots, much cosier than she usually wore for looking presentable out of uniform. ‘Also, I already ate.’

‘Then we’ll do coffee and talking instead of me interrogating you between courses. But I’m getting some table snacks.’ Rivera was not at all fazed, and after they’d settled with hot drinks, got down to business.

‘I do want to know about you,’ the journalist said, PADD out on the table, there to record and for her to take quick notes. ‘But I can’t ignore the context of this profile. The political situation we’re in, the political situations you’ve been in. I want to start there, so I understand how you fit into it.’

Valance gave herself a moment by using the delicate tongs in the middle of the table to dump a sugar lump in her coffee. She usually didn’t do that. ‘I’m not sure I do fit into it.’

‘I’ve had reports that the planet Feserell, a former part of the Romulan Star Empire, has been targeted for conquest by the Klingon Empire, or at least by the House of K’Var,’ said Rivera without missing a beat. ‘But that Starfleet ships have offered them protection, even though we have no treaties with Feserell; they’re not a part of the Republic.’

This had escalated rapidly. ‘Nothing about our agreement for this profile suggested I’d tell you current strategic choices.’

‘Then let’s not talk Feserell specifically. Let’s talk about the Empire. Why do you think the House of K’Var is looking to expand its territory?’

‘You’d have to ask the House of K’Var.’

‘Do you think the statements of Chancellor Toral have impacted that decision?’

‘In asking the question, you’ve told me what you think.’

‘You’re the expert on Klingon politics, though, Captain. Do you think I’m wrong?’

Valance gave a frustrated exhale through the nose. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Chancellor Toral made his intended foreign policy very clear. I believe he was sincere. Whether he is capable of marshalling the Klingon Empire to enact it, or whether he changes his mind, I can’t speak to. But it has clearly emboldened border Houses.’

‘And Toral highlighted the Republic as a target. But K’Var are targeting an independent world. Why is Starfleet getting involved?’

‘I thought we wouldn’t talk Feserell specifically.’

‘I’m trying to understand what has happened,’ said Rivera. ‘I’m not asking you to tell me what comes next.’

‘We may have no treaty agreements with Feserell,’ said Valance with a hint of frustration. ‘But they asked for help against an external raiding force.’

‘But we do have treaty agreements with the Empire, and the Khitomer Accords recognises the forces of individual houses as also covered by the Accords. By some interpretations, we interfered with the lawful affairs of the Klingon Empire when we had no legal right to.’

‘To be clear, no shots were exchanged between the Ranger and the K’Var vessel.’ Because the K’Var didn’t shoot back.

‘The Klingon Empire has routinely adjusted its borders since the signing of the Khitomer Accords.’ Rivera sounded like she was changing tack, and Valance braced for an onslaught from a new direction. ‘Routinely by force. Does Starfleet only involve themselves when they can see it? Only help people if they have a comms link?’

‘It would be very hard for us to involve ourselves in something we know nothing about.’

‘My point is that I’m not sure the Federation can claim the moral high ground as justification for defending Feserell if we’ve conveniently turned a blind eye to incidents exactly the same as Feserell for the last twenty-five years.’

Valance’s problem, she realised, was that she was answering the actual questions she was being asked. She sighed. ‘We are at a knife-edge with the Empire. That’s true. And our actions are as significant in defining the future of the Khitomer Accords as Chancellor Toral’s. The Federation cannot be everywhere at once, and I disagree that, if we can’t do everything perfectly right, we should do nothing at all. I would never expect a Starfleet captain to turn their back on a planet asking for help if they’re being targeted by a ship that would land troops, steal resources, and take lives. I don’t care who’s flying that ship.’

Rivera listened for a moment. Nodded. ‘And what about the Khitomer Accords?’

‘That treaty set expectations of how both sides should act.’ Valance shook her head. ‘It takes both sides to keep the peace, Ms Rivera. And our peace cannot be won through the blood of innocents.’

Another beat. Rivera leaned back, looking troubled. ‘That final decision hasn’t yet been made by Starfleet Command or the Federation Council. There’s been no determination of our stance in response to Chancellor Toral’s policy, largely because it hasn’t been seriously put into practice yet. That’s a decision that’ll be above your head.’

‘And until I receive orders to the contrary, I will prioritise saving lives.’

‘I appreciate that, Captain. But there are a lot of people in the Federation who’d call that prioritising of Romulan lives over the lives of the Starfleet officers and people who live on the borders – places like here, like Cantelle Colony – who will die if there’s another war with the Klingon Empire.’

Valance shook her head, trying to swallow the bite of frustration. ‘There’s a long way between us giving help to people out here who need it, and triggering a war with the Empire. The Empire is not all of one mind on this possible expansion into the former Star Empire, and they would certainly not be all of one mind about a war with the Federation. We have been allies for a long time. Many Houses have close relationships with us.’

Rivera nodded. ‘Including the House of A’trok?’

Valance reached for her coffee cup, intending to buy time by having a sip, but couldn’t stop herself from snapping, ‘I don’t see what they have to do with the situation around Feserell.’

‘I said I wanted to understand the wider situation,’ said Rivera, but she leaned back, lifting a hand. ‘That wasn’t meant to be a dig at you or your personal life, Captain. I know you’re formally a member of the House, not just related.’

Valance took a moment, and tried to avoid grinding her teeth together. She glanced to the rest of the hotel’s restaurant, with its gentle decor and bay windows, and at the streets of Ymir beyond. Here, for centuries, people had lived on a cold frontier, staring into the implacable and long-silent might of the Romulan Star Empire. Colony life felt like living on the edge of the world, she knew too well. Next to the Neutral Zone must have felt like living next to the abyss. And now, the abyss threatened to pull them in.

She drew a deep breath and looked back to Rivera. ‘The House of A’trok have made it clear they wish to uphold the alliance. I have no torn loyalties, Ms Rivera. On the contrary, my relationship with my grandfather and the House are part of why I believe there will be no war, no great chaos. There’s no real will for it once the excitement of change fades.’

Perhaps she would be proved wrong. For certain, she had no great relationship with her grandfather, her father. Even with Gov, so eager to be close and yet still so far from her and how she lived. The Empire’s place in her heart was complex, to say the least, and Valance was not confident she knew its heart.

But if she was wrong, nobody would go back to her words and condemn her. They wouldn’t care. In the short term, however, this was a chance for reassurance. Certainty. They could do the right thing and not pay a vicious price.

The abyss did not have to pull them in.

‘I know,’ Beckett had said when she’d told him about her aunt. ‘Rhade told me.’

The idea of Beckett and Rhade talking was horrifying in its own right without her family coming into the mix, but all Thawn had been able to say was, in a hushed voice, ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Assumed I knew, didn’t he?’

She’d had to go looking for him, stopping off at his quarters when normally he’d been so prone to dropping by Main Engineering towards the end of the shift. Now he was already out of uniform, and as she watched he pulled a bag from his wardrobe and began to pack.

‘What are you doing?’ she said.

‘We’re supposed to be on leave, aren’t we? I thought I might hit the surface for a few days. Find one of the island resorts near the equator. No sector politics fuss, no racist locals fuss, just sun and sea.’

Thawn twisted her fingers together. ‘My aunt is coming to the station to finally reckon with my decision to break off the engagement with Adamant, and you’re running off to a beach holiday?’

Beckett paused with a bundled t-shirt in his hand. She resisted the urge to take it off him and fold it before he could shove it in the bag. ‘I thought it might be best if I lay low for a few days.’

‘Oh.’ Thawn blinked. ‘Oh, is this you trying to be helpful?’

He tossed the t-shirt down on the bed in defeat. ‘I dunno,’ he admitted at last. ‘I just figured… if you hadn’t told me…’

‘You were at work! I was at work! I wanted to tell you properly and… I didn’t know Adamant knew. Or that he’d talk to you.’ She bit her lip. ‘At least meet Anatras. She’ll doubtless want to meet you anyway.’ As he hesitated, she took a step forward. ‘You don’t have to be there when she arrives. But… dinner, or something.’

He rubbed the back of his neck, still looking at his half-packed bag. ‘What’s the plan here?’

‘Plan?’

‘She’s clearly coming here to try to put the arrangement back together again.’ He turned to her, gaze guarded. ‘You had to see this coming, right? So what’s the angle?’

A plan rather suggests I thought ahead. But she’d instead spent months kicking this can down the road, using the political instability of the region that demanded her professional attention to delay the issue. ‘I’ll just – I’ll tell her I’m not marrying Adamant. She can’t force me.’

‘Sure,’ said Beckett. ‘But family have other ways.’

‘What do you want? A five-point plan of how I’ll blackmail her?’ She had to swallow down a hint of hysteria. He was right and she knew it, but she didn’t have another way. She was going to have to dig deep and stand her ground, and that kind of stubborn, emotional resilience did not come easily to her.

‘Okay! Okay.’ He raised his hands in a placating but uncertain way and, clearly trying to change the subject, said, ‘How did it go with Valance?’

She’d crumpled in that meeting, and Thawn knew it. Preparing to have that resilience with Anatras had exhausted any professional resolve. Now she grimaced, shaking her head as she looked away. ‘I think the captain wants to get Perrek back, or a properly experienced engineer.’

‘What? That’s bullshit. That’s -’

‘One life plan exploding at a time, Nate,’ she said, sharper because sharpness helped. ‘If you want to go to the surface, that’s fine. I can handle Anatras, or maybe send you a message if it’s good for you to come back…’

Stay, she wanted to say. Stay and help me, stay and remind me why I want to be free, stay and remind me that I’m strong enough. But he looked like he had one foot out the door, and she couldn’t blame him for not trusting her to stand strong. How could she expect him to believe in her when she didn’t believe in herself?

It would have been easier, she thought distantly, if she reached out to him with her mind. Made contact as they only had in the most dire of cases, shown him what she felt – all the fear and self-doubt, but that raging fire deep within, everything she wanted to be free to feel, and how much of it was tied up with him.

Even though she didn’t reach out, he shook his head. ‘I’ll stick around. What’s another day or two?’

But because she didn’t reach out, he didn’t sound very reassured.

It would have been foolish to have him with her at the arrivals lounge on Gateway when Anatras’s transport arrived. But as it was delayed – ten minutes, twenty minutes, a half-hour, the docking wait at the station disrupted by local traffic patterns spooked by the wider border issues – and she paced a hole in the plain, standard-issue rug, she wished she wasn’t alone, at least.

But who could possibly be there? Who would possibly offer any support without demanding something of her? Demanding how she acted, demanding how she felt, rather than letting her be whatever she wanted to be?

If only Rosara Thawn knew what she wanted.

She hadn’t seen her great-aunt in some two years, the last time she’d been to Betazed, and she’d been kindly but firmly reminded of how important the arranged match with Adamant was. But she had not changed much in that time; deeper lines and perhaps an extra inch of height on her bee-hive of a hairstyle. The attendants were different, two beleaguered-looking young Betazoid men who were probably expected to be seen but not heard, not even in thought, one of whom she couldn’t even see the face of for the luggage he was hauling.

So much had changed since that last visit. When she’d returned to Endeavour, she’d met Nate.

Anatras’s eyes landing on her made all doubt, reminiscence, and especially thought of Nate fly from her head, though. Her aunt was a painfully capable telepath, and with their familial connection, if she so much as breathed in a certain way, she would be seen right through.

She clamped down. Controlled every feeling and thought. And walked over to greet her aunt with a warm embrace. ‘Auntie!’

The response was non-verbal, a thought shining with affection and yet holding an undertone of judgement, of chastisement already. Thawn had to pivot with a telepathic response, an inquiry about her travel, and all of the niceties of greeting each other, of small-talk, passed more or less in silence within a matter of moments as, to all onlookers, a young woman embraced a matriarch at the airlock.

‘Now,’ said Anatras out loud as pulled back, ‘let’s talk.’ Thawn’s hand was still between hers, and what looked like an affectionate grasp was in fact an iron grip.

‘You don’t want to get settled in?’

‘The boys can take care of that.’ A dismissive nod sent the two young attendants packing. ‘I didn’t come all this way to enjoy the pleasures of a Federation border station. You clearly need help. Where can we get a tea?’

The Jestral Tea offered by Bean Me Up was inevitably not good enough. Anatras didn’t say as much, but the way she smacked her lips after the first sip made her judgement clear.

‘I would have thought Adamant might be here to meet me, too,’ she said instead. ‘I did say I was so looking forward to seeing him.’

Rhade hadn’t said a thing to her. Thawn didn’t know if this was her ex-fiancé doing her a favour by keeping out of this initial meeting, or if he’d washed his hands of the whole affair and could not be counted on for any support. She had no doubt he would be dragged in sooner or later.

‘I expect he’s very busy,’ she said instead. ‘You know that he’s not on leave, Auntie? He works on Gateway, he’s on duty.’ She didn’t know if he was on duty at that moment, but that was beside the point.

‘Hm. This does concern you both. You know his parents are very worried, too? No matter, I’m sure he’ll stop by. He’s normally such a good boy.’ She added sugar to her tea, which Thawn knew meant she really hated it and was trying to cover the taste with sweetness. ‘But perhaps it’s for the best you and I speak first. What are you doing, Rosara?’

The desire to be glib had to be pushed down. Perhaps Beckett was a bad influence. ‘I’m a grown adult,’ she said, knowing that was perhaps the most petulant way to start. ‘I have the right to determine the most important things about my life, such as who I spend it with.’

Anatras tutted at once. ‘An adult would have reached out to me. Spoken with her family. Do not act as if this arrangement only affects you, child.’

‘It affects me most of all. There was nothing to debate, Auntie. I’m sorry it’s inconveniencing for you and for the family, but this wasn’t something we could negotiate or compromise on.’ It took a monumental amount of control to not sound or feel sardonic there, either.

Her great-aunt tilted her chin up an inch, and Thawn could feel the indignation beginning to broil. ‘I made it very clear last year that we could not afford to let this arrangement with the Seventh House lapse…’

‘And I gave you that year and a half so you could deal with the fallout of Whixby. Surely that’s long enough?’

Anatras stirred her tea with a jab of the spoon, not making eye contact for a moment. ‘What does Adamant have to say about all of this?’

‘He agreed. It was my idea, but he agreed. We weren’t right together, Auntie. We didn’t talk properly, share our feelings, share anything.’

‘Oh, child, when have you ever shared a single feeling?’

It was as if Anatras had slapped her. Not for the accusation itself, because Thawn knew full well she was not one to open up, but the implication, the resentment that came with it. She had done everything her family had ever asked of her, and it had left her married to a man who treated her like an obligation. The notion that things would be different had Thawn merely expressed herself –

‘Who is he?’ Anatras’s next words cut through her indignation. ‘Don’t be ridiculous; you’re young and you didn’t have to marry Adamant right away or keep yourself for him all that time or anything so foolishly archaic. But I can feel your guilt, child. Your heart wandered. Where?’

Clearly her feelings had not been sufficiently contained. ‘That’s not the point -’

‘You can play as you like. And I’m sure you and Adamant could have come to some arrangement. Are you to tell me you’ve found someone you want to spend your life with?’ Anatras was a blink away from a disapproving lip curl.

‘This isn’t about Nate – it’s not just about Nate -’

‘Nate?’

‘He…’ Thawn began to gesticulate as if she could pull the right words from the air. ‘Lieutenant Nathaniel Beckett. Our Chief Intelligence Officer. Recipient of the Star Cross. He’s – he’s Admiral Alexander Beckett’s eldest son.’

Anatras stopped at once. ‘Oh?’

That was the first point Thawn realised she might have misjudged how to handle her aunt and that she should, perhaps, have gone in with a plan after all.

By the time she’d agreed that they should have dinner with Nate and Adamant, she knew she’d definitely misjudged. And that it was far, far too late.

The Keystone was the Arcade bar most favoured by Starfleet officers, especially Gateway’s own crew. Kharth could have guessed this without being told, despite most of the patrons being out of uniform. There was a structure to the establishment, not dissimilar to the lounge on any starship; an inoffensive charm to make the bar nobody’s favourite choice, but nobody’s last – an acceptable compromise.

She’d considered arriving a little late to not interrupt the reunion itself, then reasoned that Logan had asked her to come along for moral support. Against her better judgement, she came early, and found Elijah Bishop in a booth already with a pair of officers around the same age.

‘Kharth – meet Stewart and Trevion.’ Bishop gestured to the human woman and the Rigellian man respectively. ‘Old hands from the Oberon, but if you’re here… I take it Jack’s not coming?’

‘He said he’d be here. He invited me.’ She considered asking if they minded, then decided that if she was here for any reason, it was to support Logan, and slid in next to Stewart.

Rather than protest, Bishop lifted his pint glass and said, ‘The more the merrier.’

After a beat, the gruff Rigellian Trevion leaned forward and said, ‘Endeavour was in the Empire during the transition, then.’

She almost would have preferred to talk Logan’s personal feelings than shop. ‘Transition. Takeover. Sure.’

‘You think there’ll be war?’

‘I didn’t see much more than you’ve seen in reports. I didn’t meet Toral. Somehow, my captain thought that she shouldn’t disembark her Romulan XO,’ Kharth said coolly.

Stewart snickered. ‘We wait and see, Trev. Orders will come.’

Trevion gave her a dour look. ‘Orders to fight our oldest allies?’

Then he flinched, and it sounded like Bishop had kicked him. ‘Orders,’ said Bishop, ‘to protect people who came to us for help.’ He looked at Kharth apologetically. ‘Sorry. Trev’s just very set in his ways.’

Kharth looked levelly at the Rigellian. ‘He’s not the only person to prefer Klingons to Romulans.’

But Trevion had subsided, shoulders drooping. ‘I don’t want to choose between anyone,’ he said, and for a flash, she felt guilty at the accusation. Then through the bustle of Keystone, she heard new footsteps and looked up to see Logan approach the table.

He was casual in a button-down plaid shirt and jeans, a jacket slung over his shoulder, and stopped a few feet away, clearly uncertain, clearly apprehensive. His old shipmates stared back at him for a moment, too.

Then Elijah Bishop rose to his feet, arms outstretched. ‘Jack! How the devil have you been?’

Kharth wondered if it was too much, too transparent. But as Bishop stalked over to Logan and she saw his eyes brighten, she realised it was probably not possible to be too effusive in greeting him.

‘Oh, y’know, Eli,’ Logan drawled through his obvious self-consciousness. ‘Been wandering the galaxy a while.’

‘Then sit your arse down and take a load off.’ Bishop gestured to the booth. ‘It’s been too damn long. First round is on me.’

That both did and didn’t help, Kharth observed as Logan slid in to sit down across from her. He caught her eye nervously, clasping his hands together, but Bishop had headed for the bar, and it was now him with his other two old friends.

Trevion gave a deep nod, seemingly unperturbed by any tension. ‘You look in much better health than I expected.’

‘Uh. Thanks? I work out.’

‘He means,’ sighed Stewart, ‘that you hardly look Borg at all.’ Even Kharth gave her a sharp look, and she rolled her eyes. ‘You get used to translating Trevion. Don’t shoot the messenger.’

Logan unclasped his hands. ‘You’re right. I forgot. No, Trev – I’ve still got implants. Mostly internal, though. A few you can’t see.’ He plucked at his collar briefly. ‘But not that many.’

‘You were much worse when you were in rehabilitation,’ Trevion rumbled thoughtfully.

Logan blinked. ‘You saw me in rehab?’

‘We all came to see you in rehab,’ said Trevion as if this was obvious.

‘Oh. I, uh. I don’t remember much about it.’ But any of his easing out faded as he glanced at Stewart. ‘How’ve you been, Lisa?’

‘I’m pretty sure I told you how I’ve been in my letters, Jack.’ Stewart sipped her cocktail, and Kharth wondered if she could request an emergency beam-out as the tension rippled over her.

Logan sucked his teeth. ‘I did see some. Congrats on the promotion. You deserve the shift to a command track.’

Stewart relaxed an iota. ‘You read them at least. Just didn’t reply.’

‘Yeah, I was…’ His voice trailed off, and Kharth’s throat only eased at the approach of Bishop, clutching three pint glasses with a practiced ease.

‘Here you go. Jack. Kharth.’ Bishop slid in the other side of Logan, trapping him in, and gave an exaggerated, toothy smile. ‘I interrupted, right?’

‘No, your timing’s fine.’ Logan groaned, then grabbed the pint glass and drank deeply. ‘Lisa were just cuttin’ to the chase and callin’ me out.’

‘Oh.’ Bishop gave Stewart the briefest shadowed glare. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself, Jack-’

‘Sure I do. We all go from bein’ thick as thieves for years an’ then I escape the jaws of death an’ drop off the sensor readings?’

Bishop gave a hapless shrug. ‘I understand this must have been… I understand we couldn’t understand. But when we reached out and you didn’t reach back, we didn’t know what to do.’

‘You were assimilated in that time,’ said Trevion. ‘It was believable your personality had changed. That you no longer wished us in your life. Whether through trauma or inevitable alteration by the Collective -’

‘Trev.’ Bishop now glared outright.

‘My nephew was turned on Frontier Day,’ said Stewart abruptly. ‘He explained some of it to me afterwards. The guilt. The shame. The… difficulty in finding his way back to his sense of self. And that was merely hours. We can’t imagine that happening for years.’

‘Look, it ain’t complicated.’ Logan scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘I ain’t the same, and that’s why I stayed away. Not ‘cos I didn’t want you around. But ‘cos I were afraid that if you got to know this new me…’

‘We wouldn’t like him?’ said Bishop with a sad smile. ‘Nobody stays the same forever, Jack.’

‘Except Trev,’ added Stewart. ‘He’s still the same oblivious blockhead.’

‘I exceedingly dislike change,’ Trevion agreed amiably. ‘But only in fundamental issues. Superficial developments are inevitable.’

Logan made a face. ‘Pretty sure being Borg’d is a fundamental thing, Trev.’

Trevion lifted one long, bony finger. ‘Jack. Do you still prefer Blanton’s bourbon, aged for twenty years in a white oak cask?’

‘With just a drop of water,’ Logan said with a hint of an edge. ‘No ice.’

‘Do you still sing bluegrass in the shower off-key?’

Logan hesitated there. ‘I, uh. It ain’t off-key no more.’

Stewart gave him a sharp look. ‘Are you telling me the Borg fixed your singing?’ Beside Logan, Bishop howled with laughter.

‘I… my senses got improved! I got much sharper hearin’ now, not to mention a diaphragm steel!’

‘Point is,’ said Bishop, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, ‘we know you, Jack. Things that matter don’t change.’

‘Him singing better matters to me,’ Stewart drawled.

Bishop waved a dismissive hand before raising his pint. ‘Rat pack forever, right?’

There were cheers. The clinking of glasses. More jibes from Stewart at Logan’s musical talents. And the moment the immediate jubilation died down, Kharth set her drink on the table and slid down the booth bench.

‘I should let you get to it.’

But Logan’s hand came out. He did no more than touch her forearm, but it made her hesitate, and his gaze was keen.

‘No need to run,’ he said with a wince. ‘Promise we’ll stop all this old-timer’s talk. Like I said, you’ve got some good war stories yourself.’ He looked at her drink, barely a third down, and tried a grin. ‘Stick out the rest of the pint?’

She glanced back. Glanced at Logan’s friends, relaxed now, easy with him in their company. Never before, she thought, would she have imagined being jealous of Logan’s sociability. Against all her better judgement, she slid back onto the bench. ‘Fine. The rest of the pint.’

Bishop grinned the widest. ‘You’ve been putting up with Jack while he was at his most glum, it seems. You deserve the drink. Tell us if you’ve got a good story of him being a complete idiot.’

For a moment, the memory of Logan plugging himself into a Borg Queen’s interface flashed across her eyes. Then Kharth tilted her head at Jack Logan, and said, ‘He was being chased down by a whole extremist movement when I met him.’

‘And saved my ass,’ said Logan, tilting his drink to her.

The full tale went down well. Logan wasn’t shy of embellishing at his own expense, and his old friends, comfortable now with where they stood, weren’t shy to tease him for it. Then Stewart pulled out her own decade-old anecdote of Logan nearly getting arrested by their hosts on one of the Oberon’s first contact missions, and the tone was set from there.

There were other stories, some of them from the four old friends’ adventures – but ones of their own, too, and as the night got easier, Bishop retold a few of him, Trevion, and Stewart from the Zephyr, more comfortable now to exist in a space without Logan. It became so relaxed, so easy, that Kharth was halfway through an abridged retelling of rescuing Rourke from a Romulan prison camp – skipping how she’d been in the brig at the start of it – before she realised there’d been a second round, or a third, and she was still here.

The night became hazy from there. Not only from alcohol, but the sheer momentum of Logan and his friends once they got going. Bishop was a quick-witted companion, skilled at shuffling and dealing out anecdotes and conversation topics that helped old friends reunite while keeping her looped in. But at some point the evening became less about reconnecting and more about blowing off steam, steam she didn’t even know she needed to let loose. Drinks at Keystone shifted to dancing at Paradox. Somewhere in that transition Kharth tried to make her excuses, yet ended up in the thumping mass of bodies and flashing shadows and pounding bass.

It was an easier kind of socialising, in its way – this intense, physical engagement, bound by wire to be either superficial or primal in a way that didn’t need words or emotional understanding. It was how she’d lived as a cadet, how she’d lived on her last assignment, only to be chased back into iron walls on starship assignment, in that claustrophobic life of everyone knowing everyone.

It was very late – or, perhaps, not as early as she’d have liked – before the group broke up, and she and Logan staggered back to the docking level, back to Endeavour. Her ears rang with the music, the silence of the station in the middle of the night local time, her ship with everyone disembarked, deafening almost more than club Paradox had been.

‘You don’t got nothing early on today, right?’ Logan drawled, all but collapsed against the turbolift walls once they were in.

‘Nothing at all. That I can’t cancel.’ Kharth scrubbed her face with her hands, equally exhausted now. ‘…that was fun.’

When she pulled her hands down, he was regarding her with a crooked smile. ‘It were, weren’t it? Thank. For bridging that gap.’

He looked lighter, she thought, despite the exhaustion. What demons had tonight chased away? Who was this man without them? Was it really that easy to rekindle a spark of the man he’d been before the shackles of the Borg had fallen upon him?

Could she ever find such a way to reignite?

She gave a lopsided shrug. ‘It was good. I like your friends.’

‘Seemed like you had steam to blow off.’

‘And I didn’t even know it,’ she admitted. ‘But… yeah. It’s been hard. Working as XO. Isa being gone. Times change. Connections change.’

The turbolift doors opened and they staggered out. She had further to go down the crew quarters corridors to get to her rooms, which suited her fine as they stumbled to a halt at his door.

He looked like he might reach for her, seemed unsure of how he’d do that, and gave her more of a pat on the arm in the end. ‘It suited you. Winding down. Breaking open. I dunno. You got a dark around you all the time, seems like.’ Now he gave that crooked, toothy grin of his again. ‘You called me outta the dark, once. Maybe sometime I can return the favour.’

She left him there, all but immediately falling onto her bed once she got to her rooms, all but passing out the second her head hit the pillow. It should have been lonely, in its way, she thought – to see someone rediscover and reconnect with their roots, and know she didn’t have that.

It hadn’t been lonely, though. And Kharth was too fast asleep before she could ponder if that was because the sight of Logan reconnecting was too heartwarming, or if his roots had snaked out to reach her, too.