‘And there’s no way I can talk you out of this?’ Commodore Matt Rourke had sounded less like a disapproving superior officer, and more like a doctor whose patient was wilfully disregarding their advice. Between them in the squadron commander’s office had hung the golden promise, the holographic projection of the sleek shape of the Norway-class USS Asger, forcing the two men to look through the shimmering hull to meet each other’s eye.

John Rosewood simply didn’t look at either as he sipped his coffee. ‘Is this a new blend?’

Rourke looked like he knew he was being pushed around, the veteran officer’s jaw working for a beat. ‘Pure raktajino feels like it’s going to war in your stomach. A little Arabica mixed in keeps the kick while brokering a peace accord.’

‘I expect Valance likes the Klingon coffee. This is good stuff; keeps officers on their toes without giving them the jitters.’

‘You should try it three meetings in.’ Rourke’s look was pointed. ‘Like the conversations I have with my command staff.’

Rosewood took a beat. Sipped the coffee. Smacked his lips. ‘My job in the squadron was always going to have the enormous glass ceiling I like to call “Ambassador Hale.” Even in command of the Asger, I’d be the second-string diplomat. Tidying up messes you and she left behind. She was never going to trust me as an equal.’

Again he watched Rourke see the strings he was tying around him, feel the wire cut his skin. Rourke was romantically involved with Hale, and had to fight the instinct to defend her while navigating the professional needs of the situation. ‘And a gunboat’s the best alternative?’ he managed at last. ‘An Osler’s a tiny thing and you’ll still be down in the pecking order, even in the field team -’

‘I can do some good there. Get my hands dirty.’

A cloud crossed Rourke’s expression. ‘The orders coming down for this outfit, you might want to know where the soap is, John. I know the last few months have been hard…’

‘I don’t know, sir, I’ve been taking it awfully easy, it feels; too easy -’

‘I mean since Frontier Day.’

‘Which didn’t hit Gateway.’

‘I mean since…’ Rourke’s gaze flattened. He had to know he was getting nowhere with this. ‘This is something you’ve got to work through for yourself, I guess.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ John Rosewood set his coffee cup down and gave Commodore Rourke a smile bright enough to shine through the projection of a future he’d just turned down. ‘I’m looking for something a little different from life. That’s all.’

A week later, different looked like a beachside bar on Calder II. Nestled on the Federation frontier to Romulan space, one of the pins stretching the elastic, changeable border, the world itself was unremarkable except as a resupply point for Starfleet ships journeying the old Neutral Zone, and anyone who wanted one last stop before the end of civilisation. Rosewood had grabbed a transport here from Gateway to find rough living for locals eking out an existence on the brink – but for Starfleet officers on shore leave, people knew how to roll out the carpet.

A kilometre inland would give a burgeoning colony – or shelter, depending on your perspective – of spacers and itinerants, the desperate and the opportunist. On this beach, he could shuck his uniform for khakis and a linen shirt and perch on a bar stool overlooking golden sands and waves whose crash was an inviting chorus. To the casual observer, it would be hard to tell the officers on shore leave stretched along this beach from the locals looking to get something out of them.

John Rosewood was not a casual observer. So when the young man slid onto the barstool next to him, droplets of seawater still cascading down olive skin, he knew he was about to be hit up by a local.

With a grin, Rosewood nudged his sunglasses onto his forehead. ‘Buy you a drink? They come in little… okay, I don’t know what this shell is. So I’m gonna call it a coconut.’ He waggled his cocktail, nestled in some local nut or seed, complete with a little umbrella in the top.

The young man slicked back wet hair and gave a smile slightly more coy than Rosewood expected. ‘Hi… I’m just here to meet friends.’

‘I’m very friendly.’ Had he just found one of the few Calderites who’d come for some honest-to-God surfing? ‘I’m great company while you wait. How were the waves?’

That put the young man more at ease. He leaned on the bar and looked back, eyes brightening as he soaked in the sea he’d just conquered. ‘Really awesome. This place, it just helps you be one with… yourself, you know?’

That was more like it. ‘A place to unwind,’ Rosewood agreed, gesturing for the bartender to get a second one of the silly little cocktails. ‘I’m a big fan of working out all the knots and kinks the galaxy puts on us. We don’t get many chances.’

‘We don’t.’ The young man’s eyes fell on the drink when it was put in front of him. The coy smile remained. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it. Drinking alone’s only fun for so long.’ Rosewood extended a hand, lips curling. ‘John.’

‘Ensign Bright – Tom.’ After a bashful adjustment of the drink, the young man met the handshake.

Rosewood paused. ‘Ensign.’

‘Yeah.’ Bright’s apprehension redoubled. ‘USS Tigris. Look, you seem fun, but I really am only here for a quick wind-down before I meet friends. I know stuff’s hard on Calder, so we don’t have to do the whole thing, I could just cover your dinner here and we don’t have to…’

‘Don’t have to what?’

‘Um.’ Bright put the drink down. ‘I’ve offended you.’

‘I’m not offended,’ said Rosewood with deep offence. ‘I thought you were…’ He paused. If he said ‘a local,’ then the inevitable next step was for him to explain that he was Lieutenant Commander Rosewood, and he’d just been hitting on a young officer with very little restraint. Not to mention imply he’d horribly misread the situation. He cleared his throat and stuck his nose in the air, affecting a more snooty manner. ‘I didn’t think you were an ensign, that’s all.’

Bright looked crestfallen. Rosewood felt a little guilty; the young man hadn’t done anything wrong. Pride demanded he remain impassive. ‘I’m sorry,’ Bright said for no reason. ‘I’m gonna – look, I see my friends, I’m just gonna take my drink…’

‘Nuh-uh.’ Rosewood grasped the shell. The sheer pettiness made him feel a little better. ‘You go see your friends, Ensign.’ And I pray none of them have any reason to recognise me. The odds were exceedingly long. But he wouldn’t have been shocked, the way his luck had been looking lately.

The warm sun made him feel a little better as Bright left. As did the rushing of the waves. He had work to do soon, but in the meantime, he could still let the splendours of the galaxy rush over him and wash away the troubles, not least of which was the stinging embarrassment of that exchange, one he could quickly forget –

‘That was smooth.’

He’d not noticed the other figure sat at the bar. He should have, Rosewood thought as he looked across. This was a big guy, wearing a light jacket even in this heat, though it did little to mask a powerful frame. Nursing a chilled beer, he was easily taken for a spacer, with the roughness around his figure, the dark stubble, the short haircut.

It wasn’t just being so recently wrong that had Rosewood more hesitant in accepting such an impression, though. If nothing else, somehow this big, muscular guy had managed to sit nearby and be completely overlooked.

‘Smooth wasn’t really the goal,’ Rosewood said, swirling his silly cocktail in its silly shell. ‘Guess I was putting on a show.’

The man grunted, and Rosewood suspected he had the right read on things when he shifted a couple stools down to be next to him. ‘They told me you could charm the wings off a butterfly. Instead, I just saw you talk a pretty young thing out of bed. Was that supposed to impress me?’

There were only so many ways to wriggle out of this one, so Rosewood made the judicious decision to not try. ‘You must be Commander Cassidy.’

‘And you’re the tourist.’ The man called Cassidy grunted and had a swig of his beer.

‘Soaking up rays on Calder before we ship out doesn’t make me a tourist -’

‘Treating my team like something you can hop on for a jaunt does.’ Cold eyes met his. ‘Why should I let you aboard my ship?’

‘You mean, aside from the fact Commodore Rourke and, maybe more importantly, Fleet Captain Faust said yes?’

‘I could leave you here. Beg forgiveness later. This line of work, you figure out what you can get away with, so long as you deliver results.’

‘Wow.’ Rosewood shoved the cocktail straw in the corner of his mouth and made sure to be as noisy as possible as he sipped. ‘You really didn’t think I had game, huh.’

Cassidy paused. Put the pint down. Shifted to face him. ‘I run a special operations team. I’m not here for some little admiral’s kid to beef up his service record with some action before he moves to a desk.’

‘My service record’s fine,’ Rosewood scoffed. ‘Read it. You’ll find commendations from my time on the Hazard Team during Gatecrasher.’

‘Then what is it?’ Cassidy leaned forward, voice dropping. ‘All sad that Daddy’s dead and you want to work out your feelings someplace?’

Another noisy sip through the straw. ‘It’ll take more like the third date before I open up about my tragic backstory -’

‘Maybe not sad, then,’ Cassidy rumbled. ‘Maybe angry. Angry it was Starfleet what killed him, but now we pat all those Borg kids on the head and say “it wasn’t your fault,” so there’s no place for that anger to go.’

The cocktail shell slammed down on the table. ‘And you’re a complete nobody, Hal Cassidy.’ Rosewood’s voice went cold. ‘What was it, Maquis brat who found he had no place to go when his parents’ crusade got crushed, so had to come crying to Starfleet for scraps? Where they shoved you in a small black box so you can work out all those violent fantasies someplace acceptable?’

Something cold coiled in his gut. Not at Cassidy’s momentary blank stare, dark eyes giving nothing away even as Rosewood felt around the edges of his skin to work a blade underneath. But when, a moment later, Cassidy smiled.

‘That’s me,’ he said, and Rosewood this time could feel the strings wrapping around him, the wires tensing in his flesh as Cassidy snared him. ‘Seems you do got that anger. Good. Shall we go see what we can do with it, you and me?’

Her name was Blackbird, and by the time Rosewood boarded, he still hadn’t seen what she looked like from the outside. He’d familiarised himself with the files on the Osler-class, seen the sleek frame designed along Andorian lines evoking speed and subtlety. What he found aboard was considerably more rough and ready than those holo images of a ship whose shape evoked the grace and agility of a swooping bird of prey.

‘Yeah, this is her,’ was all Cassidy said with a curt wave of the hand as they descended the transporter pad. ‘Four decks, less than two hundred metres prow to stern; I’m sure a man like you’s used to getting full tours, but maybe you can use that top education to figure out your own way round. This is -’

Rosewood blinked at the woman in a red uniform stood waiting for them in the transporter room. ‘Commander Ranicus.’

The corners of Tiarith Ranicus’s eyes pinched. They’d only met in passing before, back when she was XO of the USS Triumph and he’d been first officer on the Independence. In the same unit, but on opposing sides, part of the game of political cat-and-mouse between Matt Rourke and Lionel Jericho. Tall, with flowing long dark hair and an aristocratic or even glamorous air, she stood here, in one of the last places he’d expected to see her. But then, she could probably say the same for him.

She, at least, was better briefed. ‘Commander Rosewood. Welcome aboard the Blackbird.’

‘Right,’ said Cassidy, looking between them. ‘You must have met at the same fancy parties. Anyway, she came with the ship, don’t make a mistake and think she’s one of mine. She’s just the babysitter while we’re in the field.’

The lack of change in Ranicus’s facial expression spoke volumes. ‘I’m the Blackbird’s XO. Not part of the field team. There’s a crew of fifteen who run the ship and act as support personnel for field operations.’

Rosewood’s lips curled. ‘Who’d you piss off to end up here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

His smile broadened, sunny and annoying. ‘I volunteered.’

‘I didn’t,’ Cassidy grumbled. ‘Ranicus, we gotta get underway. Kid, go find your room, then get to mission ops and once we’re at warp, you’ll get the full briefing with the team.’

‘Cool,’ said Rosewood, watching them head off. ‘This was a great welcome package. I feel all warm and fuzzy.’ He still hadn’t changed from the linen shirt and khakis, and not only did he feel decidedly out of place amidst the dark metal deck plating and bulkheads of the Blackbird, but the temperature was a lot chillier than on the beach. He shouldered his bag, let Cassidy and Ranicus get a convenient ten seconds head start so he didn’t have to follow like an embarrassing puppy, and went room hunting.

Display screens felt rarer than on a larger ship, leaving him with the sense of finding his way in the dark. She was only four decks high and two hundred metres long, but the Osler was built to be modular. Reading ahead just meant Rosewood first stumbled into a cargo hold housing a pair of ground vehicles before he headed to the next section down. The crew of the Blackbird wasn’t large, and the compact corridors felt quieter than on any starship he’d served; people would likely be on the bridge, getting the ship underway, in a key facility like engineering or the labs, or getting some rack time.

Most rooms on an Osler were single occupancy, but cramped and with shared bathrooms. Despite knowing what he’d signed up for, Rosewood was relieved when the first display screen he found directed him to the section where the VIP transport module had been installed; he, and he suspected Cassidy’s ‘team,’ were assigned slightly larger and more comfortable quarters. It was a short corridor with only six rooms to choose from, but the panel outside his room demanded every form of security confirmation under the sun before it let him in.

He was still inputting his umpteenth level of identification when the door behind him slid open, buffeting him and the gloomy corridor with a wave of sound of Klingon acid punk. A muffled voice came through, distorted and unclear.

Rosewood turned, squinting as if the sound was blinding. ‘What?’

‘-sorry!’ The slight, wiry man stood in the opposite doorway reached back into his room and hit a control panel out of sight to kill the music. ‘You must be our new recruit.’ He wasn’t in uniform either, bundled in an oversized, navy knitted sweater with the sleeves pushed up, and worn lounge trousers. Dishevelled, mousy hair framed sharp, astute features. ‘Macalor Aryn.’

The Lieutenant Aryn that Rosewood had read about was a biochemist with a background in R&D. Rather than show his bemusement, Rosewood grinned. ‘John Rosewood. You always try to deafen the new guy?’

Aryn gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Nallera – Chief Nallera, you’ll meet her – is a huge Klingon acid punk fan. I wanted to know what the fuss was about. It sounds noisy, but there’s enormous complexity to the time signature. You might not notice it immediately, but it’s shifting, asymmetric; alternates between 7/8 and 5/4 time every fourth measure -’

‘Guess I gotta take your word for it.’ Rosewood glanced down as the deck began to rumble. They were underway. Soon, he expected to feel the Blackbird surge around him on a jump to warp. ‘You been aboard long?’

‘None of us have. But if you’re asking how long I’ve been with Cassidy – well, I’ve been a Rook for a year, maybe? Not as long as the rest.’

‘A Rook?’

‘Oh, that’s – that’s the field team. The Rooks. We were a special operations team before Cassidy was given the Blackbird – to give us more stability and mobility and resources, I guess. We’ll see how well that works out. I’m looking forward to having actual labs to hand, instead of waiting until we’re back at starbase for any chance of analysis.’

‘Rooks,’ mused Rosewood. ‘That’s cute. Being assigned the Blackbird. Keeping it in the corvid family.’

Aryn paused. ‘Blackbirds aren’t corvids. They’re thrushes.’

‘Then… keeping it in the family of “birds that are black.”’

‘Sure.’ Aryn looked him up and down. ‘I’d ask your story, but I expect everyone’s doing that.’

‘Do I have to have a story?’

‘Okay, so I’m not the “people person” of the team, but even I can tell you’re an oddity here. By rank alone, you’re slumming it with us.’

Rosewood pointed back. ‘I could say the same for you, except for with skills and training. Shouldn’t you be riding an R&D team in Daystrom?’

Aryn hesitated, his smile now nervous. ‘I like to stretch my legs?’ But he nodded and shrugged. ‘Turnabout’s fair play. I’ll let you get settled.’

Rosewood nodded, then frowned. ‘Cassidy said we’ll meet for briefing once we’re underway…?’

‘Oh, conference room.’ Aryn pointed down the corridor. ‘This section is all Rooks.’

‘Great. Do we…’ Another hesitation. ‘If I show up to the briefing in uniform, is Cassidy going to make a thing of it? Or if I show up out of uniform, will he make a thing of it?’

‘Well…’ The nervous smile returned. ‘Cassidy’s a good man. But he will almost certainly make a thing of it whatever you do. Don’t take it personally. Trust in this line of work is essential – but precious. You’ll earn it.’ Aryn paused, seeming to realise he hadn’t fully answered the question. ‘Nobody else will be in uniform.’

Rosewood let Aryn go and ducked into the small room that was, he suspected, going to be his only private space for quite some time. Aryn was well-meaning, he thought, but also seemed surprisingly open for a member of this crew. Rosewood wasn’t sure he trusted the social judgement of a man who listened to Klingon acid punk for its mathematical curiosities, so just threw a jacket over the clothes he’d been wearing at the beach.

Then he stood in the single-occupancy stateroom and waited. On a bigger ship, he’d have a proper window; here, it was more like a porthole, but without a view of the planet Calder, all he saw beyond was distant stars and endless black. As a child on a family trip to Sol, he’d been taken to the museum exhibitions of the old Enterprise NX-01, and marvelled at space travel in such rugged and confined environments. It felt like he was living it now, except without his father’s hand on his shoulder, solemnly telling him the stories of those pioneers of Starfleet, and lighting in him a spark that had taken him into the family trade.

But now he was here. Not on a rugged ship of exploration taking to discover the promise of stars, but on a gunboat led by brute, headed God knew where. And his father was long gone.

A short time later, the ship was at warp and Rosewood headed for the conference room Aryn had directed him to. It looked like standard-issue Starfleet furniture had already been stripped out, low and comfortable seating set up in a circle around a central holoprojector. Four people were waiting for him: Cassidy and Aryn, and two women. The first was one of the broadest women Rosewood had ever seen, casual in a tank top that showed off muscular arms. She bounded to her feet and gave him a handshake that could crush bones but was still, accompanied by a grin, the warmest welcome he’d had so far. When she introduced herself as Chief Nallera, Rosewood thought of Klingon acid punk, and it all made sense.

The other, a wiry woman a little older than him, sharp-featured and precise in bearing but dressed down in a spacer’s leather jacket, was Jessa Tiran, and she gave him a rather more appraising look than Nallera. She did, at least, offer him a seat, and left him feeling like he’d met a fellow professional rather than just professional judgement.

‘Alright, we done with the love-in?’ Cassidy grumbled as Rosewood sank onto one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs. He looked Rosewood up and down. ‘I see you figured we were staying at a beachside bar.’

Aryn had been right, it seemed. Rosewood gave a toothy smile. ‘I dress for the occasion, and you made this job sound so fun, so…’

Tiran sighed as Cassidy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Hal. The job, Hal.’

Cassidy worked his jaw for a moment. Then snapped away and turned to the holo-projector. ‘Right.’ A thumb-press of the small PADD in his hand brought the display to life, the sphere of a blue-gold planet shimmering into existence. ‘We’re headed here: Tau Mervana, old Neutral Zone. Mostly Romulan refugee population, but it’s close to the Free State border. It’s also been ground zero in a power struggle between local warlords who want the industrial replication facilities Starfleet set up twenty years ago. It’s volatile, dangerous, and factionalised, but none of that’s our top concern.’

Tiran eased into a chair next to Rosewood. ‘What is our concern, then?’

‘We’re here to pick up a defector from the Free State.’ As Rosewood watched, eyebrows went up around the room, and Cassidy seemed to relish having his team on tenterhooks. ‘Tau Mervana isn’t the ideal meeting place, but this guy crossed the border to meet up with one of our contacts on the planet. Now he needs extracting. We grab him, bring him back to Federation space, and all them juicy state secrets are ours.’

Aryn twirled a stylus between his fingers as he listened. ‘Why us? Why not a starship?’

‘The higher-ups would like it if the Free State didn’t know for sure we had him. And they won’t let him go lightly – a starship shows up in orbit of Tau Mervana for no good reason, and people looking for this guy will put two and two together. We show up nice and quiet, set down, pick him up, and we’re gone, ideally before anyone’s any the wiser.’

Nallera leaned forward, elbows on her knees. ‘And we’re tooled up and ready if anyone is the wiser, right, Boss?’

‘Right,’ said Cassidy, and Nallera beamed. ‘And even if nobody’s on his tail or ours, we’ve got a city that’s an active warzone by last accounts. Not to mention that if locals catch wind of what’s going on, they might want to curry favour with T’Met and do something stupid. Walk softly, and carry a big stick, like usual, people.’

Rosewood clasped his hands in front of him. ‘So who’s the target? Or is that too super secret squirrel classified to know before we get there?’

Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘No point in that, Kid. Target’s why I reckon the brass decided they want you here.’ He thumbed his control again, and the holographic projection changed from the gently spinning planet to the image of a sharp-eyed Romulan woman. ‘Introducing you to Ireqah, former Undersecretary of Defence on T’Met. A key intelligence asset with access to top-level military and governmental operations. She’s worked in proximity to the Tal Shiar, so she knows more than most, but she’s not one of them. She’s got insight into the Free State’s military strategies and trade priorities.’

‘Ireqh.’ Rosewood’s eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘I met her once, when I was in the detachment in Sector 315. Trade dispute; he was one of the few Free State officials who actually pushed for a resolution instead of grandstanding.’

‘She cited that negotiation when he reached out to us,’ said Cassidy, expression pinching. ‘Said it showed his good faith. That she could work with us. And how the Tal Shiar trying to kibosh the whole thing showed why she couldn’t stay. Guess you made an impression. So don’t get any big ideas about your skills getting you in the team, Kid; you’re here to be a pretty face so we can bring in Ireqah more easily. Nothing more.’

As ever, Rosewood met opposition with a sunny smile as he leaned back in the briefing chair. ‘I don’t know, Cassidy. Neutral Zone world in the midst of a warlord power struggle with a Romulan defector waiting for pickup before the Tal Shiar catch up with him? I think there’ll be a bit more for me to do.’

Glancing between them, Nallera shifted her weight. ‘You said he’s met a contact. Who’s this guy? Agent or officer trapped in a bad place?’

‘Local fixer and SAPINT asset.’ Cassidy shook his head. ‘Name of Verior. Former Romulan border officer, went AWOL during the crisis, but we’ve used him a few times and he’s loyal to his own stability and to being paid, and hates the Free State. I’ve worked with him before.’

‘That’s imperfect,’ mused Aryn. ‘But this is the Neutral Zone. Imperfection’s baked in.’

Cassidy grunted. ‘We’re hitting this hot. Top speed for now, then we go in quiet so nobody spots us. We’ll be there inside twenty-two hours. Get rack time, sort your gear, nothing fancy. Dress to blend in, be ready for trouble. Jessa, get the kid ready.’

Cassidy left, and Aryn and Nallera soon wandered out after, entrenched in what sounded like a dispute over if the interesting tempo of Klingon acid punk actually mattered. Rosewood looked up at Tiran, who had stayed still, arms folded across her chest, waiting for the others to go. With ash-blonde hair tied practically back and visible lines on her face, she looked like she’d been about the galaxy and knew how to handle herself. He just wasn’t yet sure what the right way to handle her was.

‘Don’t mind Cassidy,’ Tiran said once the doors shut, a softer tone to her voice. ‘You’re new, we’re going into a situation with a lot of unknowns, and it does feel like the brass transported you in just to appease the target.’

‘Figures.’ Rosewood stood and shrugged. ‘Is it an official Rook responsibility to insist Cassidy isn’t as much of an asshole as he comes across, or do you guys just volunteer for that? Because if it’s essential, has he considered not being an asshole?’

‘I think he’s given that serious consideration before rejecting it.’ Wryness tugged her lips. ‘Get in the field with us. Have our backs. You’ll be settled in soon enough. Assuming, of course, that’s what you want.’

‘So you think I’m a tourist, too.’

‘I think I don’t know why you’re here. Don’t pretend we’re the problem for recognising it’s a strange move, Commander.’

‘Maybe, but where I come from, people are given a chance to fail before they get treated like the problem.’

‘We’re not where you come from.’ Tiran shrugged. ‘Here, failing even once means death. We can’t afford to be so loose with our trust. You have to earn it. Prove you’re here for the right reasons, and you’ll be fine.’

‘Don’t worry about my reasons.’ He looked to the door. ‘Cassidy said you should set me up with field gear.’

‘I don’t worry about your reasons because I need to know them,’ said Tiran, but when she got to the door, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘It’d just be good if you knew them.’

The Blackbird’s bridge was a cramped compartment at the fore of the ship. Like everything else aboard, it felt like the streamlined and utilitarian shadow of its counterpart on a larger, more traditional Starfleet vessel, with the pilot seated at the front, posts at the starboard and port side for weapons and operations respectively, and a single seat at the centre for the ship’s commander.

Rosewood slunk in only after pursuing sleep like a starving hunter whose prey had still slipped from between his fingers. But he and restless nights were old friends by now. Ranicus sat in the centre chair, and if she heard the door behind let him in, she didn’t react, deep in discussion with the tactical officer. He observed for a beat, stood in the low-lit chamber, listening to the chirrups of systems and the hum of the ship. A bridge should be the centre of a vessel and crew, knowing everything, dictating everything, but he was left instead with the impression this was merely somewhere to have a finger on the pulse. The heartbeat came from somewhere else.

‘You can sit, you know,’ hissed a low whisper from his left, and Rosewood turned to the Ops console. A Bajoran woman in a blue uniform gave him a nervy smile and nodded to the stool at an empty aft console. ‘She won’t be mad so long as she thinks you’re working.’

‘Thank you, Lieutenant Falaris, though I am aware Mister Rosewood doesn’t have a bridge shift,’ came the cool, louder voice of Ranicus from the centre, though the XO didn’t turn around. ‘But yes, Commander, if you want to familiarise yourself with the ship, sit down and shut up.’

A lot of people were telling him to shut up, Rosewood thought as he scooted across on the spare stool. That wasn’t anything new, but he felt he’d done a lot less talking than he usually did to earn it. Still, he gave the Bajoran lieutenant a grin. ‘Busted,’ he whispered.

She visibly smothered a smile. ‘Sorry. Welcome aboard,’ she replied, just as quietly. ‘I’m Falaris Maive.’

‘John Rosewood.’

‘I know who you are. It can’t be easy being a new Rook.’

‘I’ve negotiated treaties with warring factions.’ Rosewood’s lips curled with an affectation of superiority. ‘I’ve eaten guys like Hal Cassidy for breakfast in conference rooms.’

‘I don’t think the commander serves himself up in conference rooms.’

‘You’re probably right.’ His eyes swept over her console, soaking in the displays and feeds. ‘I didn’t think a ship like this needed a dedicated computer systems officer.’

‘It doesn’t. The Rooks do. I’m Ops – comms, SIGINT, sensors, and, most important of all, I’ll be with you in the field. Remotely, I mean. Apparently.’

‘Apparently?’

Falaris shifted her weight. ‘The Rooks aren’t new. The crew is. This is the first deployment together.’

It was an odd posting for her, he thought as he looked her up and down. She was in her late twenties, and clearly highly trained if she could provide this level of remote support on delicate operations. After Frontier Day, there should have been starship captains gagging for a young, alive lieutenant with that skillset on their bridge. Then again, Rosewood suspected nobody aboard had a traditional career route.

But he didn’t know where he stood with the Rooks yet, so this made her the only person to give him a welcome of unqualified warmth. ‘Then you’re about to get your first taste of mission control, Lieutenant.’

They came out of warp a few hours later at the periphery of the Tau Mervana. As Rosewood watched the sensor display, the moment they arrived, the system lit up with a dozen contacts, ranging from small fighters to mid-sized patrol boats and a littering of larger ships. The majority had unique transponders, civilian ships passing by, but there was a clear and visible pair of clusters of associated ships, most of them clearly armed, military vessels of Romulan design. The struggle for control of Tau Mervana was not over.

‘Blue alert,’ Ranicus instructed crisply, and the bridge lights dimmed. The Osler’s passive stealth features relied on nobody painting them in the first place, so their entry point was close to one of the system’s outer planets. With a masked approach and keeping their power levels to a minimum, they could slide undetected towards the third planet that was their destination. Despite being a new team, they were well-drilled, Ranicus marshalling them like even traversing a star system was a matter of life and death. This far out in the chaotic Neutral Zone, it could well be.

Cassidy was on the bridge within seconds of their exit from warp, and arrived at almost the same moment Falaris put a finger to her earpiece, turning and saying, ‘Commander? Sensors and comms are picking up another ship in orbit of the third planet. It’s Starfleet.’

Ranicus turned first. ‘One of ours?’

‘Yes, ma’am. USS Liberty.’

Rosewood stood. ‘That’s Elara Galcyon’s ship. They’ve been on survey duty the last while; what’re they doing here? Are they in trouble?’

‘Not at all,’ confirmed Falaris, audibly confused. A moment passed as her fingers ran over sensor and comms controls. ‘Two birds-of-prey in proximity. Old Romulan ships, both IDing as independent, matching transponder codes for known separate warlords.’ Her eyes fell on Cassidy. ‘Commander, I think she’s in some sort of negotiation with them.’

He gave a frustrated exhale. ‘Of course she is. Starfleet doesn’t send any ships here so we can pick up a defector without the whole galaxy knowing, but some do-gooder captain stumbles on a problem and decides to chit-chat.’

‘I’m also picking up surface-to-orbit Starfleet transmissions. Looks like the Liberty has people on the planet; a lot of people.’

Cassidy had moved to the centre seat by now, and Ranicus stood over the shoulder of the tactical officer. ‘There’s a whole Starfleet deployment in the city,’ she said, reading sensors. ‘Commander, I think the Liberty’s dropped a peacekeeping or aid station here.’

Rosewood whistled. ‘Tau Mervana faction war’s been waging for months in its latest form. Or fifteen years, really. Captain Galcyon has got them to stop fighting and dropped a humanitarian presence? Impressive.’

‘Stupid is what it is. She drops resources here and the moment she’s gone, the warlords will just fight harder to take what’s left behind,’ Cassidy snarled. ‘And now we’ve got to get a defector out of here without everyone knowing Starfleet’s got her? Fucking white hats.’

‘If that subterfuge is ruined, why don’t we just contact the Liberty?’ Rosewood frowned, looking over. ‘They may have eyes on Verior or even Ireqah. We could have her beamed aboard in ten minutes before anyone has the chance to catch up.’

‘I don’t know Galcyon. And I sure as hell don’t know the five hundred people aboard her ship. They don’t get roped into a delicate operation just because we’re here.’ Cassidy turned to the front. ‘Mission stays the same, just now we avoid the Starfleet presence same as the Romulans.’

Falaris leaned over her controls. ‘I’ve monitored the comms and movement of the paramilitary forces, Commander, and picked out a route and place for us to set down outside of the city. From there, you can drive in overland. I’ve also identified a route.’

‘Good,’ Cassidy grunted. ‘Ranicus, get us down.’ He turned towards the door, gesturing for Rosewood to follow as he hit his combadge. ‘Cassidy to Rooks. Report to Cargo Bay 1. We’ll take the Nomad in. Throw field uniforms in the back.’

The Nomad was an armed reconnaissance and tactical vehicle, and Rosewood had seen it in the cargo bay on his arrival. Unlike the vehicles on most Starfleet ships, the Nomad’s basic design was Federation civilian, with modifications to bring it up to spec for the Rooks’ needs. Critically, Rosewood had seen no Starfleet markings on the body.

‘I know we’re a stealth operation and all,’ he mused as he followed Cassidy through the corridors. ‘But if there’s Starfleet officers here and we’re out of uniform and we get into a fight, there’s some armed conflict laws…’

‘Don’t give me that perfidy shit,’ Cassidy groaned. ‘You know better than that. What did you think this was, a tea party?’

‘I’m not here with ethical arguments, I’m here figuring out how we cover our asses.’

‘We cover our asses by completing the mission and not dying. That means we don’t stroll into the city announcing we’re Starfleet. But if we need to bypass Captain Galcyon and her Merry Fluffy Men, we throw on uniform jackets and pretend to be part of the relief crew. If you’re worried about wider political implications, Kid, that’s the great thing about this job: those are someone else’s problem.’ Cassidy gave him a sidelong look. ‘You’re not that side of the desk anymore. Here, you get your hands dirty.’

‘You think I didn’t get my hands dirty doing the ass-covering?’

‘Ink ain’t the same as blood.’

The other three Rooks waited for them in the cargo bay, all in hard-wearing civilian clothing providing padding, freedom of movement, and a lack of affiliation with Starfleet. Black base layers meant they could throw on the uniform field jackets in a pinch and assume the status of officers among the surface teams.

By the time they were assembled, Rosewood could feel the shudder of the deck underfoot as the Blackbird eased into the atmosphere of Tau Mervana III. ‘Smooth runnings,’ he mused.

Nallera gave a toothy grin. ‘Isn’t this bird a beaut? Handle her right and she could dance under a Galaxy’s nose unseen.’

‘That’s something of an exaggeration,’ Aryn said, raising a finger. ‘The ship’s passive capabilities -’

‘Learn imagery, Aryn, God,’ she groaned.

‘And all of it,’ cut in Rosewood, grinning, ‘keeps us hidden without upsetting the Treaty of Algeron.’

‘As if those treaties get followed out here,’ scoffed Cassidy. ‘We should be boarding one of those birds-of-prey and stealing their cloaking device. Why the hell do we follow these rules when dealing with this pack of warlords who don’t give a shit about what diplomats said two hundred years ago?’

‘Because T’Met cares what diplomats said ten years ago,’ said Rosewood.

‘Yeah, well, the Free State’s not here.’ Cassidy yanked open a door of the flat, angular Nomad. ‘And nobody they sent’s gonna be playing by the rules. Get in and buckle up.’

Rosewood had set foot on a thousand dustbowls like Tau Mervana during his Starfleet career. The only thing that made this one stand out was the sheer population size, the result of the fall of the Romulan Star Empire and few tempting settlement options for peoples on the run. The Blackbird had wound its way through the traffic of the star system and into orbit, and descended a distance from the largest city, a sprawling metropolitan mess of temp and prefab shelters, buildings made from the remains of grounded ships, and a growing infrastructure of taller towers built of local sandstone. At this distance, far from the eyes of locals, warlords, or even Starfleet who might be curious of their coming, it was a long drive to their destination.

Dusty, rocky terrain rolled past the windows as the Nomad trundled away from the landed Blackbird and towards the distant towers of the city. In the front seat next to Tiran, who drove, Cassidy jabbed in frustration at the vehicle’s controls. ‘Comms here are completely shot,’ he grumbled. ‘Loads of interference. Can’t raise Verior.’ He pressed a finger to the earpiece that served as comms in the field. ‘Cassidy to Blackbird; find me this guy.’

There was a pause, then all of them could hear the voice of Lieutenant Falaris, chirpy and enthusiastic despite Cassidy’s grumbling. ‘You got it, Commander.’

‘Interference is something nasty -’

‘It’s not interference,’ she corrected. ‘The fighting’s damaged local comms infrastructure; towers, orbital satellites. If Verior doesn’t have powerful comms equipment of his own, or isn’t connected to anything directly, no wonder you can’t raise him.’

‘Do we have a meeting spot?’ asked Rosewood from the back.

‘No,’ grunted Cassidy. ‘Find him for me, Lieutenant.’

‘On it,’ Falaris said, still unperturbed. A minute passed. ‘We’ve got records of old local transmissions Verior’s made,’ she said at last. ‘And there’s one confirmed reliable, powerful piece of communications technology we have access codes for sitting in orbit: the Liberty. I’m bouncing a signal to see if I can connect.’

‘Don’t alert the Liberty that we’re here,’ Cassidy warned.

‘Aye, Commander, but there’s lots of surface-to-ship chatter I can hide in.’ Another few minutes, then, ‘Good news and bad news, sir.’

‘Someone clocked us?’

Rosewood rolled his eyes. Falaris had sounded terse, not concerned. ‘Great trust in your team.’

‘She ain’t my team yet,’ Cassidy growled, too low for Blackbird to pick up.

‘I’ve found him with a static-laden ping from a comms device,’ said Falaris. ‘But it’s close to a lot of other Starfleet comm chatter. The Liberty has a relief shelter in the city, and Verior’s there.’

Tiran sucked her teeth. ‘That’s not terrible.’

‘Unless he’s dead,’ offered Aryn, ‘and we’re picking up a signal on a communicator on a corpse they brought in.’

‘Or,’ said Rosewood, trying to inject a smattering of optimism, ‘he came in for supplies, protection, or minor medical aid, and instead of finding him in the middle of a war-torn city, we might be able to roll up to a shelter, put on our uniform jackets, and find him and Ireqh in the hour?’

Nobody looked like they believed that, but the truth turned out close enough for Rosewood to feel vindicated. What was not true was the time-frame; by the time the hour expired, they were only just trundling through the outskirts of the city, the broken up and blockaded roads delaying their approach.

Once they rolled through streets, Cassidy cast a wary eye through the windows at not just the locals, but the tall buildings, broken windows, barricaded doorways. ‘Fighting here stopped only recently,’ he rumbled. ‘Intel suggested the two biggest warlords were still competing for control of the city.’

Rosewood leaned over to take a look. Their vehicle, unmarked as it was, drew plenty of attention from rough-looking paramilitary types, primarily but not exclusively Romulans toting battered military-grade armaments in small clusters. Nobody stopped them or got in their way; anyone who looked ready for a fight stayed poised in case they acted, and other locals hurried out of their way.

‘Did Galcyon really get a ceasefire?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Holy shit.’

‘Like I said; it’s in their interests to let Starfleet drop resources, then hoover up once they’re gone,’ Cassidy spat. ‘But it gives us a window to get in and out without burning power packs.’

Or lives? Rosewood wondered, this time in silence.

Soon, the numbers in the streets grew more dense, with the proportion of locals rising, and the numbers of paramilitary types diminishing for crisp uniforms and clean boots: the Starfleet crewmembers of the USS Liberty who’d beamed down.

‘I’ve been monitoring chatter from the Liberty,’ came the explanation of Falaris from back on the Blackbird as they got further into the city and nearer the relief shelter. ‘From what I can piece together, the Liberty came here first for unrelated reasons; something to do with records from an old Star Empire facility. Captain Galcyon negotiated access, and once she saw the state of the planet, convinced the two warlords to enter a ten-day ceasefire so she could give humanitarian aid to the locals. They agreed. The shelter Verior’s in is the result. We’re on day six of the ceasefire.’

‘Far enough in that everyone feels like they’ve been well-behaved an age, so far from the end they don’t see the end yet,’ Cassidy mused. ‘Perfect time for maximum itchy trigger fingers.’

‘Or everyone’s fat and relieved still,’ Rosewood suggested.

‘Pull us up somewhere quiet out of sight of the shelter,’ Cassidy told Tiran, yet again ignoring Rosewood’s assessment. ‘The kid and me will go in on foot and in uniform to find Verior. You all keep out of sight.’

‘Maybe you should follow my lead,’ Rosewood suggested once he and Cassidy were crunching out of a narrow alleyway where Tiran had hidden the Nomad, and towards the prefab walls and buildings of the Liberty’s aid station. His uniform field jacket, bereft of pips to disguise them as lowly crewmen, felt hot under the blazing sun of Tau Mervana.

Cassidy’s scowl somehow deepened. ‘Why, you think I don’t know how to pretend to be polite? I outrank you, Kid; I’ve been doing the Starfleet dance for longer.’

‘I just think you’re out of practice.’

‘Whatever – fine, do the talking, but try to stink less of the Academy. We’re here to look like we fetch and carry, not like you’re about to corral a team to take into the city.’

‘Looking at the ping I picked out,’ came the voice of Falaris in Rosewood’s earpiece moments later, ‘you want the medical station, north side.’

Mercifully, the relief shelter was much like any other Rosewood had been to over his career: big and busy enough for them to be just another pair of crewmembers in the crowd. Locals lined up at manned supply posts to collect aid packages of food and essentials, and security officers looked more at them than a pair of nondescript, dusty crewman walking in from the city. Clearly, teams had been going into the streets to do recon or offer help, and nobody gave them a second glance.

Rosewood suppressed a smirk of satisfaction when his double-checking of directions from a passing lieutenant drew visible surprise from Cassidy, the big man looking over sharply as Rosewood filed the edges of the finest education from Alpha Centauri off his accent for something more nondescript. He waited until they were tromping across a dusty square towards the medical shelter before speaking up.

‘So…’ Rosewood glanced back at Cassidy and saw him brace for a dig. ‘Know who we’re looking for?’ he said instead.

Silence did its work. Cassidy grimaced anew. ‘I know Verior. Let’s find him.’

The medical shelter was rows upon rows of beds filled by locals and not nearly enough medical staff. Injuries looked mostly from weapons fire, and none of those were fresh. The fresher wounds looked, to Rosewood’s inexpert eye, crushes and head wounds, and he suspected plenty of the city’s buildings were crumbling dangerously after who knew how long sustained fighting.

Cassidy walked the rows, until making a meandering turn for a middle-aged Romulan with his arm in a sling, sat on a bunk. Rosewood caught the Romulan clock them before affecting a casual air as they approached. There was no need to pretend they weren’t talking, with medical staff from the Liberty all but ignoring them, but they didn’t need to look too interested.

‘Long time, no see,’ Verior mused, tired eyes looking across as Cassidy sat on the opposite bunk. ‘Should have known you’d come for pickup.’

‘Tell me the package is intact.’

‘The package is intact. I am, too; thanks for asking,’ Verior said wryly. ‘If you’d been here a day ago, we could have all met up together. But I had a little accident last night.’ He raised the injured arm. ‘Stairwell came down in my building. Well-meaning Starfleet brought me here.’

‘Is she okay?’ Rosewood pressed before he could stop himself.

Cassidy rolled his eyes and ignored the question to look at Verior. ‘Just tell me where, and we can complete the pickup.’

‘Still at my safe house. Enough food to keep her happy a week. She shouldn’t be showing her face to the world.’ Verior sighed. ‘Let me guess. I give you the location, you do pickup, I chow down on more top-quality painkillers here?’

‘And when this is over, you get paid.’

Verior frowned, so Rosewood leaned in and said, ‘We’ll be clear before the Liberty goes. I’m sure we can arrange for you to get ferried somewhere else when they leave.’

The frown deepened. ‘Are you kidding? I’m going to make a fortune in about a week. Once this planet goes back to eating itself alive, I’ve got jobs a-plenty.’ He’d already been squirrelling some of the Liberty’s supplies somewhere else to be sold on later, somehow, Rosewood realised.

Verior took a PADD Cassidy handed him, and thumbed in what looked like directions. ‘Stay alert, Starfleet,’ the old Romulan warned. ‘The package wasn’t sure she’d shaken her tail. If they knew where we were, I think we’d all be dead, but… be careful.’

‘Didn’t know you cared,’ said Cassidy with a humourless grin as he shoved the PADD back in his jacket and stood up.

‘I want to get paid. I don’t want my safe house getting blown up.’ Verior paused. ‘Even if nobody’s looking out for us, this ceasefire only goes so far, too. Arkaran and Korask might be the big fish who’ve agreed to it. But both sides have lieutenants who’ve got their own grievances. Who might want to shuffle off a big dog by undermining them and breaking the peace. Who might just be stupid.’

‘Now that, I believe.’ Cassidy sighed and looked over at Rosewood. ‘There’s a few constants in this galaxy: death, entropy, and the stupidity of people.’

‘Sure,’ said Rosewood, frustrated he couldn’t muster a disagreement. ‘But how come it’s never the useful kind of stupid, and this time is the murderous kind of stupid?’

They had barely set foot outside of the medical tent before their cover was nearly blown.

‘Crewmen! Give me a hand?’ Being called for by an officer to help with what looked like loading a few supply crates onto the back of a flatbed vehicle wasn’t an immediate problem. Rosewood and Cassidy could head over to grab the first crate and haul it up without question.

The problem came when they straightened, and Rosewood realised the officer in question was none other than Elara Galcyon, captain of the USS Liberty. He turned away at once, making a show of ensuring the loaded crate was strapped up properly. They’d never met, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t recognise him.

‘Thank you,’ Galcyon said, sounding none the wiser. ‘I want to get back out there as quickly as possible.’ She was a tall, elegant woman, and even while wearing her red field jacket open to waylay the dust and sweat Tau Mervana coated everything in, held an air of easy, relaxed authority.

Cassidy read Rosewood’s cue to take charge of the situation, grabbing the next crate. ‘Happy to oblige, Captain. You shouldn’t be worrying about this stuff yourself.’

Rosewood winced as he thought he heard an edge in Cassidy’s voice, and winced again when it sounded like Galcyon had also picked it up.

‘Not everyone can get to the relief station, Crewman.’ When Rosewood chanced a glance back, Galcyon had a hand on her hip, her head cocked as she regarded Cassidy. ‘We’ve only got so much time here and I want to make sure everyone who needs help can get it.’

Cassidy grunted, and looked surprised when Galcyon bent down to help him load the next crate. ‘Of course,’ he said, a little – Rosewood thought – unconvincingly. ‘I mean, you worrying about it. Going out there yourself.’

‘Don’t worry. Lieutenant Maddox has my security taken care of. But it means something, even here. Not just for a Starfleet ship to show up and help, but for a Starfleet captain to show up and help. Not to mention that I shouldn’t ask you to take any risks, going out into those streets, that I’m not prepared to take on myself.’

Cassidy’s response was, again, monosyllabic, and while Rosewood approved the idea of avoiding getting stuck into a conversation, he decided to take the risk of showing his face to help finish loading quickly before the two beat a hasty retreat.

‘Stay careful out there, Captain,’ said Cassidy as they departed.

They were twenty seconds’ quick walking away before Rosewood spoke, dropping his voice. ‘Did you have to make that sound like a threat?’ he hissed.

‘Naïve nonsense,’ Cassidy grumbled, head down as he stalked towards the exit of the shelter. ‘It’s the job of a captain to not take risks you ask your rank-and-file to take. She can’t make a serious difference here, so by showing her face she’s just performing to make herself feel better in the here-and-now.’

‘Maybe, but – does it matter?’ Rosewood didn’t have enough of a read on Galcyon to agree or disagree with the appraisal. He certainly didn’t care. ‘We’ve got a job to do.’

Cassidy glared at him. ‘I don’t need lecturing about that.’

Seems like you do. It was one of many thoughts Rosewood kept to himself, and they stayed quiet until they made it out of the shelter, down the street, and back to the rest of the Rooks waiting in the Nomad.

‘How we looking?’ said Tiran as they eased into the vehicle.

‘Yeah, is it nice in there?’ asked Nallera. ‘All the modcons of a refugee facility? Aircon? Iced water for the locals?’

‘They have a spa,’ said Rosewood. ‘We should go when we’re done.’

‘We have a location,’ grunted Cassidy, handing the PADD to Tiran. ‘Let’s go before these jokers book us in for a manicure with Captain Galcyon.’

‘She was nice to him,’ Rosewood explained as the Nomad pulled away and into the streets of Tau Mervana. ‘I think he’ll never forgive her for that.’

Either to blunt the banter or simply out of disinterest, Aryn leaned towards the front compartment. ‘So, Boss, I’ve been looking over local movements on sensors and talking to Blackbird; Falaris is still monitoring comms. I’ve got the start of a profile on the local situation.’

‘Hit me,’ said Cassidy, lounging back in the passenger’s seat.

‘Two main warlords; Arkaran and Korask. Both former Romulan officers; Falaris dug out some files. Arkaran’s trying to maintain this sense of old authority, patriarchal control; Korask is more of a loose cannon. That makes him on the surface more dangerous, more likely to decide it’s time to kick off and take everyone’s stuff, but Arkaran has been piping stuff to his followers on the planet that they should be cautious of the Liberty’s help. I don’t think he’s just trying to undermine what Galcyon’s doing, even though he agreed to it – I think he wants to stop the resources Liberty dumps here from spreading too far, so he can grab it…’

Rosewood leaned against the window, letting Aryn’s analysis wash over him. It was all the sort of evaluation he’d expect from an intelligence analyst, and Rosewood knew he should listen harder – not just to pick up on the local situation, but to better understand why Cassidy kept Aryn around, even in situations when a biochemist wasn’t so much use. But the streets of Tau Mervana rushing past the rear window was soothing, almost hypnotic; sand and smoke, a seething underbelly of tension at rest for now. They rushed past gaunt faces, suspicious eyes; past abandoned roadblocks and buildings shattered by war. It was unlikely they could have travelled the city without being noticed, but Rosewood felt they’d overestimated how much they could blend in on these streets.

‘It’s not just so he can get stuff,’ he said, surprising even himself when he butted into the conversation. He didn’t look back, and shrugged as he felt the eyes of Aryn on him. ‘Arkaran, I mean. It’s so he doesn’t seem like the bad guy if he needs to reignite the violence. The language you’re saying he’s using in these communications; patriarchal is right. He wants to be the solution, the only solution. The father of this world. Starfleet’s not giving the help – he’s the solution, he’s the one who’s getting Starfleet to help. And can stop it as he chooses.’

When he turned, it wasn’t just Aryn watching him, but Cassidy and Nallera. ‘What?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’

‘Thank God for that,’ groaned Cassidy, turning away. ‘Good work, Aryn. Hopefully, we don’t need to know these guys’ portfolios, but it helps to be prepared.’

It took another fifteen minutes before Tiran pulled the Nomad into the shadow of a high-rise building that had seen better days and said, ‘We’re here.’

Night was settling on Tau Mervana, and lighting was hard to come by. Street-lights were out, so they were reliant on the few windows from this building and the other nearby high-rises through which any light at all shone. There’d been fewer and fewer people in sight as they headed for this part of the city, which left Rosewood’s chest tight as he set foot on the dusty street.

‘Aryn,’ Cassidy called again, ‘stay with the Nomad. Don’t want any locals showing too much interest.’

Rosewood wasn’t sure what the wiry Aryn would do if someone tried to jack their ride, but he presumed he could just drive off in a pinch. It felt a little reassuring to have Tiran and Nallera with them if Cassidy wanted him in the meeting with Ireqah.

‘Verior says we want the thirteenth floor,’ said Cassidy, looking up. ‘This is just an apartment block. So much for a secure safehouse.’

‘Secret is secure,’ Tiran reminded him as they tromped to the door.

‘Can’t be that secret,’ Cassidy mused. ‘We’re here.’

‘Chief,’ Cassidy called as they advanced on Verior’s apartment block, ‘watch our backs.’

When Rosewood looked back, Nallera had emerged from the Nomad with a heavy rifle slung over her shoulder, and she grinned at the instruction. ‘Eyes in the back of my head, Boss.’

If there had ever been an elevator inside the gloomy, dust-laden apartment block, it was long out of order. Rosewood wasn’t convinced there was anyone else living there as they ascended the crumbling stairwell, relying on Cassidy’s flashlight to find the way. Any sound from down dark corridors or behind closed doors could have been tumbling masonry as the building succumbed to the ravages of time and war, animals who’d moved in, or simply his imagination as they moved through the quivering dark.

Eventually, they reached the right floor, the right corridor and, moving through the gloom, the right door. Cassidy nodded to Tiran, who moved without being told to the other side, phaser pistol in hand. He rapped hard on the door.

Silence.

Another rap. Then, in the silence after, Cassidy sucked his teeth and said, ‘Ireqah, it’s Starfleet. Open up.’

Another beat, and Cassidy was just turning back to Nallera, likely to ask her to breach, before the door slid open. Cassidy went to move when Rosewood stepped up beside him.

‘Like you said,’ Rosewood breathed, ‘the captain shouldn’t take risks others do. Let me. She knows me.’

He wasn’t sure how he should take Cassidy acceding so quickly, but then he’d stepped through into the darkened room, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as if there were a predator in the depths, and being his boss’s sacrificial lamb was less of a social concern and more of a practical one. That wasn’t what had his palms sweating, his chest tightening, though.

‘Ireqah?’ he called out in that quiet-loud voice that felt like a whisper in his throat but carried through the gloom. ‘It’s John Rosewood. Remember me?’

He could barely see the silhouette of furniture, but there was a warmth to the musty smell of the rooms. An empty mug on a table. A PADD on the side. Someone had lived here. His eyes landed on the far door just as a round light above it came to life, and Rosewood braced as if he was about to be blasted by a defence system.

Then a hologram shimmered into existence before him, illuminating the room. The projector was set above a heavy, metal, armoured door that Rosewood realised led to a panic room. A projection of the head and torso of a Romulan woman hovered in mid-air, and he at once recognised the sharp eyes of Ireqah. Once, she’d been a glamorous and distinguished looking official, but now her dark hair was tied back in a no-nonsense fashion, her clothes looked nondescript and hard-wearing, and even over hologram he could see the exhaustion on her face.

‘Rosewood.’ She sounded quiet, guarded. ‘We met in ‘94. I remember.’

The corner of his lip curled. ‘It was ‘95. January. That’s a basic test, Ireqah; surely an imposter would be briefed enough to not be tripped up by that one. C’mon.

The image of Ireqah hesitated. ‘You’re not alone. Even if I trust you…’

‘We met at the conference room on Neral Station. Your delegation hated that place. Said it smelled like the plasma conduits were always on fire,’ Rosewood said without missing a beat. ‘You apologised for them being so rude after the first meeting. I said they were wrong; it smelled like the carpets were burnt.’ He straightened. ‘But here I am, talking to a holographic projection, knowing the Tal Shiar are probably hot on your heels. Remember when things almost fell apart during the second week on Neral?’

‘If I were a Tal Shiar trick,’ said Ireqah’s projection, ‘I wouldn’t need to play games. I’d just have you killed. But the riots on Dranir Prime made us suspend talks for two days while your Starfleet delegation helped restore order. That convinced my people to take your offers more seriously.’

‘It convinced you to take my offers more seriously,’ he said, voice dropping.

‘All of this is in the records -’

‘We brought him to appease you,’ came the rumbling voice from the front door. Cassidy advanced, pistol in hand, dark eyes latched on the door rather than the projection. ‘Don’t play stupid Romulan games with me where you’d be mad if I came without someone you knew, and now you’re acting like bringing someone you know is a trick.’

‘It’s all tricks. I don’t stay alive, doing what I’m doing, without tricks.’

‘I could have my people bust that door open,’ Cassidy said with a tilt of his chin. ‘How safe is it?’

‘Safe enough that one of you will die before you get through. Safe enough that I’ll be dead before you get your hands on me.’

‘That’s your best bet? To threaten me with you killing yourself?’

‘I don’t know who you are,’ Ireqah sneered. ‘And however much I would like to cross the border, I assure you, I would rather die than fall back into the hands of the Tal Shiar. If you are not a trick, then you might be a fool, underestimating them. They are here, in this city, they have followed me -’

‘If the Tal Shiar followed you, we’d have seen some sign of them. They might be good, but so are we.’

‘Typical Federation arrogance, to think you can outwit the oldest intelligence agency in the galaxy -’

‘If it’s typical Federation arrogance,’ Cassidy sneered, ‘then you believe I’m a Fed, right, and can come out?’

‘Okay!’ Rosewood did raise his hands now, but to stymie the argument. ‘We can do ten rounds of this; threatening each other, cajoling each other. Playing twenty questions about a conference you and I were at six years ago and whether it was shrimp or salad for starters on the fine dining of the third day.’

‘Shrimp,’ said the projection of Ireqah triumphantly.

‘That was day four; day three was goats’ cheese, actually, but -’ Rosewood shook his head, nose wrinkling. ‘If I were sending a fake me to convince you, this is the kind of stuff I’d find out and brief them on. You know that. So I’m going to assume for the moment you’re you, and this isn’t an elaborate plan to grab a handful of Starfleet nobodies. You want to come with us, Ireqah.’

The sharp eyes of the projection fell on him as her voice dropped. ‘I want to leave. Why should I leave with you?’

‘Because I understand why you’re here, on this planet, risking everything.’ Rosewood’s breathing slowed. ‘And nobody the Tal Shiar could send pretending to me could understand that. Could understand the guilt you’ve been carrying for years; the pressure. The fear. Fear that if you don’t make things right, everything your people fought for will crumble because of people like you don’t want to be: people who sat silently as their leaders bled their people dry.’

‘A cold read on a defector, Mister Rosewood, isn’t -’

‘Thing is, they’d say you’re disillusioned. You’re not. The reasons you’re here are the reasons you joined in the first place: because you had to step up and do what’s right for your people. But over the years, you’ve been made more and more insignificant, more and more a cog in the machine, while those responsible for your people’s downfall in so many ways secure more and more power. You’re not a traitor, Ireqah. You’re a believer. But you believe in your people, and not the government – the Tal Shiar – that’s choking them to death.’

A pause. The hologram of Ireqah shifted. ‘Sweet words. Effective rhetoric. Nothing to -’

‘There is no proof,’ Rosewood pressed. ‘Because there can’t be. And you’re not here for proof. You’re here because you have hope. And it’s gonna take hope for you to open the door, because nobody’s got anything better.’

There was another beat, and then the hologram went dead. Cassidy turned sharply towards him.

‘Nobody’s got anything better?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘Is that the best your silver-tongued Academy-trained diplomacy can do?’

‘Don’t sneer at Academy-trained, Cassidy; I know you went to San Fran!’ Rosewood retorted. ‘She’s here for the Federation, so I tried a bit of authentic Federation empathy instead of overblown spycraft -’

The door slid open, the dim light from behind casting the figure before them in a sharp silhouette. Tall and slender, illumination highlighting her strong features and pointed ears, Ireqah stepped carefully out of the safe room and into the apartment.

‘I’m dead anyway if my best plan is to stay in there and wait ‘til Ganmadan,’ she sighed, and looked towards Rosewood. ‘It’s good to see you again, John.’

His exhale banished tension, but the next breath he drew brought in a whole new kind of apprehension. ‘And you, Sinach. Thank you for putting your trust in me.’

‘I have always respected your discretion,’ she said carefully.

‘I promise we’ll make it worth it.’

Somehow, she and Cassidy managed to adopt the same dubious expression as the Romulan said, ‘Don’t make promises like that.’ She turned to the team leader. ‘You have a silver-tongued believer here. A rare combination. Exploit it.’

‘I’d suggest harness,’ said Rosewood, wilting. ‘Just because I’m sincere doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.’

‘It doesn’t mean you’re not,’ said Cassidy, but turned to Ireqh. ‘We got a vehicle downstairs and a vessel outta town. We’ll make it fast and ugly if we got to, and then our ship will lose any eyes on us before we even leave the system. Nobody has to be any the wiser.’

Then the world shuddered, thundered, and shattered.

They braced themselves as the walls shuddered, but Nallera’s eyes were on the dim windows. ‘That was an explosion,’ she confirmed, ‘but not this building. Someplace nearby.’

Cassidy sucked his teeth, pressing a finger to his earpiece. ‘Rook One to Rook Four, come in.’ Silence met him. ‘Rook One to Blackbird?’ More silence.

‘Jamming,’ Tiran surmised.

‘Or they’re all dead,’ said Cassidy with a shrug.

‘It’s Tal Shiar,’ said Ireqah.

‘Local warlords could -’

‘They wouldn’t jam local comms; it’d be blinding themselves, too,’ she said, cutting off Rosewood’s challenge. ‘Not to mention, I don’t think they have the means to do that. I thought the Tal Shiar had followed me to this world; there’s a reason I stayed in that safe room. They must have trailed you to the building and waited until I was exposed.’

Cassidy glared at her. ‘Or they knew you were in this building because your opsec was bad. It’s time to move, anyway. Tiran, watch her. Chief, you’re with me. Rosewood, back us up and one eye on the rear if needed. Stay close, keep your heads down.’

To Rosewood’s relief, Ireqah looked shaken into complying, and Tiran’s presence was calming as she put a hand to her shoulder. ‘I’ve got you, ma’am,’ she said in a low, quiet voice. ‘Just do what I say.’

Nallera was already sweeping the hallway with her rifle. ‘Clear. For now. What’s the plan?’

‘Same as always. Fight our way out,’ said Cassidy. ‘Regroup at the Nomad if we can, get the hell out of here. Make up something else if the Nomad’s gone. Expect resistance – the Tal Shiar will take her dead or alive.’

‘Still might be nothing to do with us,’ Rosewood pointed out. ‘And if it is, it could be locals deciding to collect a bounty.’

‘They’ll get out of our way regardless,’ said Cassidy.

They moved as one down the dim hallway and back towards the stairwell, Ireqah sandwiched between them, Tiran’s hand on the back of her head. Even from the rear, Rosewood could hear a faint hum of voices, muffled by more than distance, and the echoes of footsteps from below as they reached the stairwell door.

Cassidy moved up to join Nallera at the door, pressing his ear to it. For a moment, he stayed still, and Rosewood wondered if he was going to wait. This might have nothing to do with them, and everything to do with the local warlords. No way an explosion in the city wouldn’t have consequences.

Then a burst of disruptor fire ripped through the door inches above Cassidy’s head, and the exact political affiliation and ambitions of these people stopped mattering. There were only two designations: friend and foe.

‘They want to welcome us to the neighbourhood,’ mused Cassidy. ‘So let’s be neighbourly.’

It was like a silent signal between him and Nallera. Cassidy kicked the door open and at once Nallera sprayed fire from her rifle, stymying the disruptor fire enough for him to burst into the stairwell. Rosewood rushed up to join her in the doorway.

Beyond were four figures, bulky from body armour, faces hidden with helmets. They’d been ascending, Nallera’s covering fire taking them by surprise, and now Cassidy rushed across the landing, giving them two points to defend from while exposed in the stairway.

‘Oh, that’s nice body armour,’ Nallera cooed, impressed as her high-powered rifle shot seared through a breastplate, regardless. ‘Shame.’ She nodded to Rosewood. ‘Go, get with the boss.’

At the next burst of cover fire, he was moving into the open, slipping behind the first column on the landing that didn’t look like it’d crumble from a disruptor blast. From here he could see Cassidy at the far wall, popping up to rain pistol fire down on the three remaining enemies. He was grinning. Then his eyes went up, and Rosewood ducked down as he realised what was about to happen.

Cassidy’s next shot wasn’t at the attackers, but the ventilation shaft hanging high above them – or, rather, the straps hanging it up. It groaned, creaked – then fell. One enemy went down under it, another staggered away only to expose themselves so Rosewood could get a shot off that dropped them. It was Tiran who took out the last, stepping into the open for a crack shot that hit the throat of the armour, rendering it useless protection.

In the silence, Cassidy peered over the railing. ‘That’s good equipment. New. These aren’t warlords.’

‘They must have been watching,’ Ireqah hissed from behind. ‘Waiting for me to leave the safe room.’

‘They probably underestimated us,’ Rosewood said, chest heaving. ‘Maybe figured we were from the Liberty.’

‘More fool them,’ said Nallera with a grin that didn’t wane when she added, ‘They’ll send more. They always do.

There were more about five floors down. The four they’d taken out had been out in the open, but these had taken cover, greeting them with a spray of disruptor fire that had the Rooks ducking back.

‘No easy way through that!’ Tiran called, risking a peek.

Rosewood slunk in next to Ireqah as Tiran repositioned herself. ‘Is there another exit?’

She shook her head, wincing at the shooting. ‘The other stairwell collapsed.’

‘Then we make an exit!’ called Cassidy. ‘Chief, ideas?’

Nallera peered around the railing, assessing. Disruptor fire flew overhead before she ducked back and pulled a hefty photon grenade from her pack.

‘Are you crazy?’ snapped Rosewood, eyes on the cracks running up the wall and stairwell, the dust already falling from the ceiling above. ‘Do we want this building to come down?’

‘Shut up!’ said Cassidy before Nallera could answer. ‘Do it, Chief!’

Another wide grin from Nallera as she thumbed the charge and tossed it. Rosewood threw an arm over Ireqah as they hunkered down. He heard the hum of the charge, the shouted warnings in the Romulan tongue, the dink of metal hitting one step, another, a third –

Then came the thunder, loud enough to shudder in his chest, strong enough to make the walls quiver, and when Rosewood eventually raised his head, he was shocked to find not only were they still standing, but so was the building. There was no more shooting from below.

His eyes fell on Ireqah, just as low beside him. ‘You okay?’ he mumbled. She nodded.

Nallera stood, grinning. ‘So,’ she said to Rosewood as they got to their feet. ‘This place is old prefab duracrete with alloy reinforcements. Blast went through the support beams, not the structure, and the stairwell’s designed to flex, not snap. I tuned the charge for directional force; it hit Tal Shiar, not ceilings.’

He glanced down to see the damage done, working his jaw. ‘I’ll keep my mouth shut when you work.’

‘That’ll be a first,’ called Cassidy, already down at the bodies. ‘Yeah, this is the T-S. Comms are in their helmets and fry when they don’t pick up a bio-sign from the wearer after activating. Keep moving, but be careful.’

‘Of course there’ll be more,’ said Rosewood, irritated at the idea he needed to be warned.

‘I mean, they just sent two fire teams at us direct and failed. They’ll do something else next time.’

When they reached the street, Rosewood thought the ‘something else’ was a pitched battle. Then he realised the road itself was quiet and the roar of battle, the hum of weapons fire, the lights of bombardment were coming from further away, towards the city centre.

Tiran clicked her tongue as they shoved the doors open. ‘Cease fire’s over.’

‘Think the Tal Shiar used that as cover to strike?’ said Rosewood.

‘Or they broke it so they could,’ said Cassidy, striding out, pistol in hand, eyes sweeping the street. ‘Where the hell’s -’

There was the roar of an engine, the scraping of wheels on dusty road, and on cue the Nomad came tearing out of the darkness. The hard brake to pull up by them was enough to make everyone take a careful step back, then the rear door swung open and they could see Aryn behind the front controls.

‘I saw you had company and decided discretion was the better part of valour,’ he admitted, ushering them in. ‘It’s gone crazy out there.’

They piled into the Nomad, Tiran taking over driving as Aryn slid to the front passenger seat. Cassidy all but shoved Ireqah and Rosewood together into the rearmost compartment and settled behind Aryn. ‘Drive!’

Tiran gunned the engine, and they were away by the time Aryn was turning to the rear, explaining through ragged breaths as if he’d run alongside the Nomad instead of driving it. ‘The explosions were the comms towers in the city,’ he said, pointing out the window with his tricorder at nothing – but even in the dark, Rosewood realised that nothing was meaningful. When they’d arrived, there’d been a tower two blocks over. ‘Now someone’s stuck out a jamming signal.’

‘So there’s been a series of explosions and nobody can talk to anyone?’ Rosewood winced.

‘Exactly.’ Aryn’s voice sped up as he explained. ‘The towers were routing local communications, but these jamming frequencies have been layered, so they’re scrambling all open signals. It’s an adaptive algorithm – hijacking any frequency still trying to transmit and flooding it with noise. Even encrypted Federation channels are only intermittent; I can’t raise the Blackbird.’

‘What about the fighting?’ said Cassidy. ‘Who’s hitting who?’

‘Without comms, no way to know for sure,’ Aryn pointed out. ‘But I’ve the sensor records from this afternoon’s analysis. Based on how people have moved since the explosions, there’s mobilisation in clusters. Anyone in either faction who was waiting for the other shoe to drop has moved out and started shooting.’

‘That’s going to make a path back to Blackbird fun!’ called Tiran from the front, voice tight.

‘Warlords between us and them, the Tal Shiar on our heels.’ Inexplicably, Nallera laughed. ‘I thought this was a milk run pickup, Boss?’

‘Don’t forget,’ said Cassidy, completely humourless, ‘Liberty’s out there, too. Bet they find a chance to get in our way.’

The chance for the Liberty to get in the Rooks’ way came within the half-hour. A half hour of the Nomad’s engine growling and grinding as they sped down dust-covered streets, weaving between the shells of abandoned vehicles and debris. Smoke curled from distant buildings, and the sound of disruptor fire echoed through the alleyways. Aryn was bent over his tricorder, muttering as he monitored his readings to pick up life-signs, indicators of violence, pockets of the collapsing cease-fire. Time was of the essence, but getting to the Blackbird without running into trouble was more essential. For now, they were one step ahead of the Tal Shiar as they thundered down the war-torn streets, one step ahead of any of the warlord factions who might see them as tempting prey.

‘Eyes up,’ called Tiran after they rounded a corner. ‘Roadblock ahead.’

‘If we don’t have to stop, don’t stop,’ Cassidy ordered.

But Aryn stiffened as he peered through the windshield. ‘It’s Starfleet.’

Leaning forward, Rosewood hissed an oath. Federation uniforms. Phaser rifles. The roadblock looked hastily assembled, made of barricades stripped from the interior of the aid station. ‘We need to go around.’

‘We need to cross the river,’ Aryn reminded. ‘This is one of the few intact bridges. The next-nearest is a kilometre away and through some rough areas.’ His nose wrinkled. ‘It makes sense for the Liberty to block this. It’s separating some of the largest fighting forces and keeping them away from some of the more inhabited districts.’

‘Still no luck raising the Blackbird?’ Cassidy’s jaw was tight.

‘No luck. The jamming’s interfering with more than short-range sensors, too. Even if we could hail them, I don’t think they could safely beam us out.’

‘Right.’ Cassidy reached for the abandoned uniform jacket. ‘Suit up. Ireqah, keep your head down. Let’s try to talk past this. Swap with me, Aryn.’

Rosewood went to protest, but was ignored as the two men went through the rather undignified process of shuffling between front and rear compartments.

‘We could have pulled over,’ Tiran muttered as Cassidy settled in beside him.

‘And get my head blown off? Drive on.’

The Nomad advanced at a careful trundle towards the roadblock. It was well lit, officers lined up with rifles. Beyond, on either side of the wide and long bridge, Rosewood could see huddling civilians. Some looked injured. All looked scared.

Then a figure in red stepped out to gesture for them to slow, and Rosewood’s heart sank as he recognised Captain Galcyon – battered, worn, a phaser pistol holstered by her side. ‘She just can’t help herself, can she?’ he groaned. The Nomad was pulled to a halt, and Cassidy brought the window down as Galcyon advanced with the air of someone expecting them to comply.

‘This is an unmarked vehicle, Crewman,’ the captain said, gaze cautious as she plainly recognised Cassidy.

‘We got caught out when the fighting started,’ he said. He sounded, Rosewood thought, much more natural at lying when under pressure. ‘Had to commandeer this vehicle to get out of trouble. We’re reporting back to the aid station.’

She shook her head. ‘The aid station’s well guarded. We need to hold this bridge. If the warband on this side crosses, they’re going to drag fighting into the middle of the residential district. We need you here.’

There was a beat as Cassidy worked his jaw. ‘I’ve got an injured officer back here.’

Another beat. Rosewood, not wanting to draw attention to himself, elbowed Nallera, who gave a not-especially-convincing groan of pain.

Galcyon’s eyes flickered across them. Then to the vehicle. Then back to Cassidy’s face. ‘You’re not part of my crew. What’re you doing in those uniforms?’

He ground his teeth again. ‘Captain, I have orders that supercede yours -’

The distant crack of disruptor fire cut him off, followed by the echo of an explosion from far behind. Or, Rosewood thought, not as far as they’d like. Trouble was on their heels.

Galcyon snapped around and put a hand on the window-frame of the Nomad. ‘Never mind who you are. This area’s falling apart and that warband’s closing in. We’re keeping the civilians safe. You’re Starfleet officers; we need all the help we can get here.’

Rosewood tried to not hold his breath as he watched Cassidy. Watched him study not the signs of fighting behind them, but the barricade before them – the makeshift defences, the Liberty crew doing their best to hold the line, the gaps in the security. The civilians behind shelter. As he watched, something stirred in Cassidy’s expression, and the big man took a deep breath.

‘Sorry, Captain,’ he said, and shoved her hand off the Nomad. ‘Not our mission.’ He hit the controls to close the window, and barked at Tiran, ‘Breach it.’

Even Nallera tensed at that. ‘Boss -’

‘Go!’

Tiran didn’t hesitate, taking a beat only to thumb a control. There was a whirr as the Nomad’s reinforced front plating shifted into position, then the engine roared and the vehicle surged forward fast enough to make Galcyon leap back. The captain shouted something, but the sound was drowned out by the screech of metal as the Nomad smashed into the first barricade, debris flying.

As they barrelled through, Rosewood peered through the rear window to catch a glimpse of Galcyon staring after them, her face a mask of disbelief and fury. ‘That’s going to leave an impression.’

The Nomad swerved to avoid a pack of officers, rattled across the wide bridge, and just as they breached the last barrier, there was another thumping of explosions from behind them. At the front, Cassidy grabbed the controls tight. ‘What the hell was that?’

Aryn sucked his teeth as he bent over his tricorder. ‘One of the factions! They’re moving in on the roadblock. Looks like they saw this as their chance.’

Rosewood rounded back on the rear window. The roadblock was fading into the dark behind them, but he could see movement from the road they’d torn down, people advancing on the barricade. Starfleet officers standing their ground. Civilians fleeing. Disruptor and phaser fire. ‘We just gave them the opening they needed.’

There was a beat as the Rooks clung tight, as Tiran drove them further into the dark away from the bridge, the roadblock, the possibility that their fellow officers were being overrun behind them. The Nomad slowed as they reached a steady patch of road, and Rosewood could see why Galcyon had guarded that bridge. This district was peaceful, for now. But what hell was on their heels?

At length, Cassidy said, ‘We have our mission.’

Rosewood’s head snapped around. ‘We could have been on and off Tau Mervana in ten minutes if we’d hailed the Liberty when we arrived -’

‘And half the senior staff would know about our mission,’ Cassidy barked. ‘They’d know about Ireqah, they’d know the Tal Shiar were on our heels, and any security would be lost!’

‘You said the whole reason we were here was because if a starship showed up in orbit, the Free State would know we have her! I think they fucking know now!’

Cassidy rounded in the front seat to jab an angry finger. ‘You think you can trust the average Starfleet officer? Are you that naïve, Kid?’

‘Galcyon -’

‘Would tell people, who’d tell people. Starships don’t keep a secret!’

‘How can you think the command staff of a starship is that leaky?’

‘After the last three years of security breaches, how can you not? With Changelings right under your nose only eight months ago?’

Hot rage broiled in Rosewood’s chest. Had there not been a whole vehicle between them, had he not been crammed in the rear of the Nomad rattling through the night-clad streets of Tau Mervana, he might have gone for Cassidy. As it was, the seats between them, Aryn and Nallera, made that an obstacle enough to force him to stay coiled on the bench in the back, seething. ‘How many officers did you just get killed?’ he growled instead. ‘How many civilians?’

‘Galcyon brought those officers to a warzone and dumped them in the middle of a ceasefire so unstable it took five seconds for the Tal Shiar to undo it; she put them in the line of fire there,’ Cassidy spat. ‘And before she got here, civilians were dying on Tau Mervana every day. You didn’t give a shit then; don’t be wet and pretend you just give a shit ‘cos it’s happening right in front of you.’

In the next silence as Rosewood ground his teeth, Tiran spoke, voice low but firm in a way that both carried across the Nomad and broke the quiet tension like turning a page. ‘We’re approaching the outskirts of the city. Blackbird’s landing point is thirty minutes out still.’ Dark streets raced by the window, most of the lights coming from the Nomad itself.

‘See?’ grunted Cassidy, easing back into the front seat. ‘We do the job. We live to fight another day.’

Less than a minute later, an explosion took the Nomad out.

They would learn later, from scans of the wreck of the Nomad, that they’d been taken out by a shoulder-mounted grenade launcher. Their route had been anticipated, with someone posted atop a building with a clear view of the street to watch for them, wait, and then take them out.

All Rosewood knew in the moment was the deafening blast, the shrieking of metal, the cries of surprise from the Rooks. Searing heat and the lurching sense of the Nomad flying through the air before it crunched into the dirt road and rolled, rolled, rolled. Then stopped.

For a moment, it was almost peaceful. Even as Rosewood’s head spun and the metal frame of the Nomad creaked around him, all he could hear otherwise was the distant thrum of citywide conflict. But that was a kilometre away by now. Far gone.

Then Ireqah was over him, dark hair wild, grabbing him by the shoulders. ‘John! We don’t have time to be dead!’

The Nomad was upside down and Rosewood had to unclip his webbing to pull himself free with a groan. ‘This seems like a perfect time to be dead.’

Around him, the team stirred. At the front, Cassidy shoved a panel off himself, his face bloodied but his movements deliberate as he got upright and took stock. ‘Sound off!’ he called, phaser pistol already in hand.

‘Present,’ grumbled Tiran beside him. ‘The Nomad’s not, though.’

Nallera was sat up, a hand to a cut on her temple. Beside her, Aryn was a crumpled, motionless bundle. ‘Still breathing. Aryn’s out cold. That was a photon grenade; just as well the Nomad’s plated higher than standard issue…’

‘Movement,’ Cassidy called, eyes on the windows. ‘They’re here.’

Tal Shiar or warlords? Rosewood wondered, but once again, it didn’t matter. His eyes landed on Ireqah. ‘We’ll get you out of here. Just stay low.’

Her expression didn’t shift. ‘That’s the plan?’

He couldn’t reply before disruptor fire crashed into the body of the Nomad. Cassidy cursed, shifting away from the upturned window and letting off his own phaser blast. ‘Keep it tight! Chief, we gotta get in touch with the Blackbird.’

The good news was that not all windows were shattered, and they had a decent amount of cover inside even a wrecked, flipped vehicle. The bad news was that once their hiding places were exhausted, there weren’t any new ones. Rosewood slid to keep Ireqah behind him, letting off shots into the dark. Disruptor blasts highlighted armoured figures moving in the gloom, approaching the Nomad, and a small mercy was that they’d landed at a spot denying anyone advancing on them any cover. But there could have been four enemies, or forty; it was impossible to tell.

‘Okay, okay,’ muttered Nallera, tossing her phaser rifle to Cassidy as she pulled out another photon grenade. ‘Maybe a big enough electromagnetic pulse from this thing might weaken the jamming field so the Blackbird spots us, or spots something. Might just be fireworks, but it’ll scream Starfleet fireworks.’

‘Try it!’ Cassidy barked, firing with the rifle into the dark.

The Nomad’s armour offered limited protection, but they were pinned. Rosewood popped his head up to shoot, only to duck back down as another volley slammed into the vehicle, one shot searing inches from his face. ‘They’re flanking!’ he warned. ‘Tiran, watch the -’

Before he could finish, a shadow moved at the window on the far side of the vehicle. Rosewood spun, eyes widening as he saw they’d been out-manoeuvred, a Tal Shiar operative only metres away, weapon raised. He brought his own phaser up, but not soon enough, not fast enough –

Then a shot from beside him took the Tal Shiar in the throat, and Rosewood gaped as he saw Ireqah brandishing the phaser pistol she’d snatched out of Aryn’s holster. Her eyes were wide, her jaw tight, but her voice was clear as she looked at him. ‘You missed one.’

He didn’t manage more than a mumbled thanks before he turned, but there wasn’t another. Cassidy and Tiran fired a few more shots, but there was no more movement. No more attacks. The air grew still.

‘Hold your fire,’ Cassidy muttered. ‘Reckon we were a tougher nut to crack than they expected. They’ll try something else. Chief?’

‘Working on it,’ Nallera muttered, hyperspanner-deep in a photon grenade.

‘Commander Cassidy!’ A voice rang out through the gloom, reverberating through the shell of the shattered Nomad. Rosewood narrowed his eyes as he assessed the tone, the accent – all Romulan, cultivated, cultured, even in that handful of syllables. ‘This doesn’t have to end with every one of your team dead!’

Tiran frowned. ‘How do they know your name, Hal?’ she hissed.

Cassidy worked his jaw, then yelled into the dark, ‘I don’t chit-chat with the Tal Shiar!’

‘Do you negotiate?’

Nallera’s grip on her tools tightened. ‘Think they know we’re planning something?’

‘Think we already killed enough of their guys they fancy buying us off,’ Cassidy muttered. ‘Keep working, Chief. If they want to talk, this buys us time.’ He hunkered down to peer outside of the Nomad, though in the distant dark, all Rosewood could see was black. At this time of night and from the faded voice of the one who’d addressed them, he suspected their assailants had backed off a way.

Ireqah leaned towards Cassidy, propped up on her elbows. ‘It’s Major Falco,’ she murmured. ‘She was my Tal Shiar liaison at Defence. No doubt she was sent to tidy her own mess.’

Cassidy nodded, lips curling. ‘Alright, Falco!’ he called into the dark. ‘Let’s negotiate! I don’t kill all your guys, and you carry on your merry way. Sounds good?’

As Rosewood watched, the shadows of the shrouded streets shifted for a figure to be visible. They were some distance away, just a silhouette in the same body armour, though he could not see the shell of the helmet.

‘I see you briefed them, Ireqah. I’ll be kind and not add that level of treason to your charges,’ called the Tal Shiar agent Major Falco. ‘There don’t need to be any treason charges. We’ve all had our doubts, Ireqah. If you come out now, we’ll take what information you have on Starfleet operations and bring you back to the people who actually understand what you’re capable of. The Federation will welcome you with open arms, then discard you. You’re smarter than that.’

Ireqah scoffed. ‘Too smart to trust a word that comes out of your mouth, Falco. You’ve botched this operation from beginning to end: letting me through your fingers, letting these officers kill so many of your agents. The Federation might be soft, but you’re incompetent.’

‘Hey,’ muttered Cassidy. ‘We want time, not to piss them off.’

Rosewood looked incredulous. ‘You’re lecturing on that?’

Falco’s response interrupted. ‘The Federation is soft. You see it too, Cassidy, don’t you? All those years you spent as their knife in the dark, doing what you thought would uphold order and keep the shadows at bay. All for nothing.’

‘The Federation can change,’ retorted Cassidy. ‘If it wants to shine brighter and fluffier, that doesn’t make fighting for it pointless. It means it needs me even more.’

‘I didn’t mean the end of the Downturn, Cassidy. I meant that you spent years doing things, awful things, because you thought it was for your people. The incident on Drynok IV, cleaning up the fallout on Theta-Nine, the destruction of Kal’mak Station. How many bodies did that leave?’

Nallera shifted her weight as she worked. ‘She’s chatty,’ she muttered, but sounded shaken by Falco’s knowledge, concerned, and Rosewood couldn’t blame her.

Cassidy shrugged. ‘I don’t keep count,’ he called.

‘I could tell you. I probably know more about those operations than you do. You didn’t waste your career fighting for the Federation because it’s changing. You wasted your career because you were fighting for us. Following orders given by our people, completing missions designed by our people. How many of those operations were at the Tal Shiar’s behest, Cassidy? To our benefit? Do you even know?’

The look on Cassidy’s face was as if Falco were tightening his jaw muscles like twisting metal bolts on a spaceframe. ‘Chief,’ he hissed.

Nallera made a small noise. ‘Working on it!’

Rosewood squinted into the dark. ‘Think they’re flanking us?’

‘Probably,’ murmured Ireqah. ‘She’ll want to at least get into a better position, even if she can’t talk you down.’

‘And none of this is to mention Starfleet’s little Changeling problem,’ Falco carried on. ‘How can you trust any of your superiors? You don’t get told context, you don’t get briefed on the bigger picture, you just have to take it on faith that it’s worth fighting for, worth dying for, and your Federation is so weak that it’s let people like you become the puppets for its enemies. Don’t let yourself get played into dying for nothing today, Cassidy.’

Nallera paused. Cocked her head. ‘What’s that?’

‘Oh, no,’ Rosewood groaned, unable to hear anything. ‘Can we catch a break?’

Ireqah was looking up, too, just as sharp-eared as the half-Vulcan Nallera. ‘Those aren’t Romulan engines -’

‘Blackbird to Rooks! Stand by for transport!’ came the squawking, desperate voice of Lieutenant Falaris over their earpieces, and a split-second later, Rosewood could hear it – the rushing sound of the USS Blackbird swooping overhead.

There was a thumping of footsteps outside the Nomad’s wreck, the whirring of weapons powering up. ‘Open fire!’ yelled Falco, followed by a cacophony of disruptor rifles, shots coming in from all angles – but none quite right.

‘Aw, screw it,’ exclaimed Nallera, hefting the charge she hadn’t finished altering – and hurled it out the open window toward Falco’s voice. Again, Rosewood braced for the sound and shockwave of an explosion, because God knew what Nallera had achieved after tinkering with this one –

But the sound of the blossoming explosion was cut short by the hiss of the transporters, and the darkness cast aside by the beam’s shimmering, shining lights as they were all consumed.

‘When the sensor interference started flooding in, we lost track of you.’ Lieutenant Falaris’s voice held the faintest of shakes, as if nerves had stayed locked up while she worked, but now, as the Blackbird thundered up through the atmosphere of Tau Mervana, they had begun to leak out. ‘And even boosting power to our sensor array didn’t give us much except that everything had gone crazy. So I had to apply an adaptive signal filtering algorithm to clear up the sensor interference layer by layer until I could broadly locate your combadge signatures – not enough to contact you or beam you out, but for a broad location -’

‘Yeah.’ Cassidy’s voice was rough as he cut her off, his grip on the door-frame to the Blackbird’s bridge tight. Dried blood had encrusted down the side of his face, and his dusty and battered figure cut a sharp contrast to the crisp efficiency of the ship’s command centre. He looked from Falaris to Ranicus, stood at the command chair. ‘We still running silent?’

‘Normally, an overhead flight would have drawn attention,’ Ranicus drawled, ‘but lucky for us, someone’s blinded half the planet.’

‘Not someone.’ Cassidy’s jaw was tight. ‘The Tal Shiar. They’ll have a ship somewhere. Get us out of the system; quiet is better than fast.’ Footsteps padded behind him and he rounded on the approaching Tiran, not looking in much better shape than him. ‘How’s Aryn?’

‘In the medical bay. EMH says a knock to the head; nothing serious.’ Her voice was lower, more reassuring. ‘We got through this one okay, Hal. We’re only down a Nomad.’

‘I liked that car,’ Cassidy growled. ‘Fucking Tal Shiar.’ His eyes landed on Ireqah. ‘Tell me more about this Falco.’

The defector straightened an inch. On Tau Mervana she’d been coiled, cautious. Now on the bridge of a Starfleet ship, iron was sinking back into her bones, and she was much more like Rosewood had remembered her. Her expression went taut. ‘You know everything you need to know about her to get us out of this situation, Commander. Her resources are good but her manpower isn’t limitless. Critically, if we slip through her fingers now, she won’t have a long enough leash from T’Met to keep chasing. She’ll have to go and explain her failure. All you have to do is keep running.’

‘I don’t -’

‘And anything else about the ins and outs of specific Tal Shiar agents,’ Ireqah continued, voice raising a pitch, ‘is for me to negotiate with your superiors once you drop me off.’

Cassidy’s expression had folded into a scowl. His eyes landed on Tiran. ‘Get her settled in the guest quarters.’ He managed to make it sound like a banishment to the dungeon, though Rosewood was fairly sure he sincerely meant the one spare stateroom aboard.

‘We’re breaking atmo,’ confirmed Ranicus as Tiran and Ireqah left and the ship’s shuddering faded. Within moments, the tactical display lit up with an array of sensor blips cascading and colliding, a tapestry of chaos in orbit. But that was on the far side of the planet; the Blackbird had looped away from the city, rising from the surface only once they were nowhere near the tight knot of ships they’d slipped past on their approach.

‘Fighting’s broken out between the warlords up here, too,’ Falaris confirmed after a beat, hands racing over her sensor feed controls. ‘But the Liberty’s getting stuck between them.’

Rosewood turned to lean over her shoulder. ‘Are they in trouble?’

‘Those are last-generation warbirds who’re more interested in fighting each other than them,’ said Cassidy. ‘Liberty will be fine. Doesn’t matter anyway – get us out of here. Keep an eye out for any ships not directly involved in the fighting.’

‘They shouldn’t be able to paint us anyway,’ said Falaris.

Arms folded across his chest, Rosewood watched as the Blackbird peeled away from the planet and the fighting. Cassidy was right; the flotillas in orbit were ancient and would have needed to assemble their full might to challenge a Sagan-class starship. That level of unity was beyond them, so as the Liberty soared through the firefight, loosing shots when fired upon to take out engines and weapons systems, it seemed the mess in orbit the Starfleet ship had been left with was, at least, not lethal.

It still took an hour of careful manoeuvring at low power before they had slipped far enough away for Ranicus to turn away from the main display and say to Cassidy, ‘We’re clear to go to warp.’

Rosewood’s lips tightened. He didn’t know enough of Cassidy’s records to know his familiarity with starship command, and especially not with the cautious calibration of sensors and systems that went into the Blackbird’s stealth capabilities. But he saw Ranicus’s statement for what it was: a declaration that while he might be the captain of this ship, she was the one really in charge of it.

Whether Cassidy read this or cared was less clear. ‘Then get us the hell out of here,’ he rumbled. Once the deck hummed underneath at the jump to warp, he looked her up and down and said, ‘You came to get us through all that mess?’

Her impassive expression seemed, Rosewood thought, to soften. ‘It was my determination that maintaining the covert nature of this mission was less important than ensuring its success. But it was Lieutenant Falaris who found you so I could make that decision.’

Falaris smiled nervously up at Cassidy when he turned. ‘I didn’t have much else to do but find you once I lost you. We’re mission support. I wanted to support.’

There was a beat as he stared her down. Then he said, ‘Good work,’ before looking up at Ranicus and giving her a nod, too. He turned towards the door and his gaze landed on Rosewood. ‘Get some rest, Kid. Long day.’

‘Do I get a pat on the head for being a good boy, too?’ He smirked.

Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘Save everyone’s lives and we’ll talk.’

There was, Rosewood liked to think, less bite to his voice. But he was too tired to keep this up, and while his mind hummed with a thousand thoughts and concerns, it was difficult to resist the siren call of the living quarters, his room, his bunk.

He must have slept for twelve hours, and the shower after to wash away the dust and blood was long and luxurious, even if it could only scrub the surface. There was a certain liberty to feeling like he didn’t need to shove himself back into uniform after; to grabbing jeans and, after a moment’s hesitation over a patterned button-down, a merino wool charcoal-grey sweater. It was a double-edged sword; freedom to feel like him after the mission opened the question of exactly who that was.

It was exposing to stand at the door to the guest room, waiting for his chime to be answered; even though he only saw a pair of the engineers passing down the end of the corridor, chatting and paying him no mind, the close nature of the ship made even that feel intrusive. So for a split second he was more relieved than nervous when the door slid open – then he saw Ireqah, and the nerves returned. ‘Hi.’

She’d washed and probably rested, too, but it looked like she’d put her hard-worn clothes in a cleaning cycle before putting them back on; the typical move he’d expect from someone on the run. Her eyes gleamed before she said, simply, ‘Commander.’

That merely spurred him on, and he stepped inside without asking. ‘You know that formality just says you kept track of me enough to know I got promoted?’

‘It’s a reasonable appraisal for an officer of your capability.’ But she did pause and soften as the door shut behind him. ‘It is good to see you. Now we’re not in a war-zone.’

He swallowed as he turned. ‘Glad I could get you out of that war-zone. Still glad you ran into it.’

‘The fall of the Star Empire leaves the Free State as the biggest faction left. That only tightened the Tal Shiar’s grip, just as I thought Coppelius had broken it.’ Her gaze flickered down. ‘It was time.’

‘Why us? And not the Republic?’

‘The Republic is a naïve experiment that’ll be destroyed by the Klingon Empire. If I go there, I’ll be fighting to keep alive a government I don’t believe in. Starfleet Intelligence is the best place I can be to undermine the Tal Shiar.’

His eyebrows went up. ‘You’re here for revolution in the Free State.’

‘Revolution is a strong word. Let’s settle for shifting the power balance in the ruling factions.’ But she looked away, eyes going to the stars racing past the porthole view. ‘Eventually. First, I have to convince Starfleet they can use me.’

‘Your knowledge and skills? They’ll be desperate.’

‘They’ll be happy to debrief me, put all my knowledge in a file, and then give me a farm somewhere to live out my days. But I don’t know if the Free State is a high enough priority for them to put me to work against them.’

He offered a weak, encouraging smile. ‘Makes you a cheap expert?’

‘Perhaps.’ But she managed her own tight, apprehensive smile. ‘Where are you after this? Playing a key role in a defection – that’ll be a feather in your hat, I’m sure.’

He shrugged. ‘Still here. This ship, this team.’

‘Third-string with some petty field agents?’ Now her nose wrinkled. ‘That’s a waste of your talents.’

‘You’ve seen Cassidy. He could do with someone beside him who gets the wider geo-political picture to improve his decision-making -’

‘I don’t mean those talents.’ She took a step closer, gaze soaking him in. It wasn’t that he thought she could see through all of his masks – just as she was an expert in piercing them, he was an expert in making them – but he could feel her peeling back more than he liked. After a beat, her lips curled. ‘Oh, my. They think you’re just a diplomat.’

‘Hey, I’m not just anything -’

‘You’re right.’ She didn’t sound like she was listening. ‘I kept track of you after we met, yes. Enough to know there’s no such ship as the USS Lusanka. You had a busy three years, John.’

For a moment, he considered denying it. Then he smirked. ‘Three years? Try a busy career, Sinach. But like I said. I’m touched you kept tabs on me.’

‘Like you didn’t keep tabs on me.’

‘I had to know enough to sweep in and save the day, didn’t I?’

‘I’m quite sure I saved you from getting your head shot off.’ Her lips curled, and just as he was about to say something else – more than he should – they felt the hum of the warp drive fade, felt the Blackbird shift out of warp. He frowned with surprise, but her gaze went more distant as it fell again on the window. ‘Here we are.’

‘We’re not – we’ve not been at warp long enough to get back to Gateway.’

‘No. But we’re far enough into Federation space for a pickup. Cassidy didn’t tell you about the rendezvous?’ Her smile returned, more wry, as he shook his head. ‘Don’t underestimate that one. He only plays the thug. Just as you only play the fool.’

‘Hey, sometimes I’m not playing.’

Overhead, the computer chirruped with the sound of a comm connection. ‘Cassidy to Ireqah. Get to the transporter room and we’ll beam you over.’

Rosewood’s lips twisted. ‘I’ll walk you down.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she said, nose tilting in the air. ‘You did well convincing me it was you on Tau Mervana without showing your entire hand, but we’ve still played a lot more cards than I’d like. There’s no need to throw the game.’

He hesitated as he summoned a protest – times had changed, she’d just defected, they were in a very different situation – but then she leaned up and kissed him, banishing any argument.

Rosewood let out a deep breath once he let her go. ‘I shoulda been here hours ago.’

‘You always did have bad timing.’ Her fingers ran down his jaw. ‘Be careful, John.’

‘Hey, just as I’m not always playing the fool, Cassidy isn’t always playing the thug. I’ve got enough shit-kickers around me to stay safe.’

‘I don’t mean in the field.’ Her eyes grew serious. ‘I know what happened to your father.’

That shut him up for a moment, throat clenching tight. After a beat, he rasped, ‘That was months ago -’

‘Falco wasn’t wrong about Starfleet. I’m taking a risk here, but my eyes are open. Make sure yours are, too.’ Her hand clenched in his sweater for a moment before letting go. ‘Make sure you know who you can trust.’

‘Didn’t you always tell me the answer to that is “no one?”’ he said, wryness returning to his voice as she stepped away.

For a moment, he thought she’d leave without answering as she turned to the door, expression falling. Then she paused. ‘I was wrong,’ she said at last. ‘Realising there really was no one I could trust was what made me understand it was time to leave. You have to trust someone, John. It doesn’t have to be yourself.’

Then she left. It was sensible to stay put, sensible to give her a head-start. Sensible to linger until the Blackbird had gone back to warp, leaving behind whatever ship they’d met, whatever pickup had collected her, and Rosewood thought he was better off not knowing such details.

But it was not caution that had him lingering for so long in the dark of the empty room, alone, with her words echoing in his ears.

‘You’re to be commended for your work,’ said Commodore Rourke, eyes drifting over the detailed report of the events at Tau Mervana. ‘You achieved something impressive under extremely difficult circumstances.’

Across the desk, the officer shifted, uncomfortable. ‘Was it enough?’

Rourke stopped reading. There was a moment where his expression shifted to betray frustration, but it was unclear at what. After a beat, he put the PADD down. ‘Getting aid to Tau Mervana, if only for a few days, was something Starfleet didn’t think was possible. This was a win, Captain.’

Captain Elara Galcyon found herself looking away, taking instead the details and comforts of the commodore’s office in the squadron’s operations centre on Gateway Station. She’d known this would be a brushing off the moment Rourke had invited her when the Liberty docked. This office was for conversations and coffees. If there was to be a serious discussion about long-term ramifications and options, they’d be in StratOps.

She didn’t even like coffee much. Slowing her breathing, she looked back. ‘It could have been for longer. It should have been. The ceasefire had days left on it. We could bear the brunt of the initial fighting so they didn’t just kill each other, but we had to pull out almost immediately after.’

Rourke’s expression creased. ‘Those factions have been at war for over ten years. It’s only because they can’t afford to level the city that there’s anything left. You negotiated a break and got absolutely critical supplies to the people living there. Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good, Captain.’

‘So I was right to be there?’

Rourke hesitated. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I wasn’t sent, Commodore. We were following the trail on that data cache. We could have recovered it and left. Instead, I saw an opportunity to do good, even if Tau Mervana wasn’t my mission. Are you saying that was a good thing?’

‘It’s your judgement call in the field, Captain – yes. It was.’

‘Then why wasn’t I informed about the clandestine mission?’

In the silence, Rourke smacked his lips. ‘I can’t confirm -’

‘I didn’t come to this unit to play more games about the “greater good” of the Federation, sir.’ Despite herself, Galcyon found her voice shaking. ‘You don’t have to give me a full briefing if I don’t have clearance. But please don’t play innocent. Two missions collided. My mission was deemed less important.’

Rourke’s shoulders sank. ‘You make it sound like it was a considered choice, Captain. The right hand didn’t know what the left was doing. When a unit was sent to Tau Mervana, the Liberty’s presence wasn’t known. It’s a big galaxy. Nobody gave the order that this other mission trumped yours. You made the best call you could with the information you had.’

There was more. More discussion about the future of Tau Mervana, but it was all academic; Starfleet wasn’t about to send another ship in the middle of a fresh warzone with no clear plan. Galcyon couldn’t find it in herself to stay angry with Rourke; she’d been around for long enough to know when decisions were coming from elsewhere, and officers like him and her simply had to live with them. The Liberty could go back out soon, he assured her. Get back to exploring.

It was just as well she’d forced him to confirm there had been another mission on Tau Mervana, though, or it would have made the million-to-one-odds of finding the tall, gruff officer who’d run her blockade in the Gateway Station turbolift very awkward.

Galcyon froze as the doors opened to reveal him. He met her gaze, stone-faced but clearly stunned, then had the audacity to reach for the lift controls. That made her move, sticking her foot in the door to stop it closing before she slipped in.

‘Hello again, Commander.’ Her eyes fell on the rank insignia on his uniform – the field jacket, of course it was the field jacket – and she had to work hard to keep an accusatory snarl out of her voice.

The burly man looked down at her, impassive. ‘Captain. I’ve got a meeting.’

‘With Commodore Rourke?’

‘Yeah. With the commodore. About important business.’

It wasn’t like Elara Galcyon to be petty. So she wasn’t sure what compelled her to be the one to smack the lift controls, commanding it to plummet down to Section Indigo, and as the commander opened his mouth to protest, she snapped, ‘Computer, override command of this lift,’ and gave her codes.

His jaw dropped. ‘Are you – what is this, you kidnapping me now?’

‘Demanding a conversation.’ Galcyon’s jaw tightened as she glared up at him. ‘Your meeting with the commodore can wait for the time it takes us to cross half the station and come back. Who are you?’

‘I got work to do, darling, not a tantrum to indulge -’

‘Your name. Commander. And it’s “Captain,” not “darling;” I don’t care how big and tough you are, give me sexist condescension one more time and this situation gets worse.’

He rolled his eyes and looked away, but grunted, after a beat, ‘Cassidy. You can call me Cassidy.’

‘Don’t pretend I’ve not noticed that there’s a gulf between “my name is” and “you can call me,” but so be it, Cassidy. I just have one question for you.’

Cassidy’s nostrils flared. ‘No, I can’t tell you what my mission was. I can’t tell you if it was “worth it,” or more important than the lives of whoever died on Tau Mervana. All I can say is that it was my mission.’

‘That wasn’t my question.’

‘People died on Tau Mervana before you ever got there, they’d have kept dying after you left, regardless. Nobody was up in fucking arms about it two weeks ago. So I’m not going to take the blame for fighting breaking back out on a shithole world, when Starfleet’s finest weren’t lifting a finger to help until the situation was right in front of them.’

Galcyon swallowed indignation. ‘I don’t think I can fix all the galaxy’s ills, Cassidy, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fix what we can. And I’m not impressed with the implication that a potential hypocrisy on my part makes any morality of trying to help that world irrelevant. That still wasn’t my question.’

‘I’m not trying to impress you, Captain.’ Cassidy’s sneer paused. ‘What’s your question?’

‘Perhaps you couldn’t give me a full briefing. But how in the sky was running that roadblock and carrying on into that war-torn city without backup a better choice than asking for my help?’

He stopped at that, hands on his hips. After a beat, he said, ‘You would have demanded an explanation.’

‘I’d have demanded some sort of explanation. I wouldn’t have asked you to break regulations and give me information I didn’t have clearance for.’ When he scoffed, her jaw tightened. ‘You didn’t even try.’

‘I didn’t.’ To her surprise, he subsided a little, and elaborated, ‘I had an asset in the vehicle. Putting them among your crew risked a security breach.’

Her nose wrinkled. ‘Are you saying, Commander, you couldn’t trust the crew of a Starfleet ship?’

‘A Sagan-class has five hundred -’

‘Information is often contained to far fewer than that aboard my ship. There were all manner of options available to you, Commander, instead of running that blockade and exposing us to being overrun by local factions. I lost two crew that night!’

Worse, Cassidy inclined his head at that, and when she said, ‘I’m sorry,’ she believed his sincerity.

‘Not to mention the risk to the civilians, the damage to their homes. And the risk to you, your unit, and your asset. I can’t see how trusting a Starfleet captain is more dangerous.’

‘There are matters of security that in my sort of work -’

‘Don’t give me that,’ Galcyon sighed. ‘Don’t give me the line about how officers like me can’t possibly understand the danger, secrecy, and difficulty of your work; as if having hope in the galaxy makes me an idiot -’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Then what are you saying?’

He stopped, eyes narrowing, chest heaving from blossoming frustration. ‘Less than a year ago, we found out that Changelings had infiltrated Starfleet at the highest level. Less than three years ago, we found out that the Romulans had infiltrated Starfleet at the highest level. But sure. Tell me more about trusting a Starfleet captain I never met before.’

That made her pause, blood humming with frustration at him and frustration at his point. At length, she said, ‘That may be so. But I just had Commodore Rourke trying to avoid confirming there even was an operation on Tau Mervana. You’re right to be worried about our institutions being compromised, Commander. But the answer to that is for more transparency and accountability; for people to have to explain themselves and for their actions to be scrutinised. There is a reason the Tal Shiar were able to infiltrate Starfleet Intelligence. If you go off-script on a mission, how many people do you have to explain yourself to?’

When he spat, ‘The people around me,’ it sounded more like a weaponised retort than something he believed, and from the look in his eye, she thought he knew it.

The universe did her one small kindness, the turbolift slowing as it finally reached its destination, and she straightened. ‘Then I hope they’re good people, Commander. People you can trust. Because it sounds exhausting, otherwise, not trusting anyone. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’

‘I sleep with one eye open, but I get my rest,’ Cassidy snarled.

‘I sleep in a comfortable bed aboard a powerful starship where I can try to change the fate of a city, and even if I fail, I can make the darkness a little less bad, if only for a few days. And close both my eyes.’ She shook her head as the turbolift stopped and the doors slid open. ‘It was nice to meet you, Commander.’

She didn’t expect a reply. She was out in the bustling corridor of Gateway Station, and the turbolift doors slid shut a heartbeat after she heard his voice, taut and cautious but loud enough to follow her.

‘Stay safe out there, Captain.’

It did not sound mocking.

Elara Galcyon paused in the corridor, slowing her frustrated breathing. She had work to do, and her people did not deserve her irritation. After a beat, she tapped her combadge. ‘Galcyon to Dashell. Make us ready to be underway as soon as possible. Let’s get back out there.’

‘…specific scale – Kah’plar’s fifth mode? – that’s traditionally associated with Klingon victory rituals. It’s often seen in traditional war songs, but they’re using it here for something rebellious, subversive, counter-cultural -’

‘I just like bass, Aryn; I don’t know what to tell you.’

The thumping loud music had Rosewood stick his head out of his room with a flash of irritation, but it faded as he saw Aryn and Nallera in the door to Aryn’s quarters. He glanced up and down. ‘This a corridor party?’

Aryn winced. ‘Sorry. We were on our way out.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Computer! Stop music.’

Nallera grinned at Rosewood. ‘We’re hitting Gateway. Come for a drink?’ She was in a dark green bomber jacket thrown over a worn t-shirt of an Andorian band Rosewood didn’t recognise. The pockets of her cargo pants bulged with mysterious, practical objects, and her boots were scuffed and sturdy. As she talked, she set her right hand on her belt buckle, tapping against it with a chunky ring on her middle finger.

Aryn cut a sharp contrast in his tweed jacket and pressed dark jeans, and Rosewood’s lips had to curl as he saw the t-shirt under the blazer, a soft grey with the seal of the Daystrom Institute. This was clearly his nod towards dressing down.

He, meanwhile, was still in slacks and an old Red Squad t-shirt from the Academy. Rosewood sighed. ‘Hardly dressed for it. Go on without me; I’ll catch up.’

‘Damn. It takes you a while to throw on a shirt, huh?’ Nallera’s grin widened. ‘I’ll ping you when we’ve got a drinking hole.’

Rosewood couldn’t get defensive. She was right; it did take him a good ten minutes to get changed. They’d not said where they were going, though drinking on Gateway could range from the run-down Crowbar to the elegant Foxglove cocktail bar. Outside of the few physical objects he wanted to keep and was prepared to lug from assignment to assignment – the old Academy t-shirt, a favourite jacket – most of his wardrobe existed in a replicator database, giving him a near-endless array of options to scroll through. At length, settled on a deep burgundy button-down shirt, given texture through a herringbone pattern and a flash of a charcoal contrast fabric inside the cuffs and collar that helped it serve as a centrepiece fashion item. Throwing it on over dark trousers and polished boots, he figured he pull it off if they went somewhere nice, and roll up the sleeves if they were somewhere casual. Nallera would probably be happy to quaff fancy cocktails in a sleeveless t-shirt, while Aryn might wear a three-piece to a bar on Nimbus.

He wasn’t familiar with the location Nallera pinged him as he was heading down the Blackbird’s corridors, and peered in confusion at his PADD long enough to almost crash into Lieutenant Falaris when he turned a corner.

‘Prophets!’

‘Shit – sorry!’ He dropped his PADD and had to grab her so she wasn’t bowled over. ‘Didn’t look where I was going.’ Heart rate slowing down, Rosewood gave an apologetic smile. ‘The hell are you doing up here in uniform?’

‘I…’ Falaris worked her jaw, clearly recovering from nearly being smeared on the deck. ‘Someone has to watch the ship, sir.’

‘First: do I look like a “sir” right now? It’s John.’ He glanced up and down the corridor. ‘Second: I bet anything Ranicus is still aboard. Third: We’re literally docked inside Gateway, who needs to be on watch?’

A flicker of indignation tugged at her face, though her voice came out rather defensive. ‘Not everyone’s immediately got social plans the moment we hit the station, sir – John.’

‘Rooks are getting a drink. Someplace called the Driftwood. You should come with.’

She hesitated. ‘That sounds like the team going out for drinks.’

‘You were in our ear half the mission, told us how to find Verior, found us and saved our asses when the Tal Shiar were gonna kill us. I don’t think we should quibble about fieldwork to determine if you’re a Rook.’

‘Respectfully, si- John. You’re new enough to the team that I’m not sure you get to decide who’s in it.’

He subsided at that. ‘Fair enough. Another time?’ She nodded, and Rosewood softened. ‘You really did save our asses, Lieutenant. That was some shit-hot work up here.’

‘It wasn’t hard.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘Once I’d figured out what the Tal Shiar were doing, putting the algorithm together to filter out the interference was straightforward. It just took a little longer; if I were really good, I’d have done it quicker -’

‘And if I were smarter I’d have noticed a guy on a rooftop with a shoulder-mounted grenade launcher. We all had our failings. Still sounds like you deserve a night off. If you’re staying here, run yourself a bath or something.’

‘I share a bathroom with six other crew.’

‘Alright, well – there’s a spa on Gateway.’ He grinned. ‘Go. God knows when we’ll get pampered again, Lieutenant.’

‘I… alright.’ Lips curling self-consciously, Falaris stepped back, nodding. ‘Maybe I will. Have a good evening.’ He was four steps down the corridor before she added, awkwardly, ‘Maive. It’s Maive.’

Rosewood looked back, still grinning. ‘Have a good night, Maive. You earned it.’

Nallera’s directions took him to a quiet corner of Gateway’s Arcade. The entrance to the Driftwood was marked only by a faded wooden plaque, etched with its name in several languages. Inside, warm, dim lighting cast a soft glow over a cosy space of mismatched chairs and stools tucked around tables made of polished, salvaged wood and sections of starship hull panels. The walls were lined with shelves boasting curiosities of well-worn star charts, faded physical photographs of alien worlds, and bric-a-brac from a thousand peoples. Metal stood out among the wood under the gleam of the lantern-like lights hanging from exposed metal pipes overhead. The decor and jazz music filtering through the sound system made Rosewood think of an old Earth speakeasy bar.

He found Nallera and Aryn at a table made of a misshapen hulk of wood near the wall. Tiran had joined them, and he lingered at the bar to order a drink, taking a moment to peruse the bottles lining the wall before settling on a smoky, single malt scotch and going to the table.

‘The clotheshorse made it!’ Nallera greeted him with raised hands. ‘Sit yourself down, Commander.’

‘Are we really doing rank?’ Rosewood asked, awkward as he pulled up a stool.

‘Rank and mockery, apparently,’ mused Tiran.

‘Hey, you got that crazy Romulan to open that safe room door,’ said Nallera with a shrug. ‘I’m impressed, but I’m kinda mad I didn’t get the chance to breach it.’

‘Without killing her or us?’

‘That would be the fun! The challenge of it!’

Laughing, Rosewood shook his head and looked to Aryn. ‘How’s the injury?’

‘I’m fine, now,’ he said ruefully. ‘It sounds like I was better off missing that fight. It would be nice to avoid a head injury, though.’

‘Come on.’ Nallera elbowed him. ‘You already know everything; you can stand to forget a few things.’

‘As the lone science specialist in the team, I can’t really afford to forget anything.’

Rosewood chuckled and turned to the others, focusing on Tiran. ‘So on a scale of one to ten, how normal was that mission for the Rooks?’

‘Can’t be that much!’ burst Nallera. ‘I hardly blew anything up!’

‘About a seven,’ Tiran agreed wryly. ‘We don’t normally cross Starfleet and have showdowns with Tal Shiar asking us to come quietly. Otherwise, about a normal level of annoyance and risk. You did well out there.’

‘I didn’t do much.’

‘You handled the target, like you were supposed to. And had our backs in the fight. Does there need to be much more?’

Rosewood’s lips curled as he sipped his scotch. ‘Is that my call to make?’

‘Nah,’ said a voice from above. ‘It’s mine.’

Nallera beamed as she looked up at Cassidy. ‘Boss! They let you out to play?’

‘For now.’ Cassidy was still in uniform, though he’d loosened the field jacket, dishevelled enough to give an instructor in basic training an aneurysm. ‘No doubt they’ll whistle soon and we’ll have to heel.’

‘Oh well,’ said Nallera. ‘Guess we better drink.’

He already had a beer, and Rosewood had to marvel at how such a big, blunt man kept sneaking into bars in plain sight and avoiding notice. He kicked out a stool to sit beside him. ‘Guess we better.’

Nallera swigged her beer. ‘Did the powers-that-be have any insight on that Tal Shiar chick?’

‘Falco?’ Cassidy grimaced. ‘She’s a known entity. We’d be lucky if her superiors give her a bad day for letting Ireqah go. But that means she’s trouble enough for us that that’d do well to keep her in the field.’

‘The intel she was privy to. About you, about us.’ Tiran frowned. ‘Suggests she’s somebody.’

‘It suggests she got eyeballs on us and could request a briefing, and she was given it.’ He shrugged. ‘The Liberty said the interference dropped at a time not long after we left the system. They had the resources to cause chaos, but not much else.’

‘It was nearly enough,’ said Aryn darkly. ‘They brought hell back down on Tau Mervana.’

Cassidy groaned. ‘I don’t need a lecture on how bad it was there. I already had Galcyon complain at me.’

‘Galcyon?’ Rosewood’s eyebrows went up. ‘She was in the debrief?’

‘No, just Rourke decided to schedule us back-to-back like a fucking idiot. So I got her crying about how hard we made her job.’

Even Nallera winced. ‘We did make her job hard. Greater good and all, Boss, but we did do that.’

Tiran shook her head. ‘Was she particularly self-righteous?’

Cassidy frowned at his beer for a moment. ‘No,’ he said at last, not looking up. ‘Not particularly. I’d have been worse in her shoes.’

Rosewood fidgeted with his glass. ‘Any word on Ireqah?’

‘Only that she got where she needed to be.’ Cassidy gave him a suspicious, sidelong look. ‘That’s all we’re gonna know. We don’t get told much what happens after. That a problem for you?’

‘You mean…’ Rosewood took a deliberate sip. ‘Is that going to be a problem on future missions?’

‘Yeah. The hell else would I mean?’

‘I don’t know.’ He grinned toothily, in a way he knew would be directly annoying. ‘Sounds like you’re saying I’m in. The Rooks, I mean. Long-term.’

Nallera laughed at that, and Aryn gave a small smile. Cassidy just rolled his eyes.

‘You got too many friends in high places for me to boot you without good reason. You didn’t fuck up anything bad enough for that.’

‘A glowing recommendation!’ Nallera guffawed.

‘One I will take with pride,’ said Rosewood, leaning towards Cassidy with even more of an irritating grin. ‘It’ll be my delight – no, my honour – to continue to serve alongside you, Commander Cassidy.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Cassidy snapped at last, shoving him back – but his touch was light, in the same bantering, bickering tone. ‘All the more chance for me to get an off-the-books mission to some forgotten backwater where I can dump your body.’

‘And I look forward to being murdered in the fringes of the galaxy by my team.’

Any gruff retort from Cassidy was smothered by the laughing of the team – Nallera the loudest, of course, but even Tiran and Aryn were chuckling at that. Cassidy rolled his eyes anew, swigging his beer as he shook his head.

‘Alright, alright,’ he said, waving away the laughs, and Rosewood fancied he saw amusement on the gruff commander’s lips. ‘Just you wait. We don’t know what comes next. After all, outfit like ours? They could send us anywhere.’

‘Anywhere.’ Rosewood said the word like he was tasting it. He’d spent years on structured ships with set missions and duties, and while there’d been twists and turns, he’d broadly known what his tomorrows looked like. This wasn’t quite the uncertainty of exploring the deep, of being like those wayfarers on those early Earth starships venturing into the galaxy for the first time; the ones whose ships he’d seen at those museums with his family what felt like a lifetime ago. This held, if nothing else, the promise of a lot more blood.

John Rosewood still nodded and sipped his drink, lounging at the table with this new ragtag team of mysterious operators, volatile demolitions experts, and meandering academics. ‘Anywhere,’ he repeated. ‘I could get used to that.’