The light was flickering, and it really annoyed him.

There was a lot to complain about in here, the dingy control centre of this dingy industrial building. The water purification facility was over a century old, and while it worked diligently to filter the colony’s rivers, its mechanisms updated and upgraded and replaced over the decades, there still much about its walls and panels and beams and non-essential systems that creaked under the weight of time.

The four staff members bound and bundled in a corner of the chamber were a problem. So were the eight or so armed Cardassians stood over them and before him. But John Rosewood was dealing with those situations, so, for now, what annoyed him was the lights.

‘I just…’ Hands in the air, stood alone before the enemy, Rosewood gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this.’

‘Our demands were clear.’ The Cardassian woman named Glirra stood before the controls, a rifle in her hands. ‘All Federation colonists are to leave Nitrion IV. Otherwise, we’ll have to take steps.’

‘Screwing with the water supply will make it so nobody can live here,’ he pointed out. ‘Except the Federation has the facilities and the legal right to fix the problem and then… plop another colony right back down. The Union isn’t going to move in if the colony’s abandoned.’

‘And who’s going to move back?’ Glirra tilted her head. ‘Either Nitrion IV is poisoned and everyone has to leave, or you bow to our demands and leave. We did think about this, Starfleet. No matter what, we prove this planet isn’t safe from us. That you can’t keep it safe.’

‘You make it sound like those are the only two outcomes.’

Glirra paused. ‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘There are other options. Like a massacre. Does Starfleet want a massacre?’

‘Does the True Way? You guys aren’t stupid.’

His earpiece buzzed with the signal for an incoming message, and Rosewood kept the affable smile on his face as he listened to the voice of Macalor Aryn.

‘Bioweapon’s neutralised. They can hit the button all they want; water’s clean.’

‘…gotten us nowhere,’ Glirra was saying, raging against the ineffective actions of her compatriots over the last two years. ‘Now you have to take us seriously.’

‘You think I don’t take you seriously? I’m hurt, Glirra; I thought we had a connection.’ His gaze dragged from her to the rest of the muscle. As he watched, they stood guard over the hostages, watched the doorways, walked the high gantries above. Two stopped to talk, urgency in their eyes, but he couldn’t tell if they’d figured out what was going on. There was a lot to be urgent about.

‘Laugh all you like, Starfleet.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You said you wanted to see the hostages and know they’re alright. I think you’ve had enough of a look.’

‘You’re called the “True Way” but what about a third way?’ Rosewood’s eyes snapped back to them, urgency tightening his throat. ‘We can discuss options. Opportunities for Cardassians to settle on Nitrion -’

‘This isn’t a world to be shared!’ spat Glirra. ‘This was ours until the Capitulation of Bajor!’

‘You say “capitulation” like you didn’t get your asses handed to you in that war by both sides -’

His earpiece clicked again, but the voice this time was Lieutenant Falaris, far away in mission control on the Blackbird. ‘Sir, is this how you de-escalate?’

He fought to not trip over his words as the peanut gallery chimed in, and made a note to yell at Falaris for adding running commentary while he was working. ‘…as if the Union could keep, let alone take, the old DMZ.’

‘I’m not here to debate long-term strategy.’

‘No, you’re here to demonstrate you’re not helpless,’ Rosewood said, trying to calm himself down. He needed to build a better connection.

‘I’ve jammed their communications,’ Falaris continued. ‘They’re cut off. No contact from the teams at the outer facility; local security’s going to take them out. No reinforcements.’

‘Does this look helpless?’ Glirra was sneering.

He bit his lip. ‘I’m just saying,’ he tried again, slowing his breathing. ‘You’d be surprised how well things can turn around with the right help.’

Halfway through Glirra’s uninterested reply, the far wall exploded inward. In the flying debris and dust, the shouted confusion, Rosewood threw himself behind the nearest stack of metal crates, fumbling his pistol out of his holster. Before he’d even landed, he heard the phaser blasts from the new entry point, as the trio of Cassidy, Tiran, and Nallera burst in. And within seconds, Rosewood was rolling to one knee and snapping off a shot at a Cardassian on the gantry above who, far away enough from the breach, still had his wits about him enough to open fire.

He wasn’t here to build a better connection, he remembered. He was here to get inside and buy time. And now he was here to keep the enemy distracted.

‘Keep up the suppressive fire, Rook Five,’ came Cassidy’s voice over comms, low and urgent. ‘Three has the hostages.’

The problem was that the other three Rooks had rifles and Rosewood had a pistol and was more than a little exposed. He let off a few more wild shots, then the True Way were rounding on him and he had to bolt, dashing through live fire towards a nearby pillar of humming machinery. He hoped it wasn’t important. They’d gone to great lengths to keep the filtration plant functioning.

‘Hostages secure!’ Nallera yelled over comms. Risking a look around the pillar, Rosewood saw her stood over the quartet of human workers, a pair of fallen Cardassians beside her. Large rifle in her hands, she sprayed fire at the cluster of True Way on the far side of the chamber as the hostages fled for the exit she’d cleared.

Movement from the gantry caught Rosewood’s eye. ‘Shooter, north-west gantry!’ he snapped into comms, raising his pistol, but this was a long-range shot for such a weapon and his skills. He let off a shot, missed; let off another – and the Cardassian crumpled.

He had a moment to peer suspiciously at his own pistol before Tiran said over comms, cool and collected, ‘Tango down.’

That made more sense.

‘Starfleet!’ In the lull of the shooting, Glirra’s voice carried across the control chamber. Rosewood turned to see her stood near the main control panel for the whole plant. But his throat tightened when he saw she wasn’t alone, but held one of the hostages close to her as a physical shield. Somewhere down the line, they’d miscounted.

Nallera was by the door through which she’d ushered the other hostages, and Tiran near the entry breach, ready for precision shots. Cassidy stood at the other end of the control panel, rising with his rifle trained on Glirra.

‘How d’you think this ends?’ he asked, voice rumbling like distant thunder.

‘With your failure,’ Glira sneered. One hand pressing a pistol to the hostage’s head, her other reached to hammer on the plant’s controls. The system whirred and activated, and the computer’s voice hummed through the chamber.

‘Filtration protocol active.’

‘Enjoy a dead colony,’ she added.

‘Except that toxin’s been taken out,’ said Cassidy, jaw tight. ‘So all you did was make sure the good people of Nitrion IV enjoy extra-clear water tonight.’

Glirra froze. ‘You’re bluffing.’

Rosewood stepped out from behind the pillar, pistol lowered. ‘If he were, every second we stand here would be a second your toxin’s being pumped into the water. We’d want to stop you as quickly as possible. Minimise the damage.’

‘Even at the expense of one hostage, at this point.’ Cassidy nodded.

‘So… look how we’re just gonna stand here,’ Rosewood said, voice lightening casually. ‘Doing nothing.’

Seconds passed. Then more. Neither Rook moved, and Glirra’s eyes widened more and more.

The problem with negotiations like this, Rosewood mused, was convincing your enemy they had so little chance they had no choice but to stand down, but not so little chance that they panicked. He was accustomed to walking these lines, managing emotions, looking like someone they could do business with.

Hal Cassidy and his big fuck-off rifle pointed directly at her did not look like someone she could do business with.

‘Don’t,’ Rosewood said, empty hand raising as he saw Glirra’s eyes flicker to the hostage, but still the Cardassian shifted her grip on her gun.

Nallera shouted, Cassidy hefted his rifle, Rosewood lunged forward. Everything slowed, time and space condensing both, as if nothing had or could happen anywhere in the universe except for this moment of trying to close down on Glirra before she murdered a whimpering water plant supervisor in front of them. He’d had nightmares like this, Rosewood thought distantly. Dreams of running as if through treacle. And when he heard the distant whine of a phaser blast, he realised that was ridiculous. He’d needed to cover three metres quicker than she needed to pull a trigger.

Then Glirra froze. Teetered. And collapsed. The worker screamed and bolted, Nallera moving to intercept on comforting containment duty. As one, Cassidy and Rosewood turned to the open door behind the control panel at which stood the dishevelled, tired figure of Aryn.

He lowered his phaser. ‘I thought I should come up from the chemical injection centre and lend a hand,’ he said lightly, as if he hadn’t just casually outflanked the enemy and finished off the crisis.

Cassidy hefted his rifle, watching for a second. Then he laughed. ‘Good work, Rooks. Three, make sure all hostages are safe and accounted for. Everyone else – confirm these True Way goons are down.’

He turned away and keyed his comm, his voice coming over everyone’s earpiece. ‘Blackbird – Rook One. Location secure. Hostiles down. Hostages safe, confirming now that they’re sound. This DMZ dustbowl gets to thrive another day.’

‘Confirmed, Rook One,’ answered Falaris. ‘Local security are on their way up. Do you want to hand the situation over, or should I direct them to report in?’

‘Locals can tidy up their own goddamn mess. I’ve no time for celebrations and kissing babies; we’ll wrap up and return to you.’ Closing the comms, Cassidy looked to Rosewood, who was by now checking over Glirra. Aryn had, at least, set his phaser to stun. ‘Nice work keeping them occupied. Maybe get more stuck in when the shooting starts?’

‘I had a tiny phaser,’ Rosewood protested as he cuffed Glirra, ‘and basically no cover. I shot a couple of guys.’

‘You shot one guy.’

‘And, like I said, set it up so you could bust in through an entry point away from the hostages.’

‘After Aryn killed their bioweapon. And, really, the breach was Nallera.’

‘So when you say “nice work keeping them occupied…”’

Cassidy gave a low chuckle. ‘Just keeping you on your toes, Kid. Make sure security get this one.’

‘We don’t want to check her out ourselves?’ Rosewood asked. ‘She’s got to have useful intel.’

‘On local trouble,’ Cassidy scoffed. ‘Nah. Wrap up, and we’re out of here and onto what’s next. This is just the True Way. Bunch of idiot thugs. Alright for a day’s work, but for anything more than that? We deserve a better calibre of villain.’

Rosewood was judicious enough to hold his reply until Cassidy had headed off, and keep his voice to a low mumble. Cassidy could tempt fate. Rosewood knew better than to tempt Cassidy. ‘That,’ he muttered as he checked Glirra’s pockets, ‘sounds like the sort of smug comment we’re all gonna live long enough to regret.’

‘…and the Cardassian goes, “We didn’t order maintenance!” like we’d shown up the wrong day!’ Nallera was laughing as she spoke, lounging back in the Rooks’ conference room aboard the Blackbird, bottle of beer in hand.

‘I don’t know why we went for sophisticated subterfuge,’ Rosewood sighed. ‘What a pack of idiots.’

‘I assume you then punched him,’ said Aryn.

‘I was kind. The True Way clearly hadn’t sent their best. I shot him.’ As eyebrows raised, Nallera sat up defensively. ‘Set to Stun! You know how much paperwork we’d have to do if we killed them all with local law enforcement tidying up after?’

‘I thought that was the appeal of immediately flying away,’ mused Rosewood. ‘Let someone else do the cleaning. Anyway, your kindness to idiot Cardassians does you credit, Chief, but the awards for this one go to Aryn.’

Aryn gave a bashful, awkward smile, sat in one of the hard-backed chairs in the conference room. It routinely doubled as a lounge, with comfortable seating stacked around a holographic projector that could show critical mission information or play a movie. Nallera had swept in with a crate of beer bottles and insisted they celebrate their latest win – and when Nallera was in that kind of mood, nobody argued.

‘I did my job,’ Aryn said, sipping his drink as if he’d never had a cold beer after a long day before and wasn’t sure what would happen.

‘Hey, I saw the report on the toxins they were gonna pipe into the water,’ Nallera said, pointing accusingly. ‘Neutralising that was some shit-hot work.’

‘And sweeping in to save the hostage,’ Tiran pointed out. Long legs lounged over the side of one armchair, the Rooks second-in-command managing to look effortlessly elegant yet still relaxed.

‘I… guess I did that.’

‘Downright heroic,’ said Rosewood, leaning over to elbow him gently.

‘I’m not sure what we do is heroic, per se.’ Aryn shrugged. ‘I expect the media will simply say how “law enforcement” stopped the True Way. Even for our open missions, nobody’s going to know who we are or what we did.’

‘Being celebrities would make this job pretty hard,’ said Tiran.

‘Oh, I’m not complaining,’ Aryn said. ‘But heroes are, well. Jean-Luc Picard. James T. Kirk. People you’ve heard of.’

‘Also, you might get to be a hero,’ said Nallera, pointing at him. ‘Clean-cut action nerd like you. And Rosewood here, the dashing all-Federation boy. But Tiran don’t smile enough and I can’t watch my mouth and you think they put Cassidy on a recruitment poster?’

‘I’d complain,’ mused Rosewood, ‘but I was on the cover of the San Fran Academy prospectus in my fourth year. Also, I like being called “dashing.”’

The door slid open and in stomped Cassidy, PADDs under his arm. ‘Dash away all you like, Kid, but some of us have work to do,’ he said in gruff greeting. He was in his uniform jacket, worn open, which Rosewood knew meant he’d likely been talking to superiors.

Tiran sat up. ‘We’ve got a new assignment? Already?’

‘No rest for the wicked,’ said Cassidy, pointing one PADD towards the holographic display and thumbing a command for transferred documents and images to shimmer to life in front of them. ‘And we’re the worst of the worst.’

‘Great pep talk,’ said Rosewood. ‘I feel all warm and fuzzy.’

‘You shouldn’t. Things are bad.’ Cassidy turned to the display, shining brightly with a strategic map of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. ‘The Orion Syndicate’s causing trouble.’

Nallera had a swig of beer. ‘What else is new?’

‘The nature of that trouble.’ Cassidy thumbed another command, and the map zoomed in on the coreward-trailing corner of Federation space, near the Ferengi border. ‘The compromises in Federation security and the rat races for Borg tech over the last few years have created an all-you-can-eat buffet of devices, equipment, and technologies I like to call, “Shit you do not want in the wrong hands.” Small weapons. Big weapons. Things that could be made weapons by the wrong person. And lately, the Syndicate has been gobbling it up; stealing, buying, selling. Starfleet Security turned around and realised we’ve got a crime epidemic on our hands.’

‘Oh, I get it,’ said Rosewood. ‘We fix the entire Orion Syndicate. Simple.’

Cassidy ignored him, but his thumb-jab was pointed as he carried on and brought up the image of an Orion woman. ‘This is Aestri. Scum by Orion standards, but she’s been cut-throat enough to rise in the Syndicate as a serious arms dealer. Lately, she’s been funnelling equipment and weapons to fringe Klingon houses and captains who really hate us. And Intel says she has a big buyer lined up among them who wants her to deliver something really nasty.’

Another press of the thumb, but the image displayed what looked to Rosewood like nothing more than a metal capsule. It could have been the size of a pill, or as big as the Blackbird. ‘This is the Kairos Regulator. Stolen from Daystrom Station almost a year ago now. Sold by those Changeling agents to distract Starfleet and likely raise funds for their primary plans. And now Aestri wants it.’

Nallera sat up. ‘What does it do?’

‘I’m assuming,’ mused Aryn, eyes flashing with interest, ‘it affects weather patterns. Or time.’

‘Those… don’t sound at all alike. What the hell?’

‘Kairos is Greek,’ Rosewood explained. ‘It could translate to suggest either.’

‘Time,’ said Cassidy, impatient at the scholarly diversion. ‘A hand-held unit that generates a personal field and affects the passage of time on a localised area. I can’t explain more than that, cos frankly, we don’t have the clearance to know. It’s not a superweapon that’ll destroy a planet.’

‘But depending on the scale, it could let an assassin walk into the Palais, kill the President, and stroll out before anyone knows they’re there.’ Aryn’s brow was furrowing. ‘Or let a shuttle take a space station apart piece by piece.’

Tiran sucked her teeth. ‘So not a good thing for Klingons who hate us to have. That’s our job? Find Aestri, get it off her?’

‘Aestri doesn’t have it,’ said Cassidy. ‘She wants it. And its current owner is willing to sell.’ Another press of the thumb for a new briefing image. ‘This is Ilior, a private moon on the edge of Ferengi space, and chunk of it is the personal property of a Ferengi known as Nank. It’s the luxury resort of your dreams, which means the worst people in the galaxy go there. And in a few days, they’ll be there for an auction Nank is hosting. The Kairos Regulator, among other things, is on the docket.’

‘We get to go to a private auction on a seedy luxury moon?’ Nallera sat up. ‘This is the best job.’

Tiran winced. ‘Unless Starfleet Intelligence already has a full workup on the facility, can we really put together a plan to rob it in a matter of days?’

‘No,’ agreed Cassidy. ‘Or at least, not without being on the inside. We’re going to attend the auction. Command has authorised us to do whatever it takes to get the Kairos Regulator short of turning the moon into dust, but that includes giving us a fund to buy it if necessary. They’d rather we don’t have to.’

‘Hang on.’ Rosewood tapped his chin. ‘No way a group of Starfleet officers waltz in to attend this auction. We got a cover?’

‘No,’ Cassidy said again.

‘This is a great briefing,’ muttered Nallera.

‘But there’s someone who can get us in,’ Cassidy snapped, frowning at her. The next image came up of a Orion man, broad but going thick in the middle. ‘This is Torrad-Var. Son of the House of Var-Kan, Master of the Bleak Shadow. One of the Orion Syndicate’s more influential noble members, who’s willing to get us in the auction under his name.’

Nallera gaped. ‘I thought the Orion Syndicate wanted this thing?’

‘Faction war,’ groaned Rosewood, slumping back in his chair. ‘I hate faction wars.’

‘I’ve worked with Torrad-Var before,’ said Cassidy. ‘He’s the old-school kind of guy who likes the status quo. He’s helped Starfleet shut down pirate ops that went too far and caused too much blood and trouble, and in return… yeah. Sometimes we turn a blind eye to him.’

‘The definition,’ said Aryn, head tilting, ‘of the devil you know.’

‘He’s based on Kalviris Prime, just outside of Federation space, a little ways into the Ionite Nebula. One of the big trading ports between the Syndicate and Ferengi. He’s agreed to meet – nothing more.’ Cassidy shook his head. ‘It’s imperative we figure out what Torrad-Var wants and how we can get him to help us. Otherwise, we get Klingons who can stop time.’

Rosewood stuck up a hand. ‘Can we have the idiot Cardassians trying to poison the water back?’

‘We’re on our way to Kalviris already,’ said Cassidy, ignoring him. ‘So the party’s over. Book club for everyone to study Aestri, Torrad-Var, Nank, Ilior, and Kalviris.’

Nallera leaned towards Aryn, eyes serious. ‘Can I copy your homework?’

Cassidy gave them a flat look. ‘Starfleet’s finest,’ he spat.

Tiran smirked as she stood. ‘You called us the worst of the worst not ten minutes ago, Hal.’

‘If we go to a sexy black market auction,’ said Rosewood, ‘and have to sneak in through the vents or if I’m disguised as a Breen or something, I’m gonna be real disappointed, for the record.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Cassidy. ‘I’d hate to disappoint you, Kid.’ He rolled a shoulder. ‘Thought you’d love tying up loose ends the Changelings left lying around.’

‘Yeah, I really love seeing the absolute mess those assholes left behind. Gives me closure. That’s why I want at least a stupid cocktail made with illegal alcohol on a decadent Ferengi private crime moon out of this job.’

Nallera finished her beer and set it down with a thunk and a satisfied sigh. ‘God, I love this job.’

‘Rooks.’ Commander Ranicus’s voice was clipped as Cassidy, Tiran, and Rosewood entered the Blackbird’s bridge, but she extended a hand towards the planet on the viewscreen, the night-facing side clad in ebony sprinkled with the shimmering golden lights of civilisation. ‘Welcome to Kalviris Prime.’

‘Did the locals give us any trouble?’ Cassidy grunted, arms folded across his chest.

‘We got challenged five times by traffic control,’ said Falaris. ‘It was kinda rude, actually. Like they thought I was lying about where we were parking. There’s a few gunboats out here and they’re loitering with intent.’

‘If we don’t start trouble, I don’t think they will,’ surmised Ranicus. ‘They’re nervous and confused. I suggest we make the most of that and do our job quickly. Before some troublemaker decides that here, outside of Federation space, deep in a blinding nebula, is a great place to collect some Starfleet scalps.’

‘Agreed. We’ll beam down.’ He turned to Tiran. ‘You and me, Jessa; let’s go.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll stay up here. Monitor comms. No offence to Lieutenant Falaris, but someone with a bit more experience of this kind of should keep an eye on chatter. It’s all about reading between the lines.’

Cassidy made a face. ‘Torrad-Var loves you.’

‘He likes you plenty. You need me here more.’

Grumbling, he turned to Rosewood. ‘Fine. You’re up, Kid.’

Rosewood rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, boy, letting me ride your coattails to a meeting on a seedy backwater? You shouldn’t have.’

‘Seedy, yes. Backwater, no,’ said Tiran, clearly jumping in before Cassidy could summon a rebuke. ‘This place is an artery for the sector.’

Cassidy snorted and nodded. ‘Don’t dismiss it just because it’s not on Starbase 38’s “Top Local Visits” brochure. Thirty million people live in the capital alone.’

‘Well, now I’m excited,’ Rosewood deadpanned. ‘I thought this was a once-failed Federation colony turned independent border world surviving through constant appeasement of the local Breen, but now there’s lots of awful people here? Yeah, I read the briefing. I guess you do need someone to watch your back.’

‘I need you to play nice and fob off anyone who thinks we’re interesting so I can talk to Torrad-Var in peace; that’s all. Someone should watch my back, though – tell Aryn he’s up.’

Rosewood rolled his eyes. ‘Now I know you’re screwing with me.’

‘Big damn hero the other day, saving that hostage,’ Cassidy reminded him. ‘But no; there’s no telling what Torrad-Var knows about any of the tech on the black market, so I want my science guy there to twist the thumbscrews if he starts to let anything on.’

‘Aryn? Twist thumbscrews?’

‘Ask nerdy questions, same thing. Go change. We want to blend in.’

Rosewood looked down. He was dressed only casually, but in a t-shirt and jeans, he didn’t think he could look more unobtrusive. ‘Blend in with what?’

The answer was more. More layers, more colour, more everything. The streets of the city below heaved with life and light even at night. Towering spires, neon billboards and shining windows blotted out the stars, and to walk the streets of Kalviris Prime – the broken asphalt, the network of criss-crossing walkways bridging the towers – was like entering a metropolitan cocoon. The Rooks were on their best behaviour, so the three men proceeded from the transporter station to their destination on foot.

‘Torrad-Var operates out of a nightclub called Redoubt, in the Fifth District,’ Cassidy explained as they stepped out of the station and onto the metal walkway, high above the ground and still with more towering spires above. ‘He owns it. So don’t start trouble.’

Rosewood squinted at his back. ‘How do you think we normally behave at nightclubs?’

‘As a rule,’ muttered Aryn, ‘I don’t.’

They’d dressed, as instructed, to fit in, but they walked streets bursting with peoples from a thousand different worlds and, Rosewood felt, only one social strata. It would be more complicated than that; it always was, but the smell of indulgence and desperation, greed and hope, rang thick in the air. This was a place to spend it all, live big, and either win or die.

Redoubt wasn’t much different, a heaving nightclub in the heart of the city. The club itself was nestled halfway up a soaring spire, but a glance at the floating drones and secured walkways winding about the sides made Rosewood think Torrad-Var probably owned the entire building. At the top, he could see shimmering silver lights and a hint of greenery, and expected there’d be an opulent rooftop garden and penthouse overlooking the city.

The smell of anticipation was richer here; or, perhaps, the sweat. Either could be explained by the roiling queue outside, so long that he thought some people would still be there at sunup. That probably didn’t matter too badly; it seemed likely that, in Redoubt, the party never stopped. If Kalviris was the hub of the sector and Redoubt was one of its hearts, petty concerns like night and day wouldn’t matter to most.

Cassidy walked the line and stared down the Nausicaan bouncer who put out a hand to stop him. With the music pulsing from the open doorway, so loud and full it spilt out of the club’s every crack, Rosewood couldn’t hear what the Nausicaan said. Nor could he hear what Cassidy’s reply when he leaned in, but whatever it was had the bouncer stepping aside, and then they were in.

‘Let me guess,’ Rosewood said to Aryn as they followed Cassidy in, having to yell even for a quiet aside. ‘It’s Orion music.’

‘Kolar techno-blaze,’ Aryn called back. Rosewood was struggling to look relaxed as they joined the heaving mass of bodies and partying and noise, but the wiry science officer just looked bright-eyed and curious in a way he didn’t think was affected. ‘It’s actually not that popular; the Vondem musicians are much more likely to get the big DJ gigs -’

‘Is there anything you don’t know something about?’ Rosewood asked, just as two Orion women passed them by. One winked at Aryn, who didn’t seem to notice, and Rosewood laughed. ‘Oh, the age-old problem of the genius: the ladies.’

‘I don’t -’

‘Up here!’ Cassidy’s voice cut through the noise. They’d tried to follow close behind through the main dance floor of this cathedral to music and debauchery, but he’d still slipped ahead, moving through the thick crowd of dancers, traders, off-duty mercenaries, with an easy posture, like he belonged. He probably did. He looked more at ease here, Rosewood thought, than he had in the hallways of a Federation starbase.

They caught up at a stairway to an upper level. Cassidy had already dealt with the guards here, too, and ushered them to follow, ascending above the mists of vice and sweat as if bursting to the surface of toxic waters.

Before the door to the private office overlooking the dance floor, Cassidy stopped and turned to them, gaze sombre. ‘Remember,’ he said, voice like iron, somehow able to make himself heard even over the thudding bass of the music, ‘this is his domain. What Torrad-Var says, goes. Not just in Redoubt. But on this planet. So I don’t want any smug Federation superiority or wisecracking in there.’

‘Yeah, Aryn,’ said Rosewood, elbowing his colleague in the side.

‘Ow,’ said Aryn.

‘This,’ groaned Cassidy. ‘This is what I’m talking about. Taking you to a nest of vipers here. We can’t control if we’re gonna get bit, but we can avoid sticking our hands in their mouths.’

‘Yeah, don’t be an idiot, be polite; I got it.’ Rosewood rolled his eyes. ‘Diplomatic duties weren’t just about knowing which spoon to use. I can handle a crime boss.’

‘For starters,’ said Cassidy before he turned away, ‘don’t call him that.’

The private balcony overlooking the beating heart of the nightclub Redoubt wasn’t just Torrad-Var’s office, but his domain. At a glance, it looked like it opened directly into the space above the cavernous dance floor, but Rosewood caught the shimmer of forcefields, and could feel how they muffled the sound when they stepped inside. Display screens across the wall showed every inch of the club, interspersed with sports games, news feeds, stock reports. A private bar filled the far end, and all around were comfortable seats, as if this were a VIP suite for the club and not the centre of operations for an Orion Syndicate kingpin.

‘You should buy a guy dinner first,’ Rosewood couldn’t help but quip as the meanest-looking Bolian he’d ever seen shook him down for weapons. Cassidy cast him a sharp look, and he clamped his mouth shut, but then security had cleared them and they approached.

Aside from guards, the balcony was almost empty. One exception was the figure with his back to them, facing the open front towards the dance floor. Broad-shouldered but getting soft in the middle, Torrad-Var wore a sleeveless vest showing off intricate tattoos coiling down muscular arms, black weaving patterns stark against emerald skin. But despite the dress down appearance, when the big Orion turned, Rosewood felt the energy in the room shift towards him.

Torrad-Var’s expression was impassive, but Cassidy gave a devilish grin and sauntered up like he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘Still running the best show in town, I see. Looks like half the city wants to be here to pay homage.’ He had never, Rosewood thought wryly, looked so pleased to see any fellow officer.

To his surprise, Torrad-Var reached out, and the two men clasped hands in a comradely fashion. ‘It’s good to be the king, Cassidy. But you know better than most what it takes: keeping your head on your shoulders.’

Cassidy sucked his teeth and shook his head. ‘Especially with the waters you’re swimming in right now. Black market tech? Messy, even for someone with your reach.’

‘You know I’m not touching that. That’s why you’re here. But when some in the Syndicate are pushing harder and harder in the tech trade… you’ve got to pick your battles.’ Torrad-Var extended a hand to the seating, but his eyes fell on the other two Rooks. ‘These your boys? I thought you liked more colourful company, Cassidy.’

Rosewood gave his usual toothy grin. ‘I was under strict orders to blend in. This is Aryn; I’m Rosewood. I handle the team’s more… delicate matters.’

Torrad-Var scoffed. ‘You’re gonna need more than delicate if you’re picking the sort of dance partners Cassidy asked after.’

They advanced on the seats, which was when Rosewood took a beat to size up the last person in the room: the beautiful Orion woman seated on the wide sofa. Torrad-Var sat next to her and she at once leaned in to drape across his shoulder. He’d wondered if she was an expert or adviser, but the look of empty adoration in her eyes suggested nothing more than status symbol.

‘That’s why we’re here,’ Cassidy was saying, sitting down and nodding for the other two Rooks to sit, too.

‘I know,’ Torrad-Var said with a hint of aggravation. He opened his mouth, then shook his head and reached for a controller on the table. With the press of a thumb, the thud of music from the club faded to more of a background fizz, and he looked at the Orion woman. ‘Q’ira, darling, get us all some drinks. I’m forgetting my manners.’

She looked faintly put out at having to move, but the Orion woman called Q’ira slid to her feet and said, in a voice like impossible promises, ‘A round of Starlight Shatters coming up.’

Aryn looked up. ‘What’s -’

‘Sounds good,’ Cassidy cut in roughly, and leaned towards Torrad-Var as the woman went to the bar. ‘The auction on Ilior’s not an outlier. The tech that’s changing hands… you and I know it’s a bad deal for everyone involved. Especially the Syndicate. It’s dangerous and volatile, and it’s the kind of stuff you sell to terrorists and empires, not other crime bosses. That just brings heat. And that’s before we get to the fact half of it’s Starfleet’s stolen toys, and they just finished cleaning house. Now it’s time to get what was theirs.’

‘You trying to sell me on something I already agreed to, Cassidy?’ Torrad-Var leaned back, arms stretching across the back of the sofa. ‘Try to not talk yourself out of a deal, acting like I don’t know we’re playing with fire. You’re still asking me to go against my own.’

‘It’s taking temptation off the table. Painting fewer targets on your organisation. You’ve always been willing to be the lesser evil – Starfleet’s view, not mine.’

Torrad-Var scoffed. ‘It is yours, Cassidy. You might like a walk on the wild side and enjoy getting your hands grubby, but at the end of the day, you’re a white hat. This is tourism for you. Necessity. This is my life. My people. And lots of them would call me a traitor for helping you.’

‘You know as well as I do that their recklessness is more dangerous for the organisation.’

‘I can work with you. But some day, you’ll be ordered to hunt me down, and on that day, you’ll do it. Don’t pretend we’re on the same side, pragmatic men with the same view of the galaxy. Don’t pretend we’re friends, Cassidy.’ Torrad-Var looked up as Q’ira returned with a tray of shimmering glasses of an ebony liquid speckled with hints of gold. He took one and raised it to the Rooks. ‘Cheers.’

At Cassidy’s curt looks, the Rooks drank, too. The drink was richer than Rosewood expected, but with a hint of sweetness that stopped it sitting too heavily.

‘Then if we’re not friends,’ Rosewood said, smacking his lips, ‘we’re doing business. That can be all we talk about today.’

Torrad-Var grunted. ‘A commitment is a commitment.’ He opened an arm and the Orion woman slid back in beside him on the chair. ‘Q’ira here will get you into Nank’s place, and the auction. People know her and her face. Walk in as her retinue and they’ll believe you’re all part of my outfit.’

A playful smile tugged at Q’ira’s lips. ‘I know all the right people – and the wrong ones, too. We’ll get in just fine.’

Cassidy gave her a dismissive glance, then looked back at Torrad-Var. ‘Alright. What about Aestri? Will it cause trouble for you if she’s there and you’re competing with her?’

‘If you lose, she’s got nothing to complain about,’ he said. ‘If you win, then she’ll do better to not draw attention to being outdone by a rival. You shouldn’t worry about the fallout. That’s my problem.’

Q’ira examined her nails. ‘Unless Aestri decides to be a sore loser. She usually is.’

‘More important,’ Torrad-Var continued, ‘is if you know how you’re walking off Ilior with what you want. You’re there under my reputation – this deal is contingent on you not fucking that.’

Cassidy shook his head. ‘I’d like to keep working with you, Torrad-Var. Besides, the most obvious way to screw it up would be trying to brute-force the issue, walk out with the goods at gunpoint. I’m not fool enough to think I can get away with that somewhere like Ilior. Either we sneak it away, or we win it fair and square.’

‘Or with the appearance of fair and square,’ Rosewood mused.

‘Either way,’ said Cassidy. ‘We’ll walk out of that auction with your reputation intact. ‘Cos I’d like to use it again sometime.’

‘In which case,’ said Torrad-Var, ‘you gotta be ready to spend some cash, and not be squeamish about where it goes.’

‘There are some rainy day funds we’ll be putting towards this. A lot was seized from the people who spent a few years fucking us from the inside. Helps that Nank and his operation are considered a lesser evil, too.’

Rosewood opened his mouth with a pithy comment on the tip of his tongue, but then Aryn leaned forward. The scientist had been silent throughout the meeting, but now he spoke, his eyes not on Torrad-Var, but Q’ira.

‘You mentioned Aestri being a sore loser,’ he said, like the thought had been percolating and now was bursting out almost against his will. ‘You know her?’

Q’ira wasn’t the only one to look surprised at being addressed directly – Torrad-Var did, too. But with a quick glance at her boss, she tossed light green hair over her shoulder with a dismissive air. ‘Oh, I’ve been around, darling,’ she said in an airy tone. ‘I know all sorts. You’ll see.’

Torrad-Var frowned, and when he stood, it was with a gesture that was almost an impatient shaking off of his employee. ‘If you’re going with Q’ira, you should take her ship, instead of something with Starfleet scribbled all over it. She’ll get you in, and from there, it’s your game to win.’ His eyes hardened. ‘Don’t lose.’

They were out of the Redoubt, and a round of Starlight Shatter cocktails down, before Rosewood gave his opinion. Even then he waited until they were a street over, thick in the ebbs and flows of Kalviris Prime, his words muted by the roaring market streets and punters from a thousand worlds looking for escapism.

‘Arm candy and a ship, that’s the deal?’ he complained. ‘Feels like your old friend’s holding out.’

Cassidy ground his teeth, clearly not that happy, either. ‘Like he said – we’re not friends. He’s not trusting us more than he has to. He’s sending us with his sidepiece so that if we screw it up, he can cut us off – and her – without losing face.’

‘I don’t…’ Aryn hesitated. ‘You think he’d risk sending us with a nobody against someone like Aestri?’

‘I think sending us with a nobody means he can’t really lose,’ grumbled Cassidy. ‘Either way, this is the deal. I figured we’d have to ditch the Blackbird, so we get back, pack, and grab Tiran and the Chief.’ He glanced over his shoulder as if to check, though Rosewood knew the zig-zagging route he’d taken them towards the transporter station was to shake off any tails.

‘We shouldn’t worry too much about Torrad-Var’s agenda,’ he said after a beat. ‘We play this smart, or we won’t make it back from Ilior anyway.’

‘I don’t like this,’ Tiran said as the Rooks piled out of their quarters with carry-alls. ‘Going on some Syndicate girl’s ship? It isolates and exposes us.’

Nallera winced, though it was unclear if this was because of Tiran’s point or the bulging bag slung over her back. ‘Sure, but – what else are we gonna do? Mosey up in the Blackbird, with all her Starfleet markings?’

‘Excellent use of the word “mosey,”’ Rosewood complimented. ‘But Tiran’s right. Can’t we pick up a ship from Command that’s better prepared for undercover? Surely Intel has something unmarked with a souped up interior lying around. This way, we’re leaving support staff like Falaris behind, and she saves our asses all the time.’

Cassidy, stood at the door to the Rooks’ section aboard ship, folded his arms across his chest. He’d looked indulgent, even concerned, as Tiran spoke, but now his expression sank to granite. ‘This is the deal,’ he rumbled. ‘Blackbird will withdraw to SB-38, and we’ll signal her to rendezvous with us at Kalviris on our way back. Otherwise, we’re in this Q’ira’s ship there and back. We don’t get to split hairs. Torrad-Var knows this situation and we don’t.’

Did you make us shut up because you believe that, Rosewood wondered, or because I was speaking up? He still grimaced. ‘Does the girl?’

‘Don’t worry about the girl,’ Cassidy grunted. ‘She’s a dumb hanger-on, but if she couldn’t get us through the door, Torrad-Var wouldn’t bother with any of this.’

Their arrival at the docking port on Kalviris where Q’ira’s ship, the Diamond Dust, was nestled did nothing to reassure Rosewood. She was a Kaplan F-17 freighter, with silvery highlights on the trim to evoke, he presumed, the shine of gemstones. The interior was modified; padded and carpeted and upholstered, comfy and cosy like a Galaxy-class, if the overriding design motif had been pastels instead of beige.

‘You’ve all got your own rooms,’ Q’ira drawled as she led them in, waving a lazy hand towards the port side row of doors. ‘That one’s my room; you get keel-hauled for sticking your noses in uninvited.’ She glanced over her shoulder, and at their nonplussed expressions, gave a playful, wry smirk. ‘Yarr.’

‘Oh,’ said Rosewood tonelessly. ‘Like a pirate.’

Q’ira pouted. ‘You could all be more fun. I thought you off-the-books types were the fun Starfleet? You don’t have to play nice, but we’re going to be stuck together for a while. We might as well make the most of it.’

Nallera’s head snapped around. She’d been looking up and around, soaking in the interior of the Diamond Dust, but the reaction that Rosewood had assumed to be horror was soon made plain to be awe. ‘The refurb job on this baby is sweet. Full holo-capabilities and a souped up job on the amenities, and those thrusters look like she pulls some serious manoeuvring at impulse, which is gonna take a big power hit; what’s the cargo capacity?’

‘Oh, ah, reduced.’ Q’ira waved another dismissive hand as her nose wrinkled. ‘Torrad-Var had it all done for me. The Dust was a gift from him. He’s such a sweetie.’

‘Yeah,’ grunted Cassidy. ‘A real charmer, that Syndicate crime boss. Can we move? We all know the layout of a Kaplan.’

‘Fine,’ sighed Q’ira. ‘I was going to show you the features on the resequencer but you can figure out how to eat something better than spacer swill for yourselves. Get comfy and the holo-team and I will get you underway.’

‘Assume we’re being listened to,’ Cassidy said the moment Q’ira was gone and the Rooks were left on the Diamond Dust’s habitat deck. ‘We got a few days’ travel to Ilior. Use it as best you can to prep. Remember, we’ll be going somewhere with top security; don’t pitch me a plan that includes any object you wouldn’t let a dodgy bastard board your ship with.’

‘That’s pretty much all my plans,’ Nallera protested.

‘You can do something other than blow them up,’ Rosewood said soothingly. ‘I believe in you, Chief.’

Nallera beamed. ‘Thanks, Rosewood.’

‘I’ve put out some feelers,’ said Aryn. ‘Trying to find out what I can about the Kairos Regulator.’

Rosewood’s eyebrows went up. ‘More than the absolute nothing of our briefing package?’

‘I worked at the Daystrom Institute, and I’ve done my time in a few R&R facilities that were less prestigious but, ah, maybe a little more exciting in the nature of information that flows. I have contacts.’

‘Again,’ mused Rosewood, ‘what don’t you know about?’

‘You say I’m bad with women,’ Aryn protested, ‘but I think Miss Q’ira is being overlooked; if she has the skill-set to get us through the door at Ilior -’

‘Torrad-Var has the connections to get us through the door at Ilior,’ grunted Cassidy. ‘Her talent is fucking Torrad-Var.’

‘That’s… enlightened,’ Aryn said awkwardly.

‘If we were enlightened, we’d be doing this job from the bridge of a starship, telling all the good folks of Ilior to put ‘em up on arrival and watching every single bit of tech or powerful criminal slip out the back door.’ Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘Enlightened won’t get this job done.’

‘Maybe,’ said Rosewood, frowning, ‘but what is it you think Starfleet captains do, exactly?’

‘I don’t know; I work for a living,’ Cassidy growled, and stalked off to his designated room.

Rosewood turned to the others and swept back his hair. ‘We’re all in agreement that this is a very bad idea, right?’

Tiran hefted her bag. ‘Maybe it was a bad idea on the Blackbird. Now we’re here? It’s the mission. Time to focus up.’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Nallera as the two of them turned for their own rooms. ‘I gotta figure out what devices I need so I can implant ‘em under my skin and still use or extract later, or… something.’

Rosewood looked at Aryn. ‘And you have reading to do.’

‘And, apparently, time to ruminate on the nature of life’s great mystery: women,’ Aryn said wryly. ‘You know you’re sometimes just as much of a caricature as Cassidy, right?’

Rosewood didn’t think that was meant to be a devastating comment, and yet he was left unable to summon a reply as Aryn left for his room.

The quarters were opulent and luxurious, enough even to make him, a veteran of Federation comfort, blush. The shower was always the first thing to try, under the circumstances, and while Rosewood could imagine Cassidy chastising him – putting himself in a vulnerable position when he’d barely familiarised himself with the place – it was probably worth getting murdered for water pressure that good.

In more dressed-down clothes than the clubbing gear he’d brought to Redoubt, wet hair slicked back, he headed up afterwards for the bridge section of the Diamond Dust to find Q’ira sprawled languidly in the command chair and three scantily clad, muscle-bound Orion men at the controls. They’d taken off while he changed, and were now heading away from the gravitic pull of Kalviris’s star to head to warp.

‘Tell me those are holograms,’ Rosewood said bluntly.

Q’ira turned and put a hand to her mouth as if horrified. ‘You mean you didn’t agree we’d be accompanied by three gorgeous hunks? Again, you need to be more fun.’ After a beat, she rolled her eyes. ‘Of course they’re holograms. Best feature of this ship.’

‘I’ll try to not think too hard about that.’ He went to one of the empty stations and turned the chair to sit facing her. ‘So I expect it’ll be you and me on face-duty when we get to Ilior.’

‘Is that what we call “talking to people” in Starfleet?’

‘Yeah, you know – when we’re undercover in a criminal auction of illicit, stolen technology but need to buy a device of mysterious capabilities, and if we get found out, we won’t be tried or imprisoned, they’ll just slit our throats and toss us into the back alleyway.’

‘One: Ilior is way too nice for them to dump bodies in the street, even the back alleys. Two: That sounds like your problem more than mine.’

‘I – you’re here to help us!’ Rosewood protested.

‘That doesn’t mean I’m here to freak out and worry so much I use five words to say the auction’s illegal,’ said Q’ira, rolling her eyes again. ‘I get to go to a nice party and have canapés. Once you’re through the door, my work is done. Nobody’s got a skincare routine robust enough to deal with the kind of stress you’re taking on.’

‘I don’t…’ He stopped. It had been so long since he’d worked with anyone who wasn’t not merely Starfleet, but some sort of professional, that it took him until that moment to realise his approach was, perhaps, flawed. Rosewood drew a deep breath. ‘You’re right.’

Q’ira paused. ‘I am?’

‘Most of this isn’t your problem. You’re helping us out, and I appreciate that.’ He gave a soft smile he knew could be sweet and winning, and tried to make his eyes a little bigger to give off more of the look of the boy-next-door. ‘I don’t go to events like this often. I expect you do loads.’

She tilted her nose up. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

Does that extend beyond finding where the free bar is? His smile didn’t fade. ‘Then you’re right. Even if the stakes are high, this should be fun. You can help make it fun.’

Fun, of course, was code for convincing. Had she been more interested in the operation, more engaged with the reality that the hosts would probably murder her, too, if the Rooks were found out, he might have tried to get more out of her: more of an idea of her knowledge of the place, the people, the operation.

But if all Torrad-Var had given him was a pretty airhead to get him through the door, he didn’t need to waste his time. He could, at least, turn this vapid Orion into as useful an asset as possible, and it turned out she was like anyone else: easily placated with a little attention.

‘It’s the third button.’

Aryn froze, finger hovering over the controls of the resequencer in the Diamond Dust’s mess hall – or, as the computer had informed him it was called, the lounge, despite being nothing more than a few tables and chairs clustered in the centre of the ship, the ceiling open to the top deck above.

‘I’m not… I just wanted a hot chocolate,’ he stammered as he looked back at Q’ira. She was leaning against the ladder down, lips curled in wry amusement.

‘Aww. Bit of warm milk to help you sleep at 0200?’

He hesitated, and his gaze flickered to his PADD on the table, the projection of the screen still hovering above it. With a laboriously affected air of indifference, he sauntered over and killed the projection. ‘I’m getting some work done, actually.’

‘Work. You mean the reading you’re hiding from little old me?’ She put a finger to her chin, then called, ‘Computer, give me a projection of… that space… from twenty seconds ago,’ with a wave towards the table.

The holographic emitters obligingly shimmered to life, and, just as he’d snatched the PADD away, the files he’d been going through were in full view.

Aryn flushed. ‘I shouldn’t have brought that out here.’

‘I could see it in your rooms if I wanted to. You were just rude.’ Q’ira sauntered over, eyes raking over the highly classified reports discussing the Kairos Regulator. ‘You’re denying me scintillating reading material like…’ She cleared her throat and read aloud. ‘“By stabilising the phase-shifted gravimetric pulses in a controlled Schwarzschild metric, effectively warping local spacetime by a factor proportional to the derivative of the event horizon’s radius” and then a bunch of equations I can’t read out loud. Oh, but if I could, you’d have a serious intel breach on your hands.’

He cleared his throat. ‘I know you’re about to sneer at the idea of breaking laws, but I think you underestimate how big a crime it is to have records of this content on your computer.’

‘You’re right,’ she mused. ‘I do break laws a lot. What’s one more?’

‘How about trouble you really don’t need?’

She ignored him, eyes still raking over the hovering holographic display, even though he saw her gaze dance over thick sections of scientific explanations. ‘So this is the thing we’re after, huh,’ she said at last, a finger tracing the accompanying image. Now, he had some idea of the size of the regulator, a capsule a little longer than his forearm. ‘What you’re willing to play dangerous games with Aestri and Nank over, and throw money into Nank’s pockets for. Warping local spacetime. Like, a warp drive does, folding space?’

He hesitated – then stepped forward and gestured across the section she’d just read. ‘Not quite. Basically, the Regulator bends time around the person using it. It messes with the space-time fabric so that, for the user, time moves normally, but for everyone around them, it slows down. Like you set the holosuite program to advance at a minuscule pace and you’re walking around freely. You can get anything done before anyone else even realises what’s happening.’

Full lips parted in a small, worried, oh. ‘That’s nasty.’

‘And dangerous. Not just – those complex equations? It’s how it makes sure time slowing down doesn’t tear the universe apart while it’s at it. I mean, it’s more likely to just… not work… but you can’t mess with space-time casually.’

She straightened, brushing cyan hair back over her shoulder. ‘See, if you explain things like that instead of talking about a Schwarzenberg metric or something, people might understand you eggheads.’

He found himself smiling apologetically. ‘You see why this matters, though? You said you’ve had brushes with Aestri. You seemed to think she’s trouble.’

‘Well, of course she’s trouble.’ Q’ira shrugged. ‘You’re all in a tizzy trying to stop her from getting this thing. You already knew that.’

‘I have intelligence briefings talking about operations she’s run and crimes she’s committed and I see she’s a capable and effective member of the Orion Syndicate, but you could tell me any member of the Orion Syndicate wants the Kairos Regulator and I’d think that’s a bad thing we need to stop. Something about Aestri wanting it is enough to make the Syndicate turn on itself.’

She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Oh, you want all my secrets now?’

‘You’ve just read highly classified material for which not only could you go to jail for a good few years for reading it, but I’d probably be in the cell next to you for letting you see it. I figure we’re partners in crime now.’ He tried a small smile, knowing it came off more nervous.

‘Oh, sweetie,’ Q’ira sighed. ‘You’ve no idea about my crimes.’ But her eyes fell back on the hovering display, and she bit her lip. ‘You’re right that Aestri’s just like any other Syndicate gang leader – because she is. Or she used to be. Stole shit, wrecked shit, pirated a bunch. Mostly pirated; she was a good pirate. Knew when to use the knife, knew when to hold back. Violence in that sort of life – it’s a form of communication, you know? And I don’t mean that like some weird sociopathic way where she’s just expressing herself by how much she cuts on someone…’

‘It’s about reputation,’ he surmised. ‘Image, sending a message.’

She nodded. ‘What you don’t do is as important as what you do. Restraint is power, sometimes. Except…’ Another sigh. ‘Sometime – a year ago, maybe two? – she lost that light touch. Didn’t go big and violent or anything, but started chasing bigger prizes. More cash, more wealth, taking bigger risks to do it.’

‘No more restraint?’

‘I thought it was like she stopped playing the long-term game. Like it was all short-term wins without caring about the fallout. But why would she do that?’ She went to say something more, then stopped herself. ‘I should show you how to get the actual good stuff out of the resequencer.’

He turned as she headed for the wall device and worked his jaw. ‘What is it?’

‘What? She’s bad news. And you need a hot chocolate. Treats for teacher for being good and sharing the knowledge with little old me?’

He thought the glance she threw him was meant to be coy, almost flirtatious, but even he knew an attempt to distract him when he saw it. Rosewood might have been right; he wasn’t good with women, but Aryn was very good with puzzles, and he could see her slipping things behind secret doors.

‘You asked,’ he said after a beat. ‘Pointing out that high-end quantum physics is pretty opaque is asking. You know, it’s okay to not get it; I work with some very smart people and most of them don’t know what I’m talking about half the time.’ He stopped himself. ‘That came out wrong. I’m not saying you’re not smart.’

She gave a gentle scoff. ‘Yes, you are. Your whole outfit is. Rosewood’s all smiles and thinks I’m an idiot. Cassidy barely acknowledges my existence. Don’t worry; you Starfleet boys aren’t anything special. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for Torrad-Var. You don’t need to look at me for me to help you.’ She finished jabbing commands and turned back to him with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. ‘Though you are looking at me.’

He didn’t know if that was a singular or plural ‘you,’ and decided to swallow hard and brush past that. ‘Your quantum physics is the inside dynamics of the Orion Syndicate.’

‘That’s just people,’ she sighed dismissively, handing him the mug. ‘There, professor.’

‘Yes, I spent ten years learning how to understand that,’ he said, gesturing to the display with the drink as he accepted it. ‘How long did you spend learning to understand the Syndicate?’ As she hesitated, the corner of his eyes creased. ‘You had another thought just then, about Aestri. I genuinely want to hear it?’

Q’ira tilted her nose skyward. ‘Why? For your intelligence reports?’

‘Because I like listening to experts talk about things they have expertise in.’

She looked at him for a moment, then laughed. ‘See, that’s your mistake, Professor. I told you what I thought. Torrad-Var said that was stupid; why would Aestri give up on the long-term? Risky doesn’t mean short-sighted. It means there’s a possible big reward. And what’s the biggest reward for Orions in the Syndicate? The biggest prize?’

‘I… really don’t know,’ he admitted.

‘It would take a lot for Torrad-Var to help Starfleet move directly against another leader in the Syndicate. He’s loyal to the Syndicate. Aestri being a vague threat by drawing attention isn’t a good enough reason to draw more attention by working with you,’ she pointed out. ‘So it’s simple. He’s not just protecting the vague idea of the Syndicate in this team up. He’s protecting the highest levels of the Syndicate itself.’

‘I still don’t follow.’

‘You really did only learn about Schwarzenfeiber modulations at the Academy, huh,’ she drawled. ‘It’s simple. Aestri is making a bid for Pirate Queen.’ As realisation dawned on his face, she again tossed her hair back. ‘See? Torrad-Var’s the smart one. He’s the one who figured it out. You really don’t need to give me all of that “oh, you’re an expert,” crap just because you want to fuck me, Professor. Be smarter than that and don’t listen to little old me.’

She turned back for the ladder she’d descended from, and had a foot on the bottom rung before she said, ‘But you were polite. Most people aren’t. So…’ She looked up. ‘Computer. Delete all footage recorded aboard in proximity to our guests. And stop recording them.’

Aryn swallowed, mouth dry. The hot chocolate sounded like a sickly proposition now. ‘Thank you,’ he croaked.

‘Well. I didn’t need to accidentally rack up trouble like that. You were right.’ She glanced back and winked at him. ‘Enjoy your choccie milk, Professor.’

‘It’s… hot chocolate…’ he said lamely, but she was already gone.

And he still had a lot of reading to do before they got to Ilior. With, now, a renewed motivation in making sure they didn’t let the Kairos Regulator fall into the hands of a woman who might use it to accrue enough power and influence to run the biggest criminal network in the galaxy.

‘This is stupid,’ Cassidy grumbled. ‘Do you all hate me? Is this a prank?’

‘Don’t answer that,’ Rosewood muttered as Q’ira stepped back, eyes all innocence.

‘You said you have a recognisable face,’ she protested, pouting. ‘So you can stay aboard, we can alter your face, you can take your chances… or we do this.’ Behind her, amidst the rest of the Rooks on the Dust’s main deck, Nallera smothered a giggle with her hand.

‘I’m not that recognisable!’ said Cassidy. ‘I just said there might be someone I’ve run into before.’

‘If you don’t want us cooking up some facial modifications and you still want to be there,’ began Rosewood, a little more soothingly – he’d have to live with this, after all, ‘then we use other feats of misdirection. Like an accessory that’s all anyone will remember.’

‘Sure,’ said Cassidy, turning to the holographic projection of a mirror Q’ira had summoned. ‘But does it have to be a really big hat?’

Rosewood lifted a finger. ‘With a feather in it.’

Cassidy stared at his reflection. They’d planned roles for the group once they were at the auction – Rosewood and Q’ira taking point, Tiran and Aryn as advisors and attendants, and Nallera and Cassidy as the muscle. Everyone else got to wear colourful, opulent clothing that Q’ira had delighted in picking out for them over the course of a day. Even Nallera, with her allergy to sleeves, had been thrilled at picking through swirling, glittery designs of body paint to decorate her muscular arms. They were envoys of Torrad-Var, Master of the Bleak Shadow. That meant a little pomp and circumstance.

And a really big hat. With a feather in it.

An hour later, the Diamond Dust descended through the thin, sparkling atmosphere of Ilior, the luxury moon gleaming beneath them. Vast, rolling oceans stretched out to the horizons, the azure waters glinting as if sapphires had been sprinkled across the surface. Poor Ferengi terraforming had condemned the world to nothing but oceans, and it had taken decades before the investors moved in. With them came the artificial islands that now rose from the sea. Making them vast enough for serious habitation would have been far too expensive, so instead they were small, targeted, luxurious, each of them a monument to indulgence. Sleek towers, lavish estates, and sprawling casinos littered each, connected by hovering bridges and the buzz of ferries and private boats.

‘There might not be much law here,’ Q’ira mused, feet dangling over the side of the command chair, ‘but they keep their own kind of order.’ She sprang upright. ‘I’m gonna change. Make sure we land properly. The boys know what to do.’ A dismissive hand was waved at the beefcake holograms as she left.

‘We’re about to rub shoulders with the worst of the worst,’ said Cassidy once she was gone. He stood at the fore of the bridge, arms folded as he surveyed the islands growing bigger through the canopy. ‘You think you know scum? You don’t know scum who think they’re untouchable. This isn’t pirates – this is crime lords. Professional mercenary companies. Not just smugglers – war profiteers. People whose power isn’t just the barrel of a gun. Isn’t even just fear. People with influence.’ He turned back to them. ‘Assume you don’t know what you’re getting into.’

Rosewood bit his lip. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘Yes, Boss,’ said Nallera, a bit mechanically. Aryn, who had gone faintly pink, just squeaked.

‘What?’

Tiran bit the bullet. ‘We’re sorry, Hal. But that was all serious and… you’re still wearing the hat.’

He snatched it off as Nallera burst out cackling. ‘Son of a -’

Rosewood beamed as he adjusted the collar of the perfectly tailored suit that was ostentatious even by his standards, with a shimmering emerald pattern whose shifts and changes were part of the fabric, not mere illusion. ‘Just stay out of the way and look menacing, Commander. Leave the schmoozing to me. But I want you close in case you clock anyone you know.’ He turned to the others. ‘Chief, I’ll give you excuses to tour the block. Figure out their security systems best you can, and the equipment people are using. Tiran, likewise, but gauge people – who’s a threat? Aryn, stick close to us, too – you know everything about everything.’ At Cassidy’s look, he paused. ‘Oh. Did you want to give the orders?’

‘It’s my team,’ he rumbled, but waved a hand at the others. ‘Do it.’

Torrad-Var had done his work ahead of time, with the Diamond Dust’s landing rights on Nank’s island already recognised. They swept at low altitude over a cluster of luxury islands, the data feed from the computer explaining the consortium of Ferengi who clustered their resources to make an archipelago of an exclusive resort. Had it not been for the Dust’s trim, a Kaplan would have looked out of place landing on its pad amidst the pleasure yachts and sports shuttles, but Q’ira had the right ship to project the right image: mixing business and pleasure.

She met them at the top of the landing ramp in an outfit that took advantage of every curve, draped in shimmering fabrics that flowed as smoothly as her movements. ‘You all scrub up well, but I’m going to have to outshine you all,’ she said before anyone could bother with a deserved compliment.

Rosewood sauntered over and extended an arm theatrically. ‘You ready for your big entrance?’

‘I was born ready, darling,’ she drawled, and draped her arm around his as if being his gorgeous accessory was in her nature. He wasn’t sure she did much else.

That held up for their arrival. An obsequious Ferengi official greeted them on the pad, bobbing his head as if he’d be tipped for every bow. Immediately they were welcomed as emissaries of Torrad-Var, and while Q’ira smiled and winked as she was recognised, Rosewood found he was the one confirming their arrangements.

Yes, they were there for the auction. Yes, they’d love to take in more of the sights. No, they would quarter on their ship – a standard security choice for many guests which suited their mission. With the salty breeze from the ocean curling through the air, and the shimmering lights of Nank’s resort stretching beyond the pad, it almost felt like getting through the dull administration ahead of a holiday.

Except it would all feel like that, at best, and if he got it wrong, they’d be dead.

‘But of course, you can make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the facilities,’ the Ferengi attendant oozed at them. ‘The first bid begins tonight: a series of magnificent art pieces from the Porten Dillig range.’

Rosewood glanced down at Q’ira. ‘Something for your suite on Risa, darling?’ She gave a pointless titter, and he brushed on quickly. ‘We look forward to it.’

With the attendant leading them across the thin bridge from the landing pad to the casino resort, they had to keep up appearances a little longer. It still surprised him when Q’ira leaned up to nuzzle his cheek, sending a stern quiver down to his gut that no pheromone-countering injections could banish.

‘I’m not your trophy wife at the golf club,’ she breathed into his ear, ‘I’m the fancy side-piece you fuck later. You might buy me gems to wear; you don’t plan my interior decorating.’

The bridge lead to a gate where security checks were obfuscated by the gorgeous design of the archway, though it all held the typical Ferengi ostentatious tastes. Gold leaf was everywhere, and Rosewood wondered how dazzling – or blinding – it would be at sunset. They were checked and allowed through, and he wasn’t sure what Nallera had slipped in past the scans, but she looked pleased with herself as they passed through the outer ring of the facility and into the sprawling gardens.

Busy as it was, the air was still relaxed. Rosewood’s idea of high society was good tailoring and good wine, not the cluster of figures assembled to mingle ahead of buying stolen art and technology. Stewards bustled around delivering drinks and canapes, some guests lazed back on loungers in the sun, and for everyone who seemed to be talking business, at least two people looked like they were actually having a holiday.

Even the underworld needed a break, he supposed. But the ocean stretching to the horizon felt like a pond compared to the sea they stepped into of the galaxy’s most dangerous and decadent. They passed a towering Nausicaan warlord in full ceremonial armour, his scarred face twisted in a permanent scowl as he exchanged terse words with a pale-faced Romulan in a crisp suit who clutched his PADD like a weapon. Nearby, a trio of Andorian women sipped from crystal glasses, the insignia stitched into the sashes over their flowing silks proving even a mercenary group could enjoy the finer things in life. An older Bolian magnate chuckled with an Orion man whose skin shone with cybernetic augments, their laughter thick with conspiracy. And amidst them all, what looked to Rosewood like nothing more than the occasionally well-heeled socialite flitted from conversation to conversation. Even if they were what passed for innocent on Ilior, they had to bring the wealth and influence and respect that made this black market operation possible.

A shadow and buzz hummed above, and Rosewood tore his gaze from the crowd to see a floating platform descend. Stood upon it, dressed in flowing robes and with his smile baring sharp teeth to make him look like a hovering creature of the night, was the Ferengi magnate Nank, his eyes set on them.

‘Welcome, welcome!’ he hissed, clasping his hands together. ‘Representatives of Torrad-Var are always welcome. And it is, of course, always a pleasure to see the lovely Q’ira again.’

Rosewood assumed the superior smile that his role demanded: the smug impotence of someone two heartbeats from power but who never had to do the heavy lifting, and gave his introduction in accordance to the cover story they’d arranged with Torrad-Var.

‘And your entourage, of course,’ said Nank with a more dismissive look to the others. ‘A strong showing. It’s good to see you came prepared for… competition.’

‘I’d be disappointed if there were none,’ Rosewood said easily, his arm around Q’ira tightening as he pulled her closer, playing up the role. ‘You’ve put together quite an event, Mister Nank. I hear it’ll be something to remember.’

Nank’s eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, I assure you. It’ll be unforgettable.’ He waved a hand. ‘The first bids will be tonight, 2000 hours. My attendants will make sure you’re familiar with our process here. We use all my own equipment so there can be no silly games.’

‘Of course. I prefer serious games.’

‘Worry not. Those are the only kind worth playing here.’

As they filtered into the crowd, the Rooks splitting where needed to survey the complex, Q’ira’s eyes flickered across the gardens, soaking up the whispered exchanges, the telltale signs of hidden security, the subtle glances between criminals who all but ran whole sectors. She leaned in to Rosewood, voice soft again.

‘That’s Vadrik, from the Kotharan gang. Once caught a guy cheating at a similar auction on Bellamore. Didn’t even flinch before having his goons stuff the poor bastard in a torpedo case and jettison him into space. Alive.’

‘I’ll make a note to not play cards with him,’ Rosewood mused.

‘And that’s Mikal Guras,’ she added, nodding to a human man lounging near the bar, surrounded by muscular bodyguards. ‘High-grade weapons dealer, sells to anyone with enough latinum to pay for his “special orders.” Heard he once sold Klingon disruptor rifles rigged to overload if they overheated… to both sides of the same civil war.’

‘That’s a hell of a model for profit from chaos. People still trade with him after that?’

‘Of course. The two factions? They weren’t the real client.’

Rosewood blew out his cheeks. ‘And no sign of Aestri, yet.’

‘She’ll be here,’ Q’ira assured him. It wasn’t comforting.

‘Plenty of time to get familiar. After all…’ Rosewood reached to pluck a crystal glass from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘She’s clearly not the only threat here.’

The main auction hall managed to blend opulence and menace. Rosewood wasn’t sure if the menace came from the threat of being smothered in gold filigree, a centrepiece of this atmosphere of elite indulgence onto which crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow. He was accustomed to demonstrations of wealth from Ferengi, but this one came with guards at the doors, drinks that could only be acquired from the bar inside, and even devices for the auction provided by Nank’s attendants. It was more than everything they could need being provided for; it was a statement of Nank’s control.

Nallera turned the handheld bidding device over, a shaped PADD-like object in sleek, polished silver with a few limited, embedded control buttons. ‘Short-range encrypted signals,’ she mused, and scratched a point behind her ear where Rosewood suspected she’d injected something of her own. ‘The only signals in here not being blocked.’

‘Bid with these, and these only, and nobody gets to mess with the process,’ Rosewood said, accepting it back. ‘Time to take it for a play.’

Aryn’s nose wrinkled. ‘Do we really need some objet d’art?’

‘I need to know how the bidding works and who the big dogs are,’ said Rosewood, ‘and it obfuscates our primary interest.’ He cast a quick glance at Cassidy to confirm.

The big man grunted. ‘Just make sure you lose. There’s only so much spending I can justify.’

‘No, I really wanted to cart a wall-sized painting out of here,’ Rosewood drawled.

As he and Q’ira turned to the main room, she leaned in closer, eyes scanning the surrounding faces. ‘It’s still Nank’s regular crowd, mostly. Which means the people to really worry about, even here, are the ones with bodyguards.’

Rosewood eyeballed the suited Romulan he’d seen arguing outside, who had a muscular young man on his arm. ‘Are bodyguards always obvious?’

‘No. That’s why I try to give off an air of danger at all times.’

He looked her up and down, hardly about to move fast in that dress, barely armed with her wits, and his diplomatic training told him to stay silent. That meant he wasn’t fully looking where he was going, and his shoulder bumped with a robed Orion woman as he passed.

‘It’s crowded,’ came a curt chastisement. ‘Watch yourself.’

Rosewood turned, an apology on his lips – and swallowed quickly as he found himself face to face with the sharp-eyed, regal figure of the Orion Syndicate arms dealer, Aestri. Black and emerald robes flowed with each step, trailing fabric whispering across the marble floor, while behind her, he counted no fewer than three bodyguards. That he could see.

The only thing to do was to roll with his surprise, and he dropped his gaze. ‘My apologies. Mistress Aestri, is it not? It’s an honour to be in your presence.’ At her nonplussed expression, he put a hand on his chest, adopting the most obsequious air he could. ‘I represent Torrad-Var, Master of the Bleak Shadow.’

Now she looked him up and down with something approaching interest, but merely said, ‘Hm. Of course. I had not known he would care for minor art.’

‘My master has many interests and many clients. I had not known you would show an interest, Mistress.’

‘Some treasures,’ said Aestri in a lighter tone, ‘are worth any price.’

As she left in a sweep of robes, emerald, and superiority, Q’ira gave a small huff. ‘We’ve met,’ she mumbled, indignant. ‘About four times.’

‘Typical power move,’ Rosewood assured her, though he wondered if ‘met’ actually meant ‘were in a room at the same time.’

Indeed, Q’ira tilted her nose skyward. ‘She’s used to ignoring people she doesn’t consider a threat. Guess that means I’m playing my part right.’

Better than you know. Rosewood shrugged. ‘Let’s hope I can fly under the sensors, too. Come on, best way to blend in is to participate.’

Even with the devices, bidders had to advance to the rows of seats towards the front of the hall, chairs with low but wide, curved backs where they could all be seen by Nank and his attendees on the dais. Rosewood and Q’ira slid into one, with the broad Nausicaan warlord on one side, and the Romulan – who by now Rosewood was sure was an arms dealer – on the other.

‘Everyone wants this art,’ he muttered.

The room fell silent as Nank and his platform hovered six feet in the air, the little Ferengi raising his arms. ‘Folk of the wide galaxy, we are here tonight to celebrate the beauty of wealth and power. And what better way to begin than with these exquisite pieces from the late Romulan Senator Talor’s personal collection, the Porten Dillig?’

Holographic displays hovered above the platform, showcasing the wares. In the centre was the first, an ancient Romulan sculpture, delicate and timeless. For a heartbeat, Rosewood thought of Ireqah and the preservation of her people’s culture, but then Nank was pressing on, describing the piece, and a moment later the bidding had begun.

Rosewood hesitated for a moment, thumb on the bidding device, before tapping in what he thought would be a respectable bid – that was eclipsed in a heartbeat. His mouth went dry at the staggering quantities of latinum being at once thrown around, and realised that rather than watch the money, he’d do better to toy with amounts and focus on watching the people.

It was the Bolian magnate who showed the most interest, his thumb tapping at almost every instant a winning bid went up so he could best it. At first he slouched back in his chair, indolent as he frittered away vast wealth on what felt increasingly to Rosewood like a block of marble, but moment by moment he sat up.

Throughout, Nank narrated and updated the bidding with both the practical usefulness of a professional auctioneer, and the flourish of a showman who knew that for every person who wanted to spend big money in that moment, another ten were here for the thrill of participating or merely watching. And as the numbers raced up and certain names began to eke ahead on the figures on his screen and the updates spilling from Nank’s lips, Rosewood’s eyes landed on one frontrunner: Aestri.

The Bolian was frowning by now, but she lounged in the wide seat, cool and collected. Her gaze flickered from stage to device without letting in any intrusion or distraction, her bidding automatic, fluid. Her hand barely moved as she raised the bids with almost casual disdain.

‘Why does she want this?’ Rosewood hissed to Q’ira. ‘Does she have a client who likes art?’

‘I don’t know – maybe she’s just showing off.’

But as the numbers rose and bidders fell off, Rosewood’s chest tightened before Aestri, too, paused – and the Bolian did not, throwing in one additional swing of wealth. For a moment, Nank was silent, finger raised, poised for another escalation, another surge in the staggering wealth being thrown around. Then –

‘Sold!’

In the raucous applause that followed, Rosewood wondered if Q’ira was right – there was power to winning the first bid. But the Bolian was sweating in his victory, and he wasn’t sure the man’s pockets were deep enough for him to make another demonstration. He wasn’t the only one who’d been pushed to the brink, a half-dozen bidders falling off, and all of them prodded and cajoled by Aestri raising the price. She’d never blinked. Even folding at the end had seemed like a casual concession.

‘She was fishing,’ he said to Q’ira, his voice low to be muffled by the applause. ‘Yes, she flexed her muscles, showed what wealth she has to splash around. But she was also dangling bait to see who bit. Who’s got pockets.’

The rest of the Rooks didn’t look as concerned once they’d filtered out of the auction hall and back into the gardens of Nank’s estate and he’d updated them.

‘It’s just art,’ sniffed Nallera. ‘That’s not a test of much. Also, can’t she just lie about her bids?’

‘No,’ said Cassidy, more stony-faced. ‘We had to let Nank check our accounts in advance. Can’t bid higher than what you got. But it is art.’

‘When we’re talking about incredibly high-end products like this, does it matter what it is?’ wondered Aryn. ‘Someone who could sell the Regulator can surely find someone who’ll pay enough to turn a profit on that sculpture.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Rosewood, a bit impatient. ‘Not about the rest, though I know more than I did before I got in there. But this was just a sculpture, and she might have misjudged and won it. Which means she has deep enough pockets for this thing, and deep enough pockets for the Regulator, which is the whole reason we’re here.’

It was Tiran who sighed first, corners of her eyes pinching. ‘Meaning, her pockets are deeper than ours.’

Rosewood nodded. ‘If she’s here for the Regulator and is prepared to spend to get it, our little rainy day fund isn’t going to cut it in a straight fight.’

They turned, as they always did when they weren’t sure what to do, to Cassidy. His gaze was still flat, which would have cast a comical contrast to the ridiculous feathered hat had the circumstances been less dire.

He shrugged. ‘Never did like a straight fight, anyway.’

‘I could be enjoying one of those stupid cocktails right now,’ Rosewood grumbled, pacing in the lounge on the Diamond Dust. After a few hours of rubbing shoulders and observing the comings and goings in Nank’s resort, they’d beaten a retreat to Q’ira’s ship. With the volume of ships docking nearby, that had meant a meandering walk across floating, artificial islands of opulent comfort, all designed to pander to wealthy visitors with no hint of authenticity or culture or local life, to reach the docking panel the automated valet system had parked them at.

‘Sucks for you that we gotta work,’ said Cassidy. ‘The Regulator’s on the docket tomorrow. How do we win it?’

Aryn sighed and tossed a despondent hand. ‘If Aestri is as set on acquiring this as we are, I don’t see how we beat her. She’s got the wealth we don’t.’

‘Yeah, we can probably scare others off by pricing them out,’ mused Q’ira, leaning against her resequencer. ‘It’s a hot item with niche applications; unless you already got someone lined up to buy it, it’s the kind of thing that’s so priceless it’ll be difficult to shift. But her pockets are deeper.’

‘So we don’t beat her in the bidding,’ Cassidy surmised, gaze sweeping over the other. ‘Alternatives?’

‘We take her out of the running somehow,’ said Tiran. ‘Stop her from being in the room to bid at all.’

‘Sabotage her ship,’ suggested Nallera. ‘Spike her drink. That kind of thing.’

‘I didn’t see her eat or drink anything,’ said Rosewood. ‘She’s being careful.’

‘And we don’t know where her ship is,’ said Tiran. ‘We’ve got under eighteen hours to come up with and implement a plan.’

Rosewood’s eyes went to the ceiling. ‘What if we get someone else to get rid of her for us? Antagonise someone here and blame her? Or make it look to Nank like she’s cheating?’

‘For us to make it look like she’s cheating,’ said Cassidy, ‘we have to figure out a way to cheat.’

‘Yeah, but… badly. That’s easier, right?’

Nallera tilted her chair back, chewing on her PADD stylus as she stared directly up, thinking. ‘There’s no law enforcement here. The rest of us could just go kick off on her landing pad while Rosewood and Q’ira do the bid.’

‘Way too risky,’ said Cassidy. ‘At least, that’s our backup plan. We need something which, ideally, can’t be traced to us.’

With a small noise of frustration, Aryn pushed himself to his feet – then paused and looked at Q’ira. ‘May I use the holo-projectors?’

‘You sleep here, you can use the damn holos, Professor.’

‘Right.’ With a quick command, he’d summoned a holographic pen to his hand, and his writing hovered in mid-air as he scrawled in space in front of them. ‘Let’s break this down to the different points of failure. Aestri. She has to be present to bid – we’ve largely agreed that stopping that is complex and, thus, onto Plan B, yes?’ At nods, he pressed on. ‘She has to be able to win the auction. She has to be able to pay her bid. And she has to be able to physically collect the object.’

Cassidy’s eyebrows raised. ‘We could use this time to scope out her ship and her security. Rather than jump her before the auction, jump her on the way out. Plant a bug on her ship, follow it, take this fight off-world.’

Rosewood leaned forward, frowning. ‘I assume we’re also still rejecting a heist of Nank’s establishment.’ At Cassidy’s scowl, he subsided. ‘Spoilsport.’

‘No, wait.’ Nallera raised a hand. ‘She has to be able to win the auction.’ Everyone looked at her. ‘What does she need to do that?’

Tiran caught on first. ‘The bidding devices.’

‘Sabotage that…’

Rosewood brightened – then paused. ‘If she sits down and her device doesn’t work, she’ll get another one.’

‘If she knows it doesn’t work,’ said Nallera. She straightened her chair, a slow smile spreading across her lips. ‘I’ve got me a plan.’

‘Miss Q’ira,’ said the security guard at the doors to the auction hall, the dour Andorian’s expression nearly apologetic. ‘You know the drill.’ His tricorder had pinged on the security scan, something setting the sensors off as it swept over her necklace, and Rosewood tried to not hold his breath.

Q’ira placed a hand on her chest, eyes wide and innocent – then the affectation of realisation rose. ‘Oh, don’t worry, darling,’ she purred, and her fingers twisted to extend the gemstone dangling from the necklace. ‘It’s just this little beauty. It’s harmless, see?’ The flick of her thumb on the back of the setting brought the device to life, and the projector set into the gem sent a cascade of holographic twinkling lights shimmering around her like stars. ‘But it makes me shine.’

The security guard hesitated, and for a moment, Rosewood considered trying to back her up. Then he realised what the situation needed and made an impatient noise.

‘God, man, let her have the accessory,’ he said, sounding as long-suffering as he could muster. ‘She’ll cry about it all day if she doesn’t get to show off her new toy.’

Q’ira gave him a look of indignation he didn’t think was fully affected, but the fact her companion had been so dismissive of the device, of which she was so plainly proud, seemed to work. The Andorian stepped back with a nod, and then they were in.

‘We don’t have much time,’ Rosewood murmured as they hurried into the crowd. ‘Did you two have to spend so long on the damn necklace?’

‘Did you want us to get the device inside?’ Q’ira replied pointedly. ‘Now, where’s Nall?’

‘Here,’ said the big woman, arriving beside them with surprising stealth. ‘I’ve clocked Aestri. We got a few minutes – the later the better, so she doesn’t have time to notice. Hand it over.’

It took a moment of Q’ira fiddling with the necklace to prize the projector gem off the setting, and palm Nallera the device nestled hidden underneath – a flat circle in as close a hue of silver to the bidding equipment as Rosewood and Q’ira had been able to recall.

‘You can plant this?’ Rosewood asked Nallera, dubious.

‘Hey, you don’t build things like I do without being light-fingered.’

‘And it’ll work? Disrupt the signals, feed her false positives -’

‘Just – just worry about your job, okay?’ said Nallera, eyes a little wide as she fidgeted. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

Tiran, Cassidy, and Aryn had joined them as Nallera headed off. She still looked the part of Rosewood and Q’ira’s security, all muscle and practicality, but that had its own sheen of invisibility. It made her nothing but staff, the help. In here, attendants weren’t what mattered. The wealthy mattered.

Aryn drummed his fingers on his elbow as they waited and tried to not watch. ‘She’s subtler than she seems,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve seen her pull off harder sleights of hand than this. And, more importantly, not seen her.’

On impulse, Q’ira turned to Rosewood, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him like a puppet. ‘Let me fix your tie,’ she said, reaching to fiddle with the knot at his neck, and he was going to protest until he realised she’d repositioned him so he could stare in one direction without being expected to move or do anything. Conveniently, the same direction as Nallera.

He watched her prowl through the crowd, looking like she was doing a circuit to seek someone out or scope out the room, which was probably the best way to hide in plain sight. Aestri was on the far side of the room, her entourage around her, reading intently from a PADD, her other hand holding her bidding device. As Rosewood watched, Nallera adjusted her path to conduct what he’d expect to be a quick brush past them, only for Aestri’s security guards to watch her the whole way, forcing her to give them a wider berth.

‘They’re paranoid bastards,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe we should have done it.’

‘She already suspects us,’ Q’ira pointed out. ‘And she didn’t let us get close enough to plant it when we were talking.’

‘Damn it,’ Rosewood hissed as he saw Nallera pass them, pause, turn – and then one of Aestri’s security guards shifted to stare her down. ‘They’re not letting anyone near her.’

He watched Nallera have a stand-off with the guard which was, by now, all about covering her tracks rather than completing the mission, a staring match where the swagger was all in the eyes. She won, he fancied, sauntering off with the air of a jungle cat who had just made itself look bigger than the rival, but that didn’t get the mission done.

It also forced her to take a circuitousness way back to them, and there was no swagger in her eyes when she returned. ‘Shit.’

‘Shit indeed,’ said Rosewood, scowling. ‘They’re about to start.’

‘I know! I know, her guards wouldn’t let me close.’

Cassidy nodded at the row of chairs towards Nank and the dais. ‘They can’t crowd around her there. Not enough space. Can we get to her when she goes to sit?’

‘That’s a tight window,’ said Aryn.

‘Right,’ said Q’ira, extending a hand. ‘Give it to me. She already ignores me -’

‘You’re with me,’ said Rosewood. ‘You being anywhere else looks weird.’

‘Well, who else is going to -’

‘Give it here.’ Tiran snatched the device out of Nallera’s hand. ‘I’ll do it. Go sit, prep for the auction, and let me take care of her.’

Cassidy sucked his teeth. ‘Jessa -’

‘And if not, we raid her ship on the way out. It’s a good Plan B. But we won’t need it.’

As she headed off, Nallera gave a small, put-out frown. ‘I didn’t think she had me beat on sleight of hand.’

‘She may have you beaten on being unobtrusive, though,’ said Aryn, and looked to the others. ‘I’m going with you. We may have to figure out who any of the rival bidders are if they compete for the Regulator.’

‘You do know everything about everything,’ said Rosewood, sighing. ‘Right. On with the show. Trust Tiran. Let’s get this done.’

‘Places! The next round of bidding is to begin, with our delectable selection from the Deriot Range!’ The amplified voice of Nank, who hovered above them in the chamber, robes flapping in a way that only made Rosewood think even more of old horror movies, echoed all around.

Cassidy ground his teeth together. ‘I’m going to scope out her security. Figure out how best to kill them when the time comes.’

‘Great show of trust in Tiran,’ said Rosewood.

‘Even when she pulls it off, you have to beat everyone else,’ he pointed out. ‘Go do your job.’

On a whim, Rosewood stuck one arm out for Q’ira and the other out for Aryn, who stared at him for a beat before taking it. ‘Come along, eye candies,’ he said, nose in the air. ‘It’s time to pick up a new toy that bends space-time.’

His heart was thudding in his chest as they approached the seating. The crowd was a little different to those who’d bid on the art pieces the day before, with fewer opulently dressed socialites and more serious-faced professionals. The Andorian mercenaries were there this time, and the hard-nosed Romulan, while the Bolian was nowhere in sight.

‘Here we go,’ he breathed, sliding into the chair. Then, as Nank took to the stage, he saw movement on the far side of the seats, towards Aestri, and caught Tiran slipping through the crowd. Their eyes met for a beat, and all she did was give a small, nearly imperceptible nod.

His lips curled. ‘Alright. Showtime.’ Even if Tiran had done her part, it wasn’t over. Now, he had to do his.

There had been extravagant art, rare relics of fallen civilisations, and, just that morning, weapons caches that could transform a small, local war. But as the holographic display behind Nank shimmered to life to show the next object on the docket, the room grew silent. For some, it was confusion at the inauspicious appearance of this metal capsule. Others, boredom as the bidding reached esoteric objects of scientific curiosity they thought they could neither use nor easily sell. But for a select few, especially those seated in the curved chairs in the front rows, clutching the silver bidding devices, it was tension. Apprehension. Anticipation.

‘I’m a man of principles,’ said Nank, and it spoke of the tremendous power he held that nobody laughed. ‘If you don’t know what this latest exhibit is… then not only do you not deserve to have it. You’re not responsible enough to have it. Good folk of the galaxy, our next lot… the Kairos Regulator.’

In the hush of whispers, Aryn leaned over the back of the chair to murmur to Rosewood and Q’ira. ‘Doesn’t he want to tell people what it is? Won’t that make them more likely to buy it?’

‘Probably helps him keep faith with more exclusive collectors if he doesn’t encourage every random rubber-necker,’ Rosewood mused.

‘Also, some people will pay more for the mystery,’ said Q’ira.

Then it began.

Rosewood kept his posture relaxed, belying the thundering of his heart. A quick glance about the room confirmed Aestri in position, eyes locked on her device, cold and calculating and with no indication she thought anything was wrong. The cold fizz of anxiety crept into his chest – what if the device didn’t work? What if Tiran hadn’t succeeded? She’d given the signal, and he’d no reason to doubt her, the calmest and most professional of the team, but he’d not seen her anywhere near Aestri to plant their sabotaging trick.

But worrying about that was a distraction. Now, he had to do his job. Aryn stood over him, eyes sweeping the crowd nervously. Q’ira, in contrast, was stretched out beside him in the chair, making a big show of her disinterest as the man she’d been paraded around on the arm of bid on some esoteric, mysterious object.

Rosewood’s device hummed in his hand as the auction began, and he saw numbers already flow in on the screen of his rivals’ bids. He put in his own, sneaking over Aestri’s opening with little hesitation. Figures that made even his pampered Federation background – moneyless though it was – squeal in his head began to climb as competitors in the room tested each other, measuring, probing their resolve. And, as he watched, Aestri’s bids began to creep up by less and less effective increments, falling behind.

‘Her device is sending her bad info,’ Q’ira whispered to Rosewood as she pretended to brush imaginary dust off his shoulders. ‘She’s too slow, too low, but she thinks she’s ahead. Let her think that.’

He didn’t dare so much as nod. There was a long way to go, but he was ahead, competitors already beginning to fade away.

Then a new bid flashed on his screen that nearly made him choke. Behind him, Aryn did.

‘How much?’ the scientist gasped, leaning over.

‘Shut up,’ Rosewood hissed, but it was pointless to chastise such an open display of horror. If nothing else, a hushed whisper had spread across the room, and it was by the lack of reactions that he could spot the new bidder: a tall, thin man with slicked-back hair and a confident smirk who had just raised his device.

‘Who’s that?’ Rosewood muttered. ‘No edge, no sign of being a fighter, but he’s not spending his own money. That jacket’s expensive but not tailored.’ Everyone else here had some indication of pragmatic criminality, or oozed generations of wealth.

‘And you say I know about everything,’ Aryn muttered.

‘That’s Belaris.’ Q’ira had sat up, tone suddenly serious. ‘He’s a front for Ardent Holdings. Officially, he’s a high-class financial broker, but unofficially? A broker in the Federation for Ferengi gangs. He doesn’t care about the Regulator – he’s here to drive the price up. He’s not serious about keeping it.’

Rosewood frowned. ‘So he’s just trying to bait us into overbidding?’

She nodded. ‘If you bite too hard, he’ll walk away and leave you with an empty wallet.’

‘Do we care about that?’ Aryn wondered. ‘It’s not our wallet.’

‘I’m pushing our limits here,’ Rosewood hissed. ‘This goes much further and, unlike everyone else, we don’t have another account to funnel some cash in from and make up the difference later.’ His eyes settled on Belaris. ‘But we’ve got to try.’ His thumb flashed on a button to raise his bid, but a mere second later, Belaris exceeded him, and he hissed an oath.

‘If he buys it,’ said Q’ira, ‘he’ll sell it to the Ferengi. Not you. It’ll just shuffle around their internal economy. You’ve got to leave it a moment. Play it cool.’

‘Enough of this is about looking strong. Playing it cool sounds a lot like hesitating.’

Q’ira opened her mouth in protest, but it was Aryn who spoke, voice lower, calmer. ‘John, she knows these people. This isn’t a charity gala. This is the real thing.’

‘And what do you know?’ Rosewood muttered despite himself.

‘You said I know about everything. I know an expert when I see one.’

He caught Q’ira’s eyes flash up to Aryn, confused more than grateful, and Rosewood ground his teeth. ‘If nothing else,’ he accepted quietly, ‘I better not look too angry.’

And, with more bidders tentatively engaging Belaris and being thwarted in turn, he reached to the small table beside him and had a long, languid sip of his drink. ‘Oh well,’ he said, a little theatrically. ‘It would have made a nice toy.’ It wasn’t meant to be convincing. But Belaris had enough people to keep track of that it could help him slip from the man’s notice.

Q’ira’s eyes were on the screen. ‘Now. He’s pushed plenty and the others are dropping off. Put in a good bid and he won’t want to go further, or he’ll scare everyone off.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Rosewood mumbled. And bid.

A moment passed. Then another. His bid shone at the top of the list, bright and highest and uncontested. Across the room, Belaris’s eyes settled on him – then the tall man gave a deep incline of the head, and moved no further.

‘Going once!’ came Nank’s voice.

Had he not been keeping one eye out, he wouldn’t have noticed Aestri’s reaction. Now her head snapped up, looking away from her device – which likely told her she was winning, only for Nank’s eyes, everyone else’s eyes, to have landed on Rosewood. The Orion woman’s mask finally broke, no emotion on her face, but her movements became quicker, frantic as she bent over her device.

‘She’s catching on,’ muttered Q’ira.

‘Too late, surely?’ said Aryn.

‘But if she just throws a massive bid up there and bets it’s big enough to dwarf us…’

A new figure appeared behind them, and Rosewood’s heart swelled as he heard the low, satisfied voice of Nallera. ‘Lights out,’ she mumbled, thumb on her PADD.

And as Aestri bent over her device, fingers tapping intently to command another bid, Rosewood looked at his own screen and saw absolutely nothing happen.

‘Sold!’ Nank yelled, clawed finger extending to Rosewood, and the room erupted. Eye-watering amounts of money had just been put forth, contested, thrown around, and most of the people putting up such figures likely had no idea what the Kairos Regulator really was, could really do. Now they clapped and laughed, and Rosewood’s gut would have sickened with the reminder that, for them, the buying and selling of objects that could bring misery to thousands was sport more than business.

But he couldn’t feel too bad. They’d won. The Kairos Regulator was theirs.

Q’ira tossed her hair back, any tension gone as she stuck her nose in the air. ‘Told you,’ she said, voice dropping as if she’d not worried one jot. ‘You just have to know the players.’

Across the room, Aestri stormed out, face expressionless as her guards flanked her. Belaris had also disappeared into the shadows, and Rosewood didn’t know if he was off to lick his wounds or congratulate himself on a job well done.

Rosewood looked up at Nallera. ‘Nice work. She didn’t figure out there was a problem until the end.’

Nallera beamed. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ Then she hesitated. ‘What, uh, if she complains to Nank?’

‘They won’t re-do the auction, surely,’ said Aryn. ‘And surely there are loads of people here who might sabotage her? She showed herself a big fish earlier.’

‘We’re winners. We’ll still be suspicious,’ Rosewood murmured. ‘That doesn’t matter unless Nank comes for us.’

‘The thing about cheating at these events,’ said Q’ira, examining her nails with what he was finally starting to believe was affected indifference, ‘is that it’s only unacceptable if you get caught. Then you’re a loser who’s ruining the fun. If she complains after getting beaten, then she’s just a sore loser who didn’t have the lobes.’

‘Nice work,’ said Cassidy as he arrived, Tiran beside him. ‘But if we’re done, I don’t care how suspicious it looks – let’s collect the Regulator and get the hell out of here.’

Rosewood still had to look at Tiran, eyebrows raised. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Some day,’ said Tiran, ‘when you’re all grown-up in this line of work, I’ll tell you.’

‘We can pat ourselves on the back later,’ Cassidy said more brusquely. ‘I meant what I said. Let’s get the goods and go. We overplay our luck and they won’t be forgiving anyone for “not having the lobes.” They’ll rip ours off our head. Just for starters.’

‘It’s hard,’ sighed Rosewood, falling into step with the rest of the Rooks, Q’ira still draped on his arm to maintain appearances. ‘Being a winner.’

Nank’s domain on Ilior was limited to his single island. While it boasted the grand halls and gardens and bars, and was more than enough for hosting his auction, it was merely one part of the wider network of interconnected islands that made up this archipelago resort. These other islands brimmed with bars and clubs, entertainment venues and sea-front comforts. Owned by other Ferengi, each was rich in its own style and aesthetic, with one overriding principle: more was more.

The Rooks had picked up the Kairos Regulator from a secure facility on Nank’s island outside of the main halls. Here, they’d been allowed to bring their weapons and armaments from the Diamond Dust, though had been under the close observation of the large and professionally equipped security team. Any hint of threat on Nank’s property would be dealt with efficiently. Once they left the island, potentially at risk of someone jumping them for their goods, they were on their own. They’d landed initially near Nank’s resort, but then the Dust had been relocated to the docking pads on outer islands, out of the way, giving them a long walk back.

The setting sun cast the streets and bridges of the wider resort in a soft light. It was the quietest point of the day, when the indulgences of the day’s activities were winding down, but before the decadent night-life could stir. Each island was like its own, distinct pocket of paradise, and as they crossed a bridge into the latest, they found bars and restaurants only just beginning to stir with the hint of the evening’s exuberance to come.

The Kairos Regulator felt heavier under Rosewood’s arm than he thought it was. He wasn’t sure why Cassidy had given him the capsule, but Tiran was already ahead, filtering in with what little crowd there was, and Nallera watching their back. Q’ira led the main group alongside Cassidy, winding through the streets like she’d walked them a thousand times, out of her ostentatious dress from the auction and in much more practical garb.

‘You know,’ Rosewood mused to Aryn, leaning in and dropping his voice, ‘when I first tried to get her on board with the mission – involve her, see if she had expertise to give – she brushed me off. But she really does know her stuff, huh?’

Aryn pursed his lips. ‘I think she obfuscates her own knowledge,’ he said in a careful, diplomatic tone. ‘But you and Cassidy had her written off the moment you met her. I thought you’d be more astute about someone playing dumb.’ It was hard to tell if that was analysis or insult.

As if knowing she was being talked about, Q’ira glanced back at them and gave a sunnier smile than Rosewood fancied he’d seen off her while she’d been sharing cultivated, careful looks back at Nank’s. It died almost at once as she saw something behind them, and her lips moved.

‘Incoming!’

That was Cassidy, who moved in a flash to tackle Q’ira out of the pedestrian street and into the shadows of the columns of the covered walkway by the bars. Even with the warning, the shout, the move, disruptor fire filled the air before Rosewood had the chance to react, bolts of red searing through the golden light of the setting sun.

A cobblestone in front of him exploded, and then Rosewood was diving, too, lunging behind cover. Aryn skidded behind a table beside him, he was distantly aware of Nallera hitting shelter, and only now could Rosewood stick his head out, take stock.

Shadows down the street behind them moved, brandishing weapons and advancing, and he caught a flash of cyan skin, heavy rifles, professional gear. He’d seen it before, that particular model of armour, those particular faces. They’d flanked Aestri in the auction. And they’d brought friends.

‘That was inevitable!’ Rosewood groaned, drawing his pistol and letting off a few blasts. If Q’ira hadn’t looked back, spotted them, given Cassidy a warning, they’d have been sniped. Sheer fortune had given them this window.

Cassidy had rushed back down the columns to them, and was already grabbing Aryn by the elbow. ‘Move!’ he barked, snapping off shots towards Aestri’s gang. ‘There’s more of them, and they’re flooding forward. Break for the bridge; we’ll funnel them.’

‘Covering you!’ Nallera yelled from across the road, leaning around with her rifle to let off a spray of fire.

Rosewood didn’t argue, breaking into a run as Cassidy’s plan took shape, the canister of the Regulator heavy under his arm. They were heading for one of the many bridges crisscrossing between the islands, a long expanse over crystal clear water decorated with columns and railings that could offer, perhaps, some cover. It could bottleneck the enemies, or it could expose the Rooks. But that was better than being surrounded and dying.

More disruptor fire exploded around them, shattering masonry, scoring against metal signs, searing through tables and chairs scattered before the bars. Distant shouts and screams from locals promised fear and chaos and, perhaps, the response of someone’s private security, but it was the quietest part of the day. Everyone else could hide. Nobody was coming to save them.

Cassidy reached the bridge first, skidding to take a knee by one of the marble columns at the entrance, his hand a blur as he snapped off shots with his phaser. ‘Chief, stay with me! Hold this end!’ He met Rosewood’s eye. ‘Don’t let them get the package.’

Tiran was halfway across the bridge already, knelt and ready and shooting back the way they’d come. She waved a hand to summon the others, offering cover. Rosewood ushered Q’ira forward and followed onto the bridge, moving from column to column. Across the bridge was another street, this one full of high-end boutiques also quieter at this time of day, but beyond that island was the docking district, and the Dust.

They took up position near Tiran, who nodded and pressed on to clear their exit as Rosewood, Aryn, and Q’ira turned back to cover the withdrawal of Cassidy and Nallera. Rosewood’s eyes fell on Q’ira, who’d drawn a tidy little hold-out disruptor that looked more fashion accessory than weapon, but she wielded it with more accuracy than he’d expected.

‘Company!’ Tiran called, and Rosewood’s heart sank as he looked to their escape route to see figures advancing on the street ahead. They were being outflanked.

‘Chief!’ Cassidy’s voice sounded like it came with an implicit instruction, and as Rosewood’s head snapped around, Nallera turned away from the attackers behind them, eyes scanning the streets and the open expanse between islands. Then her eyes landed on seemingly nothing, and she shot at something on the bridge itself.

A shower of sparks erupted from the power box as she hit it, then the overhead lights on the bridge went out. There were shouts of surprise and confusion from the Syndicate, then Cassidy yelled for the Rooks to advance, and they moved.

They were just shadows in gloom, now, the setting sun casting more silhouettes and shades than gold. Rosewood ran, letting Tiran and Aryn go a little ahead, guilt twisting his gut as he held the Regulator close, knowing he had to protect it, not his team. Shouts and thumps echoed from behind him, and when he saw Cassidy and Nallera follow, he had his arm slung under the Chief, helping her run. She clutched her side from a blast wound.

But the Syndicate behind them were hesitant to follow across the narrow bridge, and the ones ahead thinned in number as the Rooks blasted their way through. They were on the far side of the bridge before another shadow emerged on the street, and in the light of the shattered clothing boutiques, Rosewood saw the sharp features of Aestri, flanked by a single guard.

Before she could speak, his phaser snapped up and took the guard out in an instant. ‘Sorry, darling,’ Rosewood drawled. ‘No resales.’

Aestri looked at her fallen compatriot. Then at the Rooks, a battered cluster at the mouth of the bridge. The shooting had stopped, and yet she held her ground, her shadow monstrously long in the setting sun. Her team seemed beaten, driven off or defeated, and yet she was undaunted, looming taller and taller.

‘What the fuck –’

It was only when Q’ira hissed in wavering terror that Rosewood realised the warping shadow wasn’t a trick of the light or nerves. Aestri really was getting taller.

She was metres away, but when her right hand lashed out, it stretched – and stretched – and stretched. Impossibly long and impossibly fast, this arm, this appendage, this tentacle lashed out, crashing into the Rooks.

Rosewood felt the crack of the impact, the Regulator knocked from his arms as he was sent flying. He hit the cobblestones hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Beside him, Tiran landed, rolled – then teetered off the edge of the pavement to fall the long way down into the water below.

His head hit the pavement and the world span. Screaming. Shooting. Thudding.

Move. Move!

Rolling onto his front, Rosewood looked up to see the Rooks in disarray in the face of a monster. The same long tentacle had wrapped around Nallera, lifting her bodily from the ground before smashing her into a wall. Cassidy was shooting, swearing, shouting, the shots thudding into the body of Aestri, but the Orion kept moving.

No. Not an Orion. Her body shimmered and shifted, growing to monstrous proportions, looming over them. The still form of Nallera was dropped, the swipe of another trunk-like arm took Cassidy out, and the air filled with the sound of Q’ira’s terrified screaming as Aestri rounded on them.

‘She’s a fucking Changeling!’ Or that was what Rosewood thought he’d said. In truth, he was probably screaming, too.

Q’ira, who’d touted her hold-out disruptor and held her cool in the rolling ruck, dived behind a column to clutch her head and bend double and cower. He couldn’t blame her as he tried to find his phaser, not because he was brave, but because he had no choice.

The Changeling that had been Aestri rounded on him, its body half Orion, half monster. The elongated limbs snaked out, wrapping around his ankles, dragging him forward. His hand snapped out for his fallen phaser, but fell short. Cassidy was unmoving, Nallera was unmoving, Tiran hadn’t clambered back up, and Aryn had likely shared her fate. It was just him, being dragged across the cobblestones towards this monster.

Now he was definitely screaming.

The mouth was more like a maw as the Changeling pinned him down, looming over him. It formed words, but the shapes held every promise of evisceration, destruction.

‘Where. Is. It?’

That was an excellent question, Rosewood thought. Then Aestri exploded.

Searing heat rushed over him, the earth-shattering boom, then a warm wetness. Then stillness, broken only by a sound like a brief shower of rain, as the droplets of what had, only a heartbeat earlier, been a Changeling fell upon the street. And before him, canister of the Kairos Regulator clutched under one arm, stood Aryn.

Rosewood gaped, fighting for breath, fighting for sense. ‘What – what did you do?

Aryn was a state, covered in the remains of the Changeling, his chest heaving. ‘I – ah – one of the Chief’s charges. Contained detonation. Forced inside Aestri’s cavity before exploding.’

‘You -’ Rosewood’s eyes snapped from him to the four metres away, where Nallera weakly clambered to her feet. Aryn had been nowhere in sight when the Changeling had grabbed his ankle, and programming a photon grenade like that would take precious seconds there was no way he’d had.

Nallera had made similar calculations, but was recovering her wits faster than Rosewood. Her eyes flickered from her equipment belt to the canister under Aryn’s arm, the Kairos Regulator, a device designed to bend local space-time to suit its user. ‘Holy shit. It works?’

Aryn gave a small, hysterical laugh, wiping Changeling remains off his face. ‘…it works.’

‘Sound off!’ That was Cassidy, groaning as he got to his feet. ‘Jessa?’

‘Here!’ grumbled Tiran, dragging herself over a railing and back onto the pavement, sopping wet.

‘Present,’ and ‘Intact,’ came the mumbling affirmations from Aryn and Nallera that they’d survived.

‘Where’s that damn girl?’ Cassidy growled, looking around until he saw Q’ira pop her head out from behind a column. His eyes glinted as he checked her over, and he gave a curt nod. ‘Good. All alive. We can negotiate the rest later…’ But his voice trailed off as he finally noted an absence, eyes landing on Rosewood, still sprawled on the road. ‘Kid. You with us?’

His heart hadn’t stopped thundering and adrenaline hadn’t stopped surging, the end of the fight not ending his body’s shift to survival mode. Eyes still locked on the space where Aestri had been, where the Changeling had been, Rosewood had to swallow a bitter taste in his mouth as he nodded.

‘Here,’ he croaked. Then, ‘I thought they were all gone.’

The Diamond Dust’s thrusters roared as they burst to life, and Aryn’s heart felt a little lighter as the ship surged upward, away from the landing platform and up towards the dying sun of Ilior. But they were not free yet, and he couldn’t breathe completely clearly. ‘Do you think they’ll follow?’

Cassidy leaned over the hologram at the helm controls, face like granite. ‘Their leader just blew up. Whether they knew she was a Changeling or not – or even if they just found out – that’s gonna be a setback. The only good news is this makes it less likely she’s got a trusted lieutenant to pick up the pieces.’

Q’ira was hunched up in the command chair, knees under her chin. Glamour and confidence had given her an aura and presence, but now she looked small and scared, ordinary. ‘I thought they were gone,’ she whispered. ‘I know it came out they were back, but they were meant to be gone again.’

‘Yeah,’ said Cassidy, jaw tight, eyes on the canopy as the Dust rose higher and higher. ‘They were.’ At last, he turned to Aryn, looking him up and down. ‘You better get that thing safe.’

The Regulator had felt heavy in his arms when he’d first lifted it. But since then, his grip on the device had been so iron-tight he’d not dared even think about letting it go, and it felt now as if it were fused into him. Aryn stared down at it and blinked. ‘It’s safe here,’ he said after a beat.

Tiran, still holding the towel she’d dried herself with the moment they boarded, turned. ‘I can take it to one of the lockers, secure it -’

‘No,’ Aryn blurted. ‘And that’s no disrespect to you, Q’ira. I just… I’ve got it. It’s okay.’ He wasn’t sure why that instinct kicked in, but they were already aboard the Dust. A locker wasn’t going to keep it safer, and if they were followed, boarded, he wanted to have the device close to hand if he was going to protect it.

‘This is so fucked,’ said Nallera after a beat. The deck of the Dust was starting to rumble less, the atmospheric turbulence fading as they rose higher and higher. ‘I thought we were dealing with a crime lord. Not a fucking Changeling.’

‘They ran,’ Cassidy surmised, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to them. ‘They got beat at Frontier Day, then we uprooted them, so they ran to the fringes. Probably spent a load of the last twenty years infiltrating here, anyway.’

Tiran’s brow furrowed. ‘Do you think there could be more of them?’

‘That’d be just our luck,’ grumbled Nallera. ‘Us finding the only Changeling left running around the galaxy? What would they want with that thing, anyway?’ She waved a hand at Aryn and the device.

‘Maybe it really did intend on selling it to Klingons,’ said Aryn with a shrug. ‘They could make a fortune with that.’

‘It already had a fortune,’ Cassidy pointed out. ‘Regardless, it’s dead. We gotta get back to Kalviris, drop off the Dust and the girl. Then rendezvous with the Blackbird and we’re done.’

‘We’re done when we hand that over,’ Tiran said, nodding at the device again.

Q’ira, who hadn’t reacted to Cassidy’s near-dismissal as he referred to her as ‘the girl,’ raised her head an inch. ‘It won’t be a long trip back to Kalviris,’ she said quietly.

Aryn looked at her – then frowned as he realised something. ‘Where’s Rosewood?’

Cassidy harrumphed. ‘Went to his room. Think the fight took it out of him.’ It was almost surprising to hear no hint of scathing judgement.

Nallera winced. ‘Should someone go see him?’

‘You should get checked out in the medbay,’ said Cassidy, pointing at her. ‘Come on, let’s patch up your ribs.’

Tiran straightened. ‘I’ll get on the comms to the Blackbird. They should still be at SB-38; if they leave now, they can meet us at Kalviris the moment we get there.’

The three left, leaving Aryn stood on the deck beside Q’ira and the holograms, the device still heavy in his arms. He looked down at her, suddenly awkward, the adrenaline wearing off enough to leave him very tired. ‘Are you okay?’ he managed to say at last.

She looked up at him, bright eyes wide, empty, scared. But when she drew a breath, it was as if strength came in, too, and a heartbeat later, she was taller, poised, controlled. ‘I won’t say it’s just a day in the life,’ Q’ira drawled as she gathered herself. ‘But I’ve had worse days.’

Aryn swallowed. ‘I’m not sure I have.’

Rosewood had gone back to his quarters with the intention of drowning himself in the shower to clean off the remains of Changeling covering his clothes and body. Once he’d arrived, though, he’d just sat down on the bed and stared into space. The Dust’s deck had hummed underneath as they’d departed the luxurious moon of Ilior, and through the viewport he could see azure seas and golden skies fading beneath as they rose, rose, rose into darkness.

And still he sat there. And still he stared.

When there was a knock at the door, he jolted upright, and winced as he realised he not only looked a state, but had clearly done nothing about it in the half-hour he’d been shut in here. ‘Who is it?’

‘Tiran.’

That was unexpected. He’d figured literally any of the Rooks, or even Q’ira, would be more likely to see him. It wasn’t that Tiran was uncaring – Cassidy still took the lead on that – but she seemed the most professional, and the least likely to pry. He took a moment to at least grab a towel and wipe his face before he opened the doors.

She stepped in and made sure of privacy before she said a word, her eyes level as she watched him. ‘You didn’t have a single quip to make, which means you’re not okay, and none of the others are remotely capable of helping you.’

He froze, not expecting this sort of frontal assault. But a heartbeat later, his deflectors had risen, and he laughed. ‘And you are?’

‘Maybe not,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But I see your bullshit deflections for what they are. Like that laugh and question. You were nearly ripped limb-from-limb by a Changeling. It’s okay to be terrified. Even in the Rooks.’

Rosewood turned away and tossed the dirty towel to one side. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means I know we put up a facade of being unfazed by anything. You understand that’s a coping mechanism, yes?’

‘Or possibly a sign that Cassidy’s dead inside.’

‘I’m not going to defend Hal to you. Not here and now. But he understands death. They all do. And we don’t think any less of you for blinking when facing it.’

He rounded on her, embers that he’d tried to cover up for months beginning to gleam inside him anew. ‘You thought I froze back there? Panicked? You didn’t see me – that thing bested you -’

‘We put up the facade to get through the crisis,’ Tiran pressed, undaunted. ‘But that facade is useless if you don’t process it after. In whatever way it takes to handle that fear.’

Gleams turned to sparks. ‘I’m not afraid.’

‘You -’

‘It was a fucking Changeling!’ The words exploded from him unbidden, and he jabbed an accusing finger towards the deck, as if he could single out the smears on the pavements of Ilior where the entity that had been called Aestri had been spread. ‘Those – those things infiltrated Starfleet, corrupted our people, set the devil itself on us! I’m not afraid, I’m fucking furious!’

Tiran’s eyes narrowed. As he fell to silence, chest heaving, her head tilted an inch. ‘What did they do?’

‘Were you under a rock this past -’

‘To you, John. What did they do to you?’

As quickly as the flames had been fanned by rage and indignation, helplessness and loss came pouring in like cold water. Rosewood turned away again, stalking to the viewport and peering at the fading upper atmosphere of the moon of Ilior. It would be best to deflect. She could see through it all she liked. That couldn’t force his hand.

‘The official report stated my father was killed on Frontier Day by junior officers aboard Starbase One,’ he found himself saying instead. ‘In actuality, he was found trying to escape Starbase One when the shooting started. Through a vent. Because he was a Changeling. Security killed him – it.’ The words came from deep inside him, thoughts and memories he’d been convinced he’d locked away tightly but now escaped, sliding through the cracks in the vaults of his horror.

‘He was one of the infiltrators,’ Tiran surmised after a beat. Then, ‘Do you know for how long?’

‘No.’ Rosewood’s voice shook and his shoulders hunched. ‘I spoke to him regularly in the months leading up to it. The unit was embroiled in messy politics, politics where I listened to him, took his advice. I stirred up conflict between senior officers because I thought it was the right thing to do, and in part because of him. And I saw him at Christmas. It was nice. I don’t know who the fuck I sat down to dinner with, though.’

‘It could have been months.’ Her voice was hushed, awed. ‘Years?’

‘Yeah.’ Now he turned, sharper. ‘I have no idea when I last saw my father. I assume he’s dead; he wasn’t found with any of the others. If it took his place long enough ago, eventually they’re not going to need the man himself…’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and while he thought she was sincere, he could almost feel himself being managed. The others might have let him deflect, he thought, but it had a higher chance of feeling like a sincere connection. Tiran was here to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem for the unit, and that was it.

And yet, he’d opened up. Explained something to her he’d not revealed to anyone since he’d found out; not his friends, not his colleagues, not even his mother. Rosewood swallowed, and despite himself, felt a little better. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘But that’s why I needed a minute. It wasn’t fear.’

She hesitated. ‘It’s a lot, when something you take so fundamentally for granted – like a parent, like your trust in them – is taken away. It attacks the core of who you are. Finding your balance again afterwards is… it’s difficult.’ Another pause. ‘I recommend not doing it alone.’

‘Sure,’ said Rosewood, feeling his shields raise again despite himself. That was quite enough outreach for one day. ‘But first, I’m gonna have a shower.’

Her lips curled. ‘Doing what you can to feel less like crap is also good. I’ll let you get some rest. Good work today.’

Even with that smattering of human contact, even after unburdening himself of secrets he’d kept locked up so tightly, it took being halfway through drowning himself in the shower before John Rosewood felt like something approaching human again. He wasn’t sure how long it would last.

Returning to the nightclub Redoubt was like diving into an ocean of heaving bodies, light roiling into shadow, and thudding bass. After the last few days, Aryn had less appetite for this feast for the senses than he’d had on their first visit, and kept himself in the middle of the cluster of the Rooks and Q’ira, grip tight on his case holding the Kairos Regulator. With Blackbird not due at Kalviris Prime for several hours, they’d weighed up their next step once the Dust landed before Tiran pressed that they stick together.

That only extended as far as getting inside the building. ‘Wait here!’ Cassidy called as the six of them reached the bar beside the dance floor. ‘I’ll go up and explain to Torrad-Var what’s happened. See if he can set us up a place to lie low for a few hours.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Tiran. ‘Like you said – he likes me.’ She turned to Aryn and extended a hand. ‘I’ll take the package. This isn’t a secure place.’

Aryn hesitated, eyes sweeping around the pulsing crowd. For every bouncer or guard keeping security was some mercenary or bruiser blowing off steam in the dance club. While an open firefight would likely be suppressed, this was the kind of establishment where a little trouble was to be expected.

Rosewood leaned in. ‘Last thing we need is to trip at this hurdle.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Aryn, and handed the case over to Tiran. He turned to Q’ira, the already cacophonous noise of the nightclub somehow more smothering. Perhaps, if he opened his mouth to speak, something might happen. It did not.

She gave him a small smile, the like of which he wanted to believe he’d not seen her throw around while manipulating everyone on Ilior. ‘Keep on educating, Professor. I’ll see you around.’

‘I doubt it,’ Aryn blurted. ‘There’s no reason for us to come back here.’

‘There isn’t. It’s just what you say,’ Q’ira agreed. She stepped in and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, and then she was gone, joining Cassidy and Tiran as they headed for the stairway to Torrad-Var’s office.

‘Oooh,’ cooed Nallera, cupping a hand around her mouth as the three remaining Rooks turned to the bar. ‘Aryn’s found a hot Orion.’

‘We’ll never see her again,’ Rosewood said, sharp and dismissive as he leaned against the bar. ‘She’d say anything to keep herself amused.’

Aryn looked at him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the complete absence of the aura of sarcasm that had been wrapped around John Rosewood since he’d met him. But it was not merely concern for his colleague’s state of mind that stopped him from disagreeing. ‘He’s right,’ Aryn sighed. ‘I don’t think she’s the pretty fool she pretended to be. I do think she liked toying with people. Like you say, John. I’m an easy mark.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Rosewood, gesturing towards the bartender for a drink. ‘We all are. Can’t see a lie when it’s staring us in the face. Not if we don’t want to see it.’

‘You did good, Q’ira. You always do.’ Torrad-Var gave a level nod as he looked across at her, Cassidy, and Tiran. The low hum of music from the main nightclub thrummed through the floor, a steady pulse beneath the private office. Through the open wall overlooking the dance floor, shielded by the invisible forcefield, the shimmering nightclub lights kaleidoscoped through this sanctum, casting shadows and colour across the wall.

Q’ira smiled, leaning back in the seat beside him she’d taken the moment they arrived. ‘It’s good to be back.’ She nodded towards the Rooks. ‘You were right to help them. They did well. The job’s done.’

Cassidy leaned forward at that, jaw tight. ‘Can’t pretend I knew Aestri was a Changeling,’ he admitted. ‘Looks like she had everyone fooled.’ There were horrific implications for this development. One advantage he could see, however, was the doubt this could sow among members of the Orion Syndicate. If Torrad-Var wanted to protect the organisation, it would need purging. That suited Cassidy just fine.

‘She was always a wildcard,’ Torrad-Var sighed. ‘But this is something else. Didn’t see that coming.’

‘This one won’t be a problem. We killed it on Ilior. But there’s no telling what it did. What its plans were. How many of them there are.’

Torrad-Var’s eyes hardened. ‘I bet you’re offering to help clean house.’

It was a worthwhile reminder the Orion was neither foolish nor naïve. Cassidy gave a humourless smile. ‘Last thing you need is to throw your lot in with us more,’ he accepted. ‘But you know we can do business.’

‘You’re right,’ said Torrad-Var. ‘That is the last thing I need.’ He turned to Tiran, then looked at the case beside her. ‘Hear you spent a pretty penny on that. That’s a hell of a tarnishing of your fancy Starfleet morals. Stars know what Nank’s going to do with that sort of additional funding. I hear he likes to placate Breen slavers.’

‘And I heard he’ll throw his weight behind his favourite Klingon House to destabilise the Empire any day now,’ drawled Tiran before Cassidy could summon a retort. ‘Or even to cherry-pick his favourite for the next Pirate Queen. Amazing, the reputation that little rat has.’

Torrad-Var laughed as his effort to get under Starfleet skin was deflected, and looked up to one of the three security guards by the door. ‘Go find T’Mell. Tell him to get my friends here an office upstairs while they wait for pickup. Somewhere quiet and secure.’

He looked back at Tiran as the one guard left and stood, dusting off his hands. ‘You never did play your boss’s bullshit games, Tiran. I was wondering if you’d gone off me when you didn’t come along last time.’

The Rooks stood, too, and Cassidy was shaking his head wryly as he looked at Tiran. Her expression was oddly humourless. He stopped short.

‘I had my reasons,’ said Tiran.

When her hand flashed out, he reacted on instinct, squaring up like she’d identified a threat – and the closest possible enemy was Torrad-Var. But when he rounded on the burly Orion, he found he hadn’t moved.

Then the nightmare began again.

For a moment, he thought Tiran had drawn a knife, even though they’d been patted down and stripped of weapons before coming in. It was still more logical than the reality; her hand hadn’t drawn a knife, but had become one. In an instant, her arm shimmered into a long blade that slashed across Torrad-Var’s throat, spraying blood across the chairs and floor.

‘What the hell –’

As he reeled, Tiran turned. Except it wasn’t Tiran any more, the body warping and shifting as Aestri’s had, transforming into rippling crimson liquid. The two security guards shouted and lunged forward, but in an instant she was reaching out, a solid, sharp spear erupting from her and at them.

‘Torrad!’ Q’ira was shrieking, leaping to the fallen body of the Orion. That was enough to rattle the chains of horrified confusion that had settled around Cassidy, and he leapt forward. Not at the Changeling-that-had-been-Tiran, but the case beside it holding the Kairos Regulator.

Taking a split-second to kill the guards slowed its reaction a micron. A shimmering, crimson limb lashed out, crashing into both him and the case. He was knocked down beside the corpses of the slain security guards while the case skidded away, across the floor and towards the bar on the far side of the office, out of his reach.

The Changeling – another Changeling – rounded on him just as there was a hammering at the door, more of Torrad-Var’s armed guards rushing in response to the shouts. And in an instant, the towering monster was gone. Cassidy thought he caught a glimpse of something small, sleek, liquid-like darting towards the ventilation shaft, but then four more of Torrad-Var’s men were in the office, stood over the corpses of their colleagues and leader.

Cassidy had met T’Mell before, the half-Vulcan who’d served as Torrad-Var’s right-hand man for years and now looked frozen in place at the sight of butchery before them.

‘You…’

Q’ira was bent over Torrad-Var’s corpse, and her head lifted, panicked and horrified. ‘T’Mell – no, no, it wasn’t Starfleet -’

None of it would perfectly add up. One of them was missing. They’d come in without weapons. But Q’ira was knelt over Torrad-Var’s corpse, a broken, blood-soaked bottle beside her. Cassidy, picking himself up, was likewise stained with the blood of the guards the Changeling had slain. It didn’t need to add up perfectly for T’Mell to draw his disruptor.

‘I hope,’ T’Mell snarled, loathing in his voice as he stared down Q’ira, ‘what they paid you was worth it.’

Cassidy had hoped he could avoid a fight. Experience, however, was why he’d picked up both disruptors from the two slain guards. Experience was why he acted first, spraying blasts at the door in a wild enough spray to make T’Mell and the others dive to one side.

‘No!’ shrieked Q’ira.

‘Move!’ Cassidy yelled instead, diving towards her and shooting at a panel on the wall that could offer them their only chance of getting out of the office alive.

It wasn’t a good chance.

‘Women, you know?’ Nallera sighed, slinging back a shot. ‘You don’t need ‘em, Mac.’

‘She’s right,’ groaned Rosewood. ‘Nothing but trouble.’

Aryn ground his teeth, turning away from the drinks and bar and towards the main dance floor. ‘Like you said.’ His voice was low, flat, irritated after the last ten minutes of inconsolable whining from his colleagues. ‘I’m never going to see her again.’

Then Q’ira and Cassidy came flying through the open front of Torrad-Var’s office, soaring through the air to crash into the none-too-soft landing of the dance floor. And a second later, hell broke loose as the guards arrived.

As one, the three Rooks rushed forwards, shoving people out of the way to join their team leader. That served double-duty of getting them out of the immediate line of sight of Torrad-Var’s security, who’d rounded on them within seconds, but now the air was full of screaming and confusion enough to cloud any line of sight.

Cassidy was on his feet already, hauling up Q’ira beside him. Aryn had never seen him so pale, and didn’t think it was a trick of the nightclub lighting. ‘We gotta go!’ he roared. ‘Now!’

Nallera looked around wildly. ‘Where’s Tiran?’

‘Where’s the Regulator?’ demanded Aryn.

‘Go!’ yelled Cassidy, and turned to let off several shots with his disruptor pistols through the crowd and towards the oncoming guards of Torrad-Var.

Aryn had been right in his assessment of the dangers of Redoubt, because while the guards were serious and armed, they were not the only ones. The customers at this nightclub were not the sort to take this kind of threat to their security lightly – but it was also impossible, with rushing guards and blazing disruptor fire and a small knot of five determined targets, to know exactly where the threat was coming from. Cassidy must have known that, his shooting more indiscriminate than Aryn had grown to expect.

Moments ago, the dance floor had been a swell of emotions, heaving bodies, passion and release. Now it was a surging riot of panic and blood.

It was the perfect cover for escape. Almost. There was more shooting as they ran. More bodies, Torrad-Var’s people and bystanders in their way, in the guards’ way. Redoubt was huge, which meant more chaos. It also meant multiple exits, and Aryn could only mindlessly follow in the confounded flight, his phaser in hand, shooting anyone who so much as looked at them like a threat.

When they burst out back into the streets of Kalviris, it was not through the main entrance. It also didn’t stop them from running, Cassidy’s feet pounding on the walkway and leading them down one street, then across for one turn, then another, and another. They were down a narrow alleyway three blocks from Redoubt before he let them stop.

When he let go of Q’ira, she fell to her knees beside him, shaking and sobbing as Cassidy slumped against the wall, head in his hands. Nallera hunkered by the shadow of the mouth of the alleyway, checking behind them.

It was Rosewood who spoke first, breathlessly rounding on Cassidy. ‘That little weasel Torrad-Var backstabbed us -’

‘No,’ sobbed Q’ira. ‘No, he didn’t, it wasn’t him…’

‘Then what the hell happened?’ Rosewood thundered, eyes still on Cassidy. ‘Where’s Tiran? Where’s the Regulator? What did you do?’ Panic and confusion had him taking a step forward, firing questions like they were in an interrogation room.

Cassidy burst forward, grabbing Rosewood by the jacket. ‘Tiran was a fucking Changeling, too!’ he snarled. ‘Torrad-Var’s dead! The Regulator’s still in there! What did I do? Stop us all from getting fucking killed!’

Of course, thought Aryn as Cassidy shoved Rosewood away, all of the Rooks falling into a horrified silence broken by the sobbing of Q’ira, the distant shouting from the Redoubt, and the hum of the sleepless city of Kalviris. He could feel a fine mist beginning to drizzle down from the starless, night-clad sky. Of course it’s started raining.

‘That’s crazy.’ Nallera was the first to break the silence, voice shaking as she stood in the mouth of the alleyway and stared at Cassidy. ‘What do you mean, Jessa’s a Changeling?’

‘I mean, she transformed,’ Cassidy growled, fists clenched. ‘And killed Torrad-Var. So now they think we killed him.’

‘But…’ Nallera worked her jaw. ‘For how long? Since when? Was she always a Changeling -’

‘I don’t fucking know,’ Cassidy spat. ‘But I know we’re dead if we stay here. The Syndicate will be looking for us.’

Rosewood knew he should feel worse. But it was as if whatever sickness that had settled in him when he’d seen Aestri transform had not exactly left, but frozen solid. There was no time for emotions. That would get them killed. ‘You have to know somewhere to lie low,’ he said to Cassidy.

‘Everywhere I know on this planet is linked to Var.’

Aryn turned to the shivering, crumpled shape of Q’ira and knelt beside her. His hands hovered in the air for a moment, clearly unsure if he should reach out, if he could help. Do anything. ‘There has to be somewhere we can go,’ he said to her. ‘Where can we go?’

She looked up at him, cheeks tear-stained. ‘He can’t be gone.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ growled Cassidy. ‘I should have left her there.’

Aryn shot to his feet, scowling. ‘What about the Dust? Get there, leave the planet -’

‘They think she sold out to us. They’ll watch her ship, Aryn; don’t be an idiot. The stupid girl isn’t going to save us.’

‘She’s not a stupid -’

‘Is now the time you want to try me, boy?’ Cassidy snarled, and it was Aryn he rounded on this time.

‘Hey!’ Rosewood’s hands snapped up. ‘You were right, Boss. We’ve got to move.’ He’d never called Cassidy that before, and hadn’t thought twice before saying it now. He had no idea what was going on or how they’d get out of it, but one thing was clear: they’d only survive as a team.

That shut them both up, and he turned to pull Q’ira to her feet, gentle but firm. Hand under her chin, he turned her head to face him, look him in the eye. ‘Redoubt’s compromised. The Dust is going to be compromised. We don’t know this place. You do. Where do you go here? When you’re not being one of Torrad-Var’s people. Where do you go when you’re you?’

Aryn had to be right about her. He’d been right so far – right that she knew more than she pretended, right that she was a creature of masks and layers, even if she didn’t know it herself. He had to pray that there were masks here, too – in the heart of the Syndicate, in her everyday life. Parts of her she hadn’t showed Torrad-Var and his crew.

Her mouth moved soundlessly, and for a moment, he thought maybe Cassidy was right – they’d gotten everything useful out of her. Then she stiffened and said, ‘I know a place.’

The bar was called the Velvet Spire. To Rosewood, it was as if someone had made Redoubt on a budget, but he suspected neither the owners nor the clientele would thank him for such a comparison. Q’ira had led them further down through the streets and towers of Kalviris than they’d known possible, reaching the roads set on the ground itself. It was like entering a cocoon of the city, and whether they could be safe here, would be reborn here, it was at least a distant warren that would make it hard for the Syndicate to track them.

Q’ira had stepped through the door with trepidation, but once they were inside, amidst the thudding music and pulsing lights, the smell of liquor and sweat hitting them in the face, it was as if the doorway had transformed her. Now she shed all hesitation to walk past tables thick with rough-looking customers and platforms on which beautiful, scantily clad people danced as if she owned the place, approaching the bar.

‘Shoulda known,’ growled Cassidy as he followed, his disinterested eye raking over the dancers before it moved to assess the clientele. ‘But there’s such a thing as too down-market for the Syndicate.’

The bar’s centrepiece was its namesake, a tower of lights that stretched up across two more floors of balconies, flickering and casting a dim violet glow that softened the edges of vice by giving the place a dreamlike, almost surreal air. Q’ira approached the woman behind the bar, an older human woman whose dark hair was streaked with silver and pulled tightly back. Sharp eyes sat in a worn face, her skin like leather after long years of hard work, but Rosewood had to blink as he took in her strong features, the aura of command that shone brightly the moment she looked at them. She was a woman maybe thirty years his senior, and she was stunning.

‘Zayna,’ said Q’ira, and now she hesitated, her voice coming out more like that of a schoolgirl who needed to beg for her tutors’ mercy. ‘I know it’s been a while…’

‘Q’ira.’ Zayna looked her up and down, and reached for a glass on the bar to polish in a transparent affectation of indifference. ‘Let me guess. The King of Redoubt got bored of you as his toy and threw you out.’

‘No, I – I’m in trouble. I need your help. Me and – and my friends.’

Zayna sniffed. ‘You know how this works, Q’ira. I got mouths to feed. Loyal mouths.’ She nodded about the bar, at the wait staff and dancers. ‘Not to mention debts to settle. I’m not feeling charitable tonight.’

‘I… you’re right.’ For a horrifying moment, Rosewood thought Q’ira was going to burst into tears again. That wouldn’t help at all. ‘It’s a lot to ask. So you have to know I wouldn’t come here if this wasn’t serious. If I had any choice.’

‘Oh, so I’m your last choice? You left holding me the bag on a good few scores, girl. Now you’re wandering back here and asking to rack up the tab even higher?’

Cassidy shoved his way forward, expression flat. ‘Whatever she owes, we can cover it. Name your price.’

‘I really,’ muttered Nallera to Rosewood, ‘hope he’s got good credit with Command, the amount we’re splashing about.’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Zayna said, looking him up and down. ‘Walking in here and making promises.’

‘Name’s Cassidy. If you’re not offering help, you don’t need to know more.’

‘And you think you can throw money at a problem and it’ll all go away? You assume her debts are just cash.’

‘Everything’s just cash, really. Even your offence will have a price.’ Cassidy shrugged, and Rosewood really hoped he was right. Pride had a price, too. ‘You can act more indignant to drive up the cost. Act more like you don’t want anything to do with her. But you knew, the moment she came in, that she wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t desperate. And you?’ He looked about the bar, eyebrows raised, and his gaze fell on every worker she’d glanced at moments ago. ‘You look after your own. Walking out don’t stop her being yours. That’s just what kids do.’

Zayna paused, rag in hand. Then she sniffed. ‘Kids are expensive. So we can arrange a price.’ She looked down at Q’ira. ‘Attic room. You know the drill. Before your trouble spots you here.’

Q’ira led them up six flights of stairs, past the floors of the Velvet Spire’s entertainment, past the corridors with rows of doors Rosewood thought were first backstage, then storage, then housing. It was generous to call anything an ‘attic’ when they were at the bottom of Kalviris – down here, there was always an upstairs – but eventually the stairs stopped going up, and he assumed they were at the limits of Zayna’s domain in this tower.

They passed through a heavy, creaking bulkhead door at the top of a narrow stairwell, and at once the sound of the heaving bars below faded from hearing. Its replacement with an eerie quiet was not comforting; not amidst the shadowed corners and the musty smell.

‘Home, sweet home,’ said Q’ira, quiet voice echoing in the emptiness as she reached for a light-switch and brought cold, harsh strips of lighting overhead to life. Walls of bare metal bore down on them, rust creeping into corners, and overhead ceiling panels had turned yellow with age or were missing chunks, exposed wires dangling. A half-dozen open doors led to dusty bunkrooms and offices before the space opened up at the front of the building, where battered old furniture sat around a porthole of a window beyond which the night lights of Kalviris shone.

To Rosewood’s surprise, Cassidy gave a satisfied nod. ‘This is exactly what we need.’

‘There’s a console that end,’ said Q’ira, gesturing to a door. ‘Links to the Spire’s systems. You should be able to call your ship. And, uh. Arrange payment for Zayna. She’s not kidding.’

‘That’s a resequencer?’ said Nallera, clearly forcing herself to brighten up as she pointed at a wall panel. ‘I’ll sort us some grub; I’m starving.’

The other three headed to the front room as Cassidy and Nallera set to work. Exhaustion was at last sinking into Rosewood’s bones, and he was eager to collapse on one of the old sofas and close his eyes.

Aryn, meanwhile, stood by the window and fidgeted. ‘You used to work here?’ he said to Q’ira.

‘Of course she did, genius,’ Rosewood couldn’t help himself from groaning, eyes shut. ‘And she was a dancer up on those platforms, before you out yourself as completely naïve and ask if she was a waitress.’

Aryn probably didn’t know where to look, he imagined, while Q’ira was likely embarrassed. That last was confirmed when she spoke a moment later and said, in trembling defensiveness, ‘It paid. You kill people for a living and you don’t even get paid. That’s just your duty.’

‘We work for the good of the Federation,’ said Rosewood, the words sounding mechanical even to him.

‘Is that why you gave Nank that much latinum? For the good of the Federation? How’d that work out?’

If he replied, he’d lose his temper, so Rosewood stayed silent. There was a weird smell in here.

‘Fuck,’ said Nallera as she padded to the seating area with a tray. ‘I think Zayna keeps the settings up here to the cheapest shit possible, so, enjoy noodles, I guess.’

‘Noodles sound great,’ said Rosewood, sitting up. There were few comforts available. Carbs could be one.

‘Fuck,’ said Cassidy a minute later as he stalked out. ‘The Changeling’s screwed us completely.’

‘We know,’ said Rosewood.

‘Did you know that Tiran never sent word to Blackbird?’ Cassidy growled. ‘Ranicus is still twiddling her thumbs on SB-38. They’re on their way now, but that’s not a quick journey here.’

‘Oh. Fuck.’

Q’ira was twisting her fingers together, lurking in the corner. ‘Maybe T’Mell will calm down once he loses our trail,’ she said quietly. ‘He has to know this doesn’t add up. One of the guards was in the room when Tiran was there and then she was nowhere – and heard us tell Torrad-Var that Aestri’s a Changeling.’

‘And then, to T’Mell’s eyes, we killed his boss.’ Cassidy shrugged. ‘So we might have been lying about everything. Or is he supposed to believe that we killed Aestri, the Changeling, and then another Changeling, who was a part of our team, showed up and killed Torrad-Var?’

‘When you put it like that,’ growled Nallera, ‘that’s really bad Changeling luck.’

‘But T’Mell was loyal to Torrad-Var,’ Q’ira protested. ‘He’ll want the truth.’

‘Torrad-Var’s dead. Loyalty to him don’t matter any more,’ said Cassidy bluntly. ‘What matters now is succession. Killing us isn’t about justice. It’s about looking like he’s strong enough for retribution. And retribution hates complicated things like Changeling conspiracies.’

‘I don’t know,’ muttered Rosewood, staring at his hands. ‘Retribution about that sounds pretty good right now.’

Cassidy’s eyes gleamed. ‘You’re goddamn right it does. Which is why we’re not sitting on our hands until the Blackbird gets here. The Changeling’s still out there. I don’t know… I don’t know any more than you what happened to Jessa. But we’re going to get answers. And, failing that – we’re gonna make it pay.’

Aryn’s swallow was audible. ‘And the Regulator’s still in Redoubt. We have to recover that, too, right?’

‘Course we do,’ said Cassidy, straightening. ‘After all. You bet that thing’s coming back for it, too.’

Aryn’s appetite had imploded, so the noodles were cold and even less inviting by the time he’d finished forcing down the last forkful. Rosewood was still sprawled out on the creaky sofa, Nallera stretched out on the floor beside him, their eyes shut. By the porthole window, Cassidy leaned to look out into the night-clad streets of Kalviris, everything this far down suffused with smog and grease.

‘How long ago do you think it happened?’ said Nallera suddenly, eyes opening. She spoke like the question was natural, likely voicing a silent, internal debate.

‘Since you replicated these noodles?’ Rosewood nudged his half-full bowl aimlessly. ‘About ten thousand years. That’s why they suck.’

‘I mean Jessa.’ Nallera looked up at Cassidy, suddenly small. ‘How long ago do you think she was swapped?’

Cassidy didn’t move, didn’t look at them. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Maybe you never knew the real her,’ mused Rosewood, eyes still shut. ‘Maybe she was always a Changeling -’

Nallera flinched. ‘Shut up.’

‘Isn’t that better, actually? To never have known the real her, so you’ve never actually lost anyone -’

‘It had to happen recently,’ said Aryn, hearing his voice come out mechanically. That made sense; his thoughts felt mechanical. ‘The Blackbird’s transporters should have weeded out Changelings, and she beamed down here with us before we boarded the Dust. Maybe she was replaced on Ilior.’

‘Maybe she’s alive, then,’ said Nallera, brightening. ‘That makes sense, or we’d have found her before -’

‘We don’t know.’ Cassidy didn’t raise his voice, still didn’t move, but his sombre voice was enough to silence them all. ‘We were operating out in the Thomar Expanse on that freighter right after Frontier Day, weren’t we. Two months on a non-Federation ship, without the Changeling-beating upgrades. And no security screening lasts forever. There’s always a way around it. She coulda been a Changeling all along, on a posting right out of the way for long enough that by the time we came back, she’d figured how to beat it.’

Nallera slumped. ‘I don’t know how you’d beat it.’

‘And I don’t know how they fuck up their physiology enough to beat a blood screen,’ Cassidy rumbled, glaring into the streets of Kalviris. ‘But they did.’

Aryn fidgeted with his fork and looked at Rosewood. ‘You knew a Changeling,’ he said, and caught himself as Rosewood flinched. ‘You were on the USS Independence. Commander Vornar was replaced with a Changeling. But he was found afterwards, wasn’t he – on the Intrepid?’

Rosewood sat up at last, exhaustion hanging over him so heavily the fatigue had to come from somewhere deeper than the body. ‘Some of the people impersonated were found in the aftermath, yes. But I’ve not heard of anyone recovered since the end of May. Odds are good that if you weren’t found by then, you’re dead.’

Nallera shook her head, then looked up at Cassidy. ‘But how could we not know? You knew Jessa since the 80s – how could something impersonate her for maybe months and we didn’t -’

‘My guess is that the two Changelings weren’t working together,’ said Cassidy, turning away from the window at last, voice more brisk and officious. ‘Tiran made sure we sabotaged Aestri. If she’d done nothing, Aestri would probably have the Regulator by now. Maybe it’s every goo for themselves in the renegade Changeling world, now. Maybe the left hand didn’t know what the right was doing. But Tiran’s goal still had to be the Regulator, too – this was her best chance to get her hands on it. Fifteen more minutes and we’d have been in a secure penthouse above Redoubt, then we’d be back on Blackbird and returning the device to lockup.’

Aryn blinked, a gummy feeling behind his eyes fading as his mind booted back up. ‘But it couldn’t get the Regulator out of the office before it had to run from Torrad-Var’s security, you said. So it’ll have to come back for it.’

‘Which shouldn’t be that hard,’ said Rosewood, frowning. ‘After all, it just needs to walk in looking like someone who’s supposed to be there.’

‘Which means,’ said Cassidy, ‘we need to locate the Regulator in Redoubt, and see if anyone got to it.’ He looked over them all. ‘Any of you not ready to move?’

Rosewood looked up. ‘Move where?’

‘None of my contacts on Kalviris were people I wanted to trust our necks with. But I still have links. Folks who might know what’s going on inside the club, or can find out. You might be tired, but the Changeling won’t be.’

Aryn glanced at the closed door to one of the adjourning bunkrooms. ‘What about Q’ira?’

Cassidy followed his gaze. ‘At any moment, she might figure the best way for her to get back into the Syndicate is to sell us out. And now I’m already bailing her out on her debts. She’s sad and confused now – let her sleep. We’d best have our next move before she starts to rally, stops just being scared, and begins thinking about what’s best for her.’

‘You said T’Mell accused her of selling Torrad-Var out to us.’

‘Tempers were high. Maybe he’d rather be rid of her to clean up Torrad-Var’s leftovers. Maybe he’ll stop and think for five seconds and decide she wouldn’t kill her boss.’ Cassidy shrugged. ‘She’s got to be thinking that, too. And if she’s not, she will.’ He looked Aryn up and down. ‘So you should wait here. Just in case she tries to make a move while we’re gone.’

Aryn had met all the same fitness requirements as the other three for serving in the Rooks, but he didn’t make the gym as much a part of his personality, so he was much happier surrendering to deep, soul-rending exhaustion and staying behind as Cassidy, Rosewood, and Nallera geared up and headed back out into the streets of Kalviris. Cassidy was right about keeping at least an eye on Q’ira, so he stayed on the uncomfortable sofa in this makeshift sitting room, and before he knew it had unwittingly fallen into a doze.

He only realised when something woke him up. The events of the past few days had wound him so tightly his nerves were strings tuned for an imperfect concert, and the slightest sound was enough to have him jerk upright, phaser in hand.

‘Easy, Professor.’ Q’ira stood before him in the gloom, hands half-raised. ‘I was just going for a drink. I thought you were all gone.’

She’d been crying. Even in the shadows given hues and tone from the neon lights beyond the window, he could see the pale streaks down her cheeks. But she was definitely not sneaking out, stripped down to her underwear and a vest top, the glow from outside highlighting her every curve and contour.

‘No,’ he croaked, his mouth dry. ‘Someone had to keep watch.’ His eyes still flickered to the door to the one room with a console and comms systems.

‘And you’re watching.’ Her lip half-curled, and he had to wonder if such a play was instinct by now, coming to her as easily as breathing. But she’d caught his look, and her head tilted. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to sound the alarm to T’Mell.’

‘I didn’t think you would,’ he protested, sitting up.

‘You at least considered it, or you’d be an idiot. Because I did think about it. And the thing is… T’Mell’s an asshole who probably couldn’t wait to get rid of me.’

He caught a quiver in her voice. ‘When we find the Changeling, and prove it killed Torrad-Var, you’ll be in the clear. If not with T’Mell, then with someone else in the Syndicate.’

She hesitated – then, as if it took a wrenching effort, stepped to the sofa and sat beside him. ‘You want to stop the Changeling and get the Regulator,’ she said, words pouring out of her as if unbidden. ‘But why the hell would you go to the effort of clearing your name, my name, with the Syndicate? Torrad-Var was your friendly contact, and he’s gone, no matter what. That can’t be your mission priority.’

‘Cassidy will want a new contact,’ Aryn pressed. ‘And if we give T’Mell Torrad-Var’s killer on a plate, maybe T’Mell becomes that guy.’

Her eyes came up to soak in every nook and corner of the room, expression sinking like she was seeing more than shadows of light, but shades of the past. ‘Maybe. But until then… I’m back in this place. Rosewood was right; I came up from here with nothing more than a pretty face to get by, then I used that to get by with Torrad-Var, and Zayna doesn’t want me back and so I have nothing, I have nobody…’

Hesitantly, he raised his hand to her shoulder. His thumb brushed against warm skin and the strap of her vest, and he had to fight for his voice to not catch as he insisted, ‘You’re not alone.’

Large, tear-filled eyes turned on his, and she bit her lower lip before she whispered, ‘I feel it. I feel alone.’ Her hand trailed up his arm to his chest, and her fingers curled in his collar,  brushed against his bare neck as she leaned in towards him. ‘I feel… empty.’

Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps the anti-pheromone injections were losing their edge after long hours. Perhaps he was just kidding himself about what he wanted, or how good his self-restraint was. None of it was enough to stop him from surrendering to the pull that felt as natural as gravity by now when she kissed him – or perhaps he kissed her.

Her lips parted under his almost immediately and she flowed against him like water. He’d seen her curves and dips under the vest by the streetlights, but now he could feel her pressed against him. Fingers that had played with his collar were already sliding under his shirt, tugging at buttons, and before he knew it, Q’ira had moved to straddle him on the sofa.

‘Show me I’m not alone,’ she gasped against his lips.

His blood pounding in his ears was his sole measure of time, but it only sped faster and faster as she pulled his shirt open. His hands slid under her vest, finding her skin warm and smooth under his fingertips, and for a split second he felt silly, like a schoolboy fumbling as fast as possible. But did it matter, with her so close and so eager and desperate? Did it matter, even though he’d no idea how long he’d dozed, how long the others had been gone –

It wasn’t the thought of Cassidy and the others coming back to find them that made him stop, per se. But the notion was cold water on the senses enough to spark them into action, make him wonder how long they’d really been gone, what they were doing. What he was doing.

With a gasp, Aryn broke off the kiss, and his hands at Q’ira’s hips were firm, now, as he pushed her back. ‘I… no. I’m sorry, this is a terrible idea…’

His mind was rebooting enough that he saw the twitch of irritation in her pout before she pawed at his collar again. ‘It’s all a terrible idea,’ she purred. ‘So what does it matter?’

‘No, you’re – you’re at rock bottom; this is taking advantage…’ It was the truth, but not the whole truth; he knew his mind was reeling, too, adrenaline and fear driving his body more than the logic and reason he relied on.

Her fingers trailed across his neck, but when he didn’t move, Q’ira sat up. The look of desperate longing in her eyes evaporated in an instant. ‘…you’re such a fucking boy scout!’ Then she was on her feet, pulling her vest down, and there was little of the vulnerability she’d used to entangle him mere seconds ago. ‘I’m a street trash dancing girl; can’t you at least try to save me with your dick?’

‘I… what?’ Aryn felt abruptly more naked than he knew he was, buttoning up his shirt like it would hide his confusion and embarrassment. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘This was the fact that you “Rooks” are gonna hang me out to dry the second it suits you!’ Q’ira snapped, jabbing a finger at the exit door. ‘I heard Cassidy! Don’t pretend otherwise!’

‘So – what does that – what does seducing me help with that?’

‘Like it was difficult,’ she sniffed. ‘But they listen to you, and you’ve clearly got this “saviour” complex about me, so I thought that could do with being sweetened a little.’

Indignation and hurt battled with embarrassment, both hot and inconvenient in his chest. ‘This was about getting me on side so I’d back you to the team. You think I’m that shallow?’

‘I think it nearly worked.’

He stood, partly to feel less like she was yelling down at him while half-naked, partly so he could step to the window and get some distance. Aryn gave himself a beat to look out on the street, draw what passed for deep, cleansing breaths in a place like this, and gather himself before he replied. ‘How likely do you think it is that Cassidy can find anyone who’ll say what’s going on inside Redoubt?’

‘Right now?’ When he looked back, he could see her brow furrowing. Masks of indignation and vulnerability alike gone now, she was thinking, calculating. ‘He’ll know muscle, I expect. And I bet muscle will want to prove they’re loyal to T’Mell. I wouldn’t give him good odds.’

‘Okay.’ Aryn nodded, and finished buttoning up his shirt as he looked her in the eye. ‘So how likely is it you can find anyone who’ll say what’s going on in there?’ Now she hesitated, sincerely wrong-footed, and he gave a tight smile. ‘Prove yourself to Cassidy. And he’s got no choice but to save you along with us.’

The sun was creaking over the horizon, peeking between the highest towers of Kalviris, by the time Dalia Vengoris made it back to her apartment at the end of her shift. She didn’t need to turn on the lights to go through her routine: check the panel by the door for messages, slouch over to the kitchen bar and dump her bag and coat over the stool, kick off her heels and head for the resequencer. The rest of the world was having breakfast. Dalia jabbed in the command for tacos with enough hot sauce to melt a Tholian.

When she turned to find a shadow seated on her couch, she jumped hard enough to spray it across the kitchen, and screamed. ‘What the hell –’

‘Dalia, it’s me!’ The shadow stood, hands raised placatingly, no longer looming and ominous but small, feminine.

‘Q’ira? What are you doing here -’

‘I was waiting for you; I didn’t know you weren’t gonna turn on the lights, girl -’

‘Lights!’ Dalia snapped, her voice squeaking. Illumination flooded the apartment, and Dalia screamed again when what she’d thought was the shadow of her storage case behind Q’ira turned out to be a tall, wiry man.

‘It’s okay!’ Q’ira said again, hands flapping. ‘That’s just – he’s with me, it’s fine! Dalia, this is…’

Her voice trailed off, and even in her panicked state, Dalia knew when Q’ira was unsure what name she should drop. The man gave an awkward wave.

‘Call me Mac.’

‘Mac. Right,’ said Q’ira. ‘Dalia, this is Mac. He’s worked with me this last job. Mac, this is Dalia. Bartender at Redoubt.’

Dalia’s heartbeat was finally slowing enough to let her think halfway straight. She stared at Mac for a moment, then back at Q’ira. ‘Everyone’s looking for you – what did you do to Torrad –’

‘I didn’t kill Torrad. You know I wouldn’t do that. He took care of us, of all of us. Why would I cross him?’

‘They say you got paid off by Starfleet.’ Dalia’s eyes fell on the man called Mac. ‘Are you Starfleet?’

‘Uh…’

‘He is Starfleet, they didn’t pay me. I need you to trust me.’

Dalia looked back at the remains of her taco. Then at the door. ‘How’d you get in here?’

‘Your security’s basic as hell; it took me less than a minute to crack it. I’ve been on Federation core worlds with better locks.’ Q’ira’s gaze turned pleading. ‘I just need info.’

‘I should tell T’Mell you’re here,’ said Dalia, taking a step towards the comms panel.

‘Oh, come on!’ Q’ira looked indignant rather than concerned. ‘You hate that greaseball.’

‘You killed Torrad-Var –’

‘No, I didn’t, it was a shapeshifter!’

‘What?’

Q’ira sucked her teeth. ‘Okay, it sounds stupid when I say it. But it wasn’t me. It wasn’t us. Someone’s playing T’Mell. I don’t need you to do anything, Dalia, I just need to know what went on inside Redoubt tonight, and to not tell him you saw me.’

‘What do you mean, “what went on?” All hell broke loose, you guys got chased out, T’Mell shut down the main floor for an hour. Then he sorted some stuff out and reopened it. But he was sending people out looking for you.’ Dalia hesitated. ‘Okay, and someone did come by.’

‘Someone?’

‘If he finds out I didn’t call you in…’

‘How much have we been through together? How many times did I listen when you had a shit manager or a handsy bouncer? I’d take it to Torrad-Var every time, and he took care of it every time. Because he cared about us. Took care of us.’ Q’ira’s gaze turned pleading. ‘Didn’t I earn a bit of trust?’

Dalia bit her lip. ‘That Syndicate dealer. Aestri.’

The man called Mac’s expression immediately clouded. ‘Aestri? Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure. Torrad-Var hated her, didn’t he? But she waltzed in and asked for a meet with T’Mell, and he gave it. Looked like they were burying the hatchet.’ She winced. ‘I guess a ranking member of the Syndicate like her backing him would go a long way for him to take over the reins from Torrad.’

‘It sure would.’ Q’ira and Mac exchanged pointed looks. ‘Who was in that meeting?’

‘Pendeor. Bertan. Kerr. The usual people.’

‘The people T’Mell needs to keep close. Where’s Aestri now?’

Dalia shrugged. ‘The main floor was open again by the time they would have finished. I don’t know, and I’m not finding out.’

‘You don’t need to.’ Q’ira raised a hand. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry for pulling you into this. But I needed someone who might take a chance and trust me.’

‘Yeah – did you have to scare the crap out of me and waste my taco?’

‘I owe you one. Once all of this is over.’

‘Yeah, if you’re not dead.’ Dalia hesitated as Q’ira and Mac headed for the door. ‘You be careful, okay? Things are bad right now. T’Mell’s set on taking over, and you know he’d love an excuse to blame you and clear out anyone who was too close to Torrad.’

‘I know. I won’t let him get close.’

‘And Q’ira? If you didn’t do this to Torrad? If someone else did?’ Dalia shifted her feet. ‘Get them for us, will ya?’

‘I didn’t know you worked with the bar staff,’ said Aryn, breaking the silence awkwardly only once they were a few minutes away from Dalia’s apartment block, walking the streets back towards the Velvet Spire. The dawn light was pale, anemic, and stripped away most of the colour from the city as neon lights turned off and weak sunrise replaced it. There was glamour in the colour and shadows of the night, but now he could see Kalviris Prime’s every crack, every blemish papered over by smoke and mirrors. But as sleepy-eyed workers began to filter into the streets to start their day, it also felt more real, lived in, than the non-stop decadence of the parties and clubs under the moon and stars.

‘I practically lived in the building,’ Q’ira said, quiet and distracted. ‘I worked with everyone.’

‘Torrad-Var sounds like he was a good boss. I’m sorry about him. I didn’t say that before.’

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear with a self-consciousness he couldn’t quite believe wasn’t deliberate. Not after the night they’d had. ‘Thanks. A lot of people liked him. They don’t like T’Mell. Dalia helping me is as simple as that.’

‘It sounds like she trusted you, too. That you supported her.’

‘Maybe.’ Q’ira looked up at the streets, pale eyes sweeping over faces and crowds, evaluating and assessing for navigation and threat alike. ‘So we’re both assuming the Changeling has impersonated Aestri, right?’

‘It makes sense. Not many people are going to know she’s dead. Maybe none of them do. And if there’s any collaboration between the surviving Changelings, perhaps she’s an identity they’ve rotated through before.’

‘I believe she could walk in, promise T’Mell her backing, and he’d let her take the Regulator. The good news is that if he has a Syndicate gang leader backing him, he doesn’t need to parade our heads on spikes to show he’s big and bad enough to take over from Torrad-Var.’

Aryn sucked his teeth. ‘And the bad news is that the Changeling is now high and dry, likely with the Regulator, and we have no idea where it is, or where it went.’

‘No,’ said Q’ira. ‘But it will still have had to convince T’Mell to hand it over. And does it even have a ship here? Money? Resources that aren’t from the Syndicate?’

‘You’re saying T’Mell might know what its next move is?’

‘I’m saying everyone who was in that meeting might know.’

The corners of Aryn’s lips curled. ‘There’s no way this isn’t more than Cassidy and the others found out.’

She dropped her gaze. ‘I don’t know what we found. That the Changeling is still pulling strings?’

‘Yes, but – this is what I meant. This is intel we couldn’t find, with contacts we don’t have, skills we don’t have.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I didn’t know you were a dab hand with door security like that, either.’

She winced. ‘Okay, so I wasn’t just a dancer Torrad-Var picked up and promoted. But it’s not like I’m a master hacker, or that I can handle tech like Nallera or anything. I just have… some practical skills.’

‘Practical skills for getting into and out of places?’ She didn’t answer, and he drew an awkward breath. ‘You see how I’m not judging.’

‘Yeah, you sound completely at ease, Professor.’ They’d reached one of the heavy industrial lifts to take them down a dozen levels, closer to the ground of Kalviris and nearer to the Velvet Spire’s district. The crowds were thick here, labourers heading from this impoverished but relatively stable residential district to the deep, choking smog of the lower levels and its industry.

He dropped the topic with such a heavy crowd around, both aware of the need for discretion with so many close-pressed ears, and self-conscious enough to not push any personal point. But once they’d filtered into the heavy lift, Q’ira spoke up again, tart in a way that almost, but didn’t quite, cover the naked anxiety.

‘You think this is enough of a neat trick that your boss won’t ditch me the moment it suits him?’

‘No more than the rest of us,’ said Aryn, trying to add some levity.

Her expression didn’t shift. ‘At least you’re starting to realise that to men like him, you’re all disposable.’

Cassidy was expressionless, stood before the window with the weak morning light crawling into their safehouse above the Velvet Spire as he listened to Q’ira and Aryn’s explanation. When they were done, he was silent for a long time before he gave a slow nod.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘All we got out of anyone who’d talk to us was that T’Mell was locking things down.’ He looked at Q’ira. ‘These lieutenants, the guys in the meeting. Do you know where they live? Places we can get to them away from Redoubt? Places they’re vulnerable.’

She stood in a way Rosewood by now knew was a pretense of poise, leaning against a door-frame with indifference so strong it had to be feigned. The flicker of her eyelashes as she nodded was, he thought, a giveaway. ‘I know places. I can do a list -’

‘No. Not yet.’ Cassidy shook his head. ‘First things first: we sleep.’

Rosewood raised an eyebrow. ‘What happened to the whole, “the Changeling won’t be resting so we don’t rest” thing?’

‘It’s not coming for us. It’s got what it wants. Odds are good it’s left the planet by now. So we have until Blackbird gets here to gather intel. We sleep, then tonight, we go get that info.’ Another curt nod. ‘Go. Sleep.’

Q’ira left first, sliding into the bedroom, and Rosewood was about to leave, too, before he saw Cassidy catch Aryn’s eye in a way that made the science officer linger. He let Nallera take one of the rooms, before Rosewood slunk to hide in the shadow of the doorway of the third, pull the door to, and waited.

‘What is it, Boss?’ Aryn sounded tired, taut.

Likely for good reason, as there was a thudding footstep, a grunt, and a thump. Rosewood’s brow furrowed, and he peered about the door to see Cassidy pinning the wiry Aryn against a wall, forearm pressing on his chest.

‘When I say “stay here and watch her” I mean “stay here and watch her,”’ Cassidy hissed. ‘I don’t mean “run off on your own.”’

‘I – I took a calculated risk.’ Aryn’s voice was strained. Cassidy’s forearm might not have just been pressing on his chest. ‘We can trust her.’

‘We don’t know her. She was doing Torrad-Var’s bidding helping us on Ilior; no more, no less. She’s here because she’s got no better option. We should pray she doesn’t find one.’

‘And is… treating her like a traitor about to backstab us really helping make us look like the best option?’ Aryn wheezed. ‘She’s got to trust us.’

‘Trust?’ Cassidy snarled. ‘Look at where we are. Look at what just happened. You think we’re going to get through this on trust against an enemy who exploits it? We’ll get through this one way, and one way only: by you doing what I goddamn say.’

‘Cassidy -’

‘I got you out of that forsaken lab, I got you out of that inquiry where they were gonna hang you out to dry. I gave you purpose when the galaxy was about to spit you out, Aryn. Don’t you forget.’ Cassidy all but slammed him against the wall before stepping away. ‘Now get some sleep, and tomorrow you better be thinking like a member of this team – my team – instead of the hanger-on of some Syndicate side-piece.’

Rosewood held his breath as he heard Aryn stumble off, saw the shadow of the science officer pass the door, and waited for him to step into a bunkroom and close the door before he stepped out. Cassidy stood by the window again, glowering into the early morning light.

‘Is that how you inspire everyone in tough times?’ he asked, voice flat. ‘Remind them that they owe you?’

Cassidy spun on the spot. Rosewood had clearly surprised him, and he clearly didn’t like it. ‘Aryn and Nallera have been with me a while. Don’t presume you know how we work together.’

‘You’d worked with Tiran a while and didn’t see this coming, so forgive me if I don’t find your read on people that convincing,’ Rosewood said airily, wandering over.

Cassidy’s fist clenched. ‘You smug, idiot kid -’

‘A smug, idiot kid who wants the same thing you do: to find that Changeling, stop it, and bring it to justice.’

‘Justice,’ Cassidy spat. ‘There’s no such concept for those things. What do you do, lock it up in a Federation rehab facility?’

‘At the end of the Dominion War, we charged the Founder -’

‘They’re a hive mind when they’re together. We charged her for political purposes. It was like condemning the pinkie finger of a serial killer,’ Cassidy sneered. ‘Nobody knows about this thing, so there’s no need to make a show of the criminal justice system so everyone feels better. And it can’t be rehabilitated. Unless you’re here to tell me everything can be saved?’

Rosewood felt the tension in his chest quiver, the embers in him sparking not merely at Cassidy’s sneer, but at the idea of treating the entity that had replaced and murdered their colleague with such lenience. ‘Okay. Forget the philosophy. We still want the same thing: to find it and stop it.’

‘Thanks for the show of support,’ Cassidy grunted. ‘I assumed.’

‘Is that why you treated Aryn like a liability just then?’

‘Aryn likes to pretend he doesn’t have feelings,’ came the flat response. ‘Or at least, that he’s not beholden to them. That he’s smarter and more rational than everyone else. So he ignores it when he’s being emotional – and he’s being emotional about the girl.’ Cassidy shrugged. ‘I think she came through, actually. And if the Changeling’s taking over Aestri’s identity, we can use her.’

‘You mean, we have shared interests and can work together.’

‘Sure.’ Cassidy’s lip curled. ‘Fact remains, Aryn’s exhausted and pretending his head’s straight when it ain’t. So yeah, I sent him to bed with no supper, and a reminder what side his bread’s buttered. He’ll wake up thinking clearly, and convince himself he’s rationally decided to stick with the group.’ His eyes raked over Rosewood, cold and appraising. ‘Play nice with him tomorrow to drive the point home, if you really want.’

Rosewood worked his jaw. ‘I don’t get you. You’re clearly furious about Tiran, about losing her. But here you go, treating the team you’ve got left like tools.’

Cassidy scoffed. ‘Should I be crying? Would that help?’

‘I know what you’re doing, too: giving me the tools to manipulate Aryn, so I take the softer approach and you can keep the harsh one.’

‘I mean, you can let the girl keep on pouring honey in his ear,’ Cassidy said with a shrug. ‘You can even play nice with all three of them, convince yourself you’re the shoulder they cry and rely on in this tough time. But when push comes to shove, we need decisiveness, and we need action. That’s what they trust me for. That’s what they need me for.’

‘Actually,’ sighed Rosewood, ‘you’re trying to bully and influence the team because that makes you feel like you still have control over something, anything.’

‘Don’t tell me Aryn didn’t need handling. And, again – should I cry? I know what I am. I know what I’m doing.’ He met Rosewood’s gaze. ‘Better than you, pretending you got a handle on things, pretending you’re high and mighty.’

‘I’m tired.’

‘You’re pissed off to high heaven, and you have been since Ilior. I’m guessing you didn’t take too kindly to your captain being replaced by one of these things. But you tell yourself your role here is to be the civilised one, the guy who still remembers the warm glow of the Core Worlds and Starfleet policy and all that good stuff. So it makes you feel better to think I’m out of control, while you got a handle on everything.’ To Rosewood’s surprise, Cassidy ended this with a smile. ‘If that’s what it takes.’

‘God.’ Rosewood rolled his eyes. ‘You think everyone’s as cynical and manipulative as you.’

‘Nah. I just know a born liar when I see one.’ Cassidy waved a hand before he could reply, then smothered a yawn. ‘Taking my own advice. Getting some sleep. It’ll look better in the… well. Evening.’

Despite the exhaustion that made Rosewood feel like he’d been stretched from the tip of the tallest tower on Kalviris to down here in the depths, sleep did not come easily. The mattress was lumpy, the room had a weird smell, and the sounds of the city by day shuddered in through the cheap walls.

It did not help that it was late afternoon by the time he woke up, stumbling into the corridor to find Nallera the only one up. The burly woman stood in front of the window, silhouetted by the golden light that could just about creep down to this level, stretching through a yoga routine Rosewood had to admit looked like it would help.

‘Finding your zen yet?’ he drawled.

‘That or I gotta stay limber to kick a goo-person in the face,’ grunted Nallera halfway through a move. ‘My back is killing me.’

‘Right? We need a better quality of safe house.’ He glanced over at the resequencer. ‘Is that thing still gonna feed us slop?’

‘I think it might be hard-wired to produce nothing but stale noodles.’

‘Hm.’ Rosewood looked from it to the window and the bustling streets. ‘Finish up. And come with me.’

Finding a street vendor who’d serve them sizzling meat in a bun that felt close enough to breakfast food for this time of day wasn’t too hard, and the spring in Nallera’s step as she grabbed the bundle of foil-wrapped sandwiches confirmed he’d made the right choice. The second search took a little longer, with the sun setting already on the tall towers of Kalviris, but the look in Aryn’s eye when they got back to the top floor of the Velvet Spire with not only breakfast, but coffee and other drinks, made him even more sure.

‘Eat up, drink up,’ Rosewood said, tossing him a foil-wrapped breakfast burger and handing over a disposable mug of coffee. ‘No battle for justice to be fought on an empty stomach.’

‘I got two kinds of cheese and three kinds of meat,’ Nallera gushed as she plonked down on the sofa and unwrapped her food. ‘I don’t even know what kinds of meat. I don’t even care.’

‘Zayna’s gonna kill me,’ said Q’ira when she eventually emerged to find the three of them sat on the floor, drinking hot coffee and eating breakfast sandwiches whose tantalising smell had filled the apartment. ‘You went to Oembe’s? I think they signed a blood-pact to be immortal enemies about a decade ago.’

‘He was great,’ gushed Nallera, and gestured to the cluster of drinks and food on the table. ‘Your old boss has excellent taste in nemeses.’

Rosewood smirked up at her. ‘You don’t have to eat it. But I did get you a smoothie.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. And took the smoothie.

When Cassidy emerged, he looked unmoved by the gathered Rooks and Q’ira, or the indulgent spread of food and drink. But Nallera still threw him a foil-wrapped sandwich, and he grabbed a cup of coffee, and they all sat together for a few minutes to eat and drink. It wasn’t, Rosewood thought, particularly good food. But for a moment – just a moment – they weren’t strung out and betrayed, on the run and chasing a monster.

Cassidy sucked cheese off his thumb when he was done, nodding in appreciation. ‘Alright,’ he grunted, sounding more like his normal, grumpy self instead of oozing fury from every pore. He looked up at them. ‘We still need answers. Let’s go find us a Syndicate lieutenant who’ll give ‘em.’

‘Look at me.’ Pendeor’s voice came out in a low growl. ‘Do I seem like a guy who don’t get what he wants?’

The beleaguered Tellarite stared him down for a beat. Then seemed to think better of it and shook his head.

‘Exactly.’ Pendoer jabbed an assertive finger. ‘So when I say I want more sauce, you give me more sauce.’ He had led boarding gangs in the Vondem raids, outwitted Federation Security, faced down Nausicaan warlords. It was four in the morning, and he was damned if this street vendor wasn’t going to give him the burger he wanted – no, deserved.

It was raining by the time he stepped out from under the food stall’s canopy and into the street, precious food wrapped and tucked under an arm. There was only so long he could be gone; the last thing he needed was for T’Mell to ask someone else to get a job done. So he took the shortcut back from the market district towards Redoubt, cutting through an alleyway that would bring him to the back entrance.

Normally, he wouldn’t have thought twice about seeing another lone individual cutting through; nobody would be dumb enough to make a move against someone like him so close to a Syndicate holding. The last couple days hadn’t been normal, though, and Pendeor’s hand came to his disruptor pistol as the shadow approached.

Instincts proved correct when they reached the light and he recognised the figure. ‘Q’ira,’ he spat, drawing his disruptor. ‘You’ve got a hell of a nerve -’

But her hands were up, her eyes wide, scared. ‘Please, Pendeor, listen to me. I didn’t know they were gonna do that. I was told by Torrad to work with them, so I worked with them. Then – then they came back and killed him. You gotta believe me.’

The girl didn’t have many qualities. But perhaps her third was that she had been doggedly, stupidly loyal to Torrad. Pendeor ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘What’re you talkin’ to me for, then?’

‘T’Mell won’t listen. I wanted – you were always good to me.’

‘You want me to vouch for you?’ he scoffed.

‘I want to hand that band of Starfleet over to you. Then we go to T’Mell together. I get to prove myself. You get to take out the guys who got Torrad.’ Her head cocked. ‘Maybe that doesn’t just make you look good to T’Mell. Maybe that makes you look good to everyone.’

Pendeor stared her down for a moment. Then he lowered his disruptor. ‘I’m not about to make a bid for Redoubt. Like Torrad always said: the most important part of being king’s keeping your head on your shoulders. T’Mell’s welcome to painting a target on himself like that.’ He clicked his tongue and holstered the weapon. ‘We can do this. But don’t try to play me, girl. It ain’t that easy.’

Then a stun rod was jabbed in his back, a hand clamped over his mouth before he could shout, and the world spun and darkened.

Before everything went black, Q’ira stepped closer, lips curling. ‘Oh, Pendeor,’ she sighed. ‘It really is.’

‘What the fuck.’ Nallera’s voice was low and hushed, but echoed around the darkened chamber anyway enough to make the hairs on the back of Rosewood’s neck rise. They’d spent hours scoping out the run-down industrial buildings near the Velvet Spire before picking out the ruins of an old foundry whose reconstruction had been abandoned halfway through. Clearing out a floor far from any squatters or potential passers-by before midnight had been hard work, but not as hard as, it turned out, hauling Pendeor down to this level of the city and then back up to this floor of the building.

The big Orion was strapped to a chair now, head slumped forward, still out from the jolts he’d taken from the jerry-rigged stun rod Nallera had put together for the ambush. Aryn knelt next to him, the equipment they’d spent a small fortune on spread out before him as he carefully calculated the exact right dosage to load into the hypospray. Cassidy stood before them both, his jacket dumped on the floor, bare, muscular arms folded across his chest pale under the fluorescent lights they’d ‘borrowed’ from the building site next door.

Rosewood looked over at the cursing Nallera. ‘Don’t tell me you hit him with too many volts or something.’

‘What – no, I know how to do my job.’ She raised the unwrapped package she’d taken off Pendeor at the scene. It was a burger. ‘Look at this motherfucker. It’s wet. What the hell is this?’

‘Three.’ Cassidy’s voice was curt. ‘Cut the chatter. How’re we looking, Four?’

Aryn raised his eyes. ‘Ready. I can wake him up and dose him in one go.’

‘Do it.’

It took a minute to work. Then Pendeor groaned, rolling his head before looking up and blinking, owlish in his unkind awakening before he squinted at the bright light shining in his face.

‘…you’ve got no fuckin’ clue who you’re messing with, do you?’ Pendeor growled after a second.

‘We’re the people we think killed your boss,’ said Cassidy with a shrug. ‘Why would I give a shit about crossing a worm like you?’ He stepped forward and roughly grabbed Pendeor by the chin. ‘Or wiping you out.’

A scoff. ‘You’re still Starfleet. Icing Torrad-Var probably took two years of paperwork and fifteen bribes before someone up top decided you could maybe take out the biggest player on the planet. You’re gonna have to file a report in triplicate before you walk off this mission. No way you get to add a second extra-judicial kill.’

‘That’s if anyone finds out about it. I don’t see my debriefing officer in here,’ Cassidy pointed out, before shoving Pendeor’s head aside. ‘I know Aestri showed up last night. What’d she want?’

Rosewood watched as Pendeor’s expression flickered. He hadn’t expected them to ask questions about Aestri. But the Orion rallied after a moment, shaking his head. ‘You ask so nicely. But T’Mell’s expecting me back at Redoubt by now. Everyone’s on full alert. They’ll find us before I talk, before you get off this planet.’

‘You think that you get to walk out of this room without giving me answers?’ said Cassidy. He cast a sharp look at Aryn, and Rosewood tried to mask his own expression as he shared the same uncertainty.

I thought you were doping him to make him more compliant.

Aryn, stood over Pendeor’s shoulder by now, just shrugged. Biology would always be more complicated than could be easily overcome with what had looked to Rosewood like a random selection of drugs.

‘I think,’ said Pendeor, looking up at Cassidy with brazen indifference, ‘you don’t walk off this planet at all.’

Cassidy turned away, shaking his head. ‘I hate our goddamn reputation,’ he growled. ‘Everyone thinks they know Starfleet, everyone thinks we’re so fluffy. It means I gotta hurt you twice as much to make you believe.’

Rosewood winced. ‘One -’

Cassidy spun on the spot, lashing out with his foot. Rather than strike Pendeor, he hit the chair he was tied to, knocking it over. The sound echoed through the cavernous depths of the old foundry, but they had checked their surroundings. There was nobody nearby to hear.

‘You seem to be bad at math, Pendeor,’ Cassidy snarled, hunkered over the Syndicate lieutenant like a big cat ready to feast. ‘You get that our situation is bad but you think I’m still gonna play by the rules. Where’s Aestri?’

‘Fuck you,’ Pendeor spat.

Cassidy’s fist raised, but before he knew it, Rosewood had moved to grab his wrist.

‘One!’

Cassidy was strong and furious, and the fact Rosewood could restrain him suggested this was, perhaps, more theatrical than he’d feared. There was a brief struggle before Cassidy yanked his arm back and dropped it. ‘You gonna be a coward right now?’

‘He’s right about one thing,’ Rosewood said, trying to be both sharp and placating. ‘This goes bad, it’s a lot of paperwork.’ His eyes on Cassidy were firm, pleading, but he schooled the expression before he turned to Pendeor and knelt beside him. ‘And I’m the guy who worries about paperwork.’

Pendeor’s eyes were beady as they locked on him. ‘What? So?’

‘It’s the Starfleet way,’ said Rosewood in a soothing voice. ‘Paperwork. Systems. Protocol. Knowing how it works is the best way to get what you want. What everyone wants. For instance, Pendeor. Q’ira mentioned you’ve got a cousin on Vashti.’

At last, Pendeor hesitated. ‘Everyone’s got cousins.’

‘On work permits? Those can be revoked. Do it fast enough, and we kick you out ourselves. Maybe we drop your cousin back on Delion Prime? Lots of people waiting for him there.’

‘Woah, hey – Iganor did nothing wrong -’

‘So many protocols, systems, bureaucracies… everyone’s done something wrong,’ said Rosewood in a sing-song voice. ‘Like I said. I’m good at this.’ He leaned in, jaw tightening, and pressed on before Pendeor could rally after this unexpected pivot. ‘Thing is, we don’t want to know about T’Mell, or Redoubt, or anything of Kalviris operations. We want to know about the same person we were gunning for all along: Aestri. Torrad-Var hated her. You’re not betraying anyone.’

Pendeor was still on his side, face pressed against the cold concrete floor. ‘Iganor’s got little kids, you sick fuck.’

‘Yeah,’ said Rosewood, clicking his tongue. ‘They can get deported, too. Aestri picked up the package in Redoubt we left behind?’

A beat. In the cold silence, all they could hear was Pendeor’s laboured breathing. Then, ‘Yeah. Yeah, said it was hers, that you stole it from her.’

‘Hey,’ came Nallera’s distant protest, but Cassidy cast her a withering, silencing look.

‘But she’s gone, now,’ Pendeor said in a rush. ‘If it’s her you want, I can’t get you close to her or nothing.’

Rosewood resisted the urge to look up at Cassidy as he felt his pulse quicken. ‘Gone? Where?’

‘I’m not – she came by for the package and then to make some calls; looks like you left her high and dry without her gear or people. So T’Mell gave her a ship.’

‘What ship? Going where?’

‘I don’t…’

‘Or maybe we just deport Iganor and his partner, and take the kids in?’ The Federation wouldn’t do that, Rosewood thought. At least, not intentionally.

‘Okay!’ Pendeor’s voice cracked, his face pressing into the cold concrete now in battered shame. ‘Okay. Oltanis IV. She’s – she’s going to Oltanis IV.’

When they were done, they shoved another bag over Pendeor’s head and Aryn drugged him again. He and Nallera hauled him off to find a place he could be dumped where he’d be safe enough, but not found too soon. That left the other three to tidy up their improvised interrogation room.

Cassidy gave Rosewood a begrudging look once they were done. ‘That was good work.’

Q’ira looked more guarded. ‘Were you actually going to split his cousin’s family up?’

‘That’d take a lot of paperwork,’ Rosewood said. Only now she asked did he realise he’d not actually considered whether he’d been lying. It had simply been a weak spot he could slip a knife into. ‘What’s Oltanis IV?’

‘Tech hub, old Neutral Zone,’ she said. ‘Used to be for off-the-book weapons development and trade. It exploded in the last couple of years with the Borg gear flooding the market. And again boomed in the last six months.’

‘You know it?’

She gave a small nod. ‘Torrad worked everywhere.’ She turned to Cassidy. ‘Looks like you still need me.’

Cassidy straightened, shoulders squaring. ‘I -’

‘No.’ She took a sharp step forward. ‘You want to get this thing? It’s taken on Aestri’s name, identity, contacts, resources. If you had your finger on the pulse on those, you wouldn’t have needed to come to Torrad-Var. You think anyone else who knows Syndicate workings is gonna help you now they think you killed him?’ Another step. ‘I know you’re gonna say that Torrad-Var was just a criminal. But he still helped you. Got you what you needed. And he got murdered for it. I don’t expect you to clear your name, my name, anything. You know what I expect you’re gonna do? Kill that thing.’ Her chin tilted up. ‘If that’s all I can get, I’ll take it. You’re not the only one allowed vengeance.’

Cassidy glanced at Rosewood, who didn’t dare have a facial expression, before he looked to her and shrugged. ‘I was gonna say you’re welcome to come with.’

She stopped. ‘What?’

‘You’ve done good. Shown you’ve got not just good info but good instincts. You picked out Pendeor, knew we could grab him, told Rosewood what he needed to know to break him.’ Cassidy’s eyes fell on Rosewood, and his gut twisted as he saw the approval and didn’t know what to feel about it. Then the big man stepped forwards, and when he dropped his voice it wasn’t angry or accusing any more, but close. Conspiratorial.

‘If you’re with me,’ he rumbled, looking between them both, ‘then we finish this. Right?’

Rosewood took a breath and was surprised to feel the shake in it. When he looked to Q’ira, her eyes were shining with more intensity than the apprehension she’d shown the last day. He nodded. ‘We finish this.’

In the late afternoon, just before the day shifts of Kalviris Prime finished, the Velvet Spire was quiet. Within hours, night would fall and the glowing spiral heart of the bar would become the main source of light as customers poured in for revelry and distraction. Now, with the sun too low in the sky to peek between the towers but still fat and powerful enough for golden light to leak even down here, Nallera could sit at the bar with only day-drinkers for company.

Until Q’ira came downstairs and slid onto the stool beside her. ‘They do coffee here?’ she said, nose wrinkled.

‘I asked. Had to convince them to open whole new resequencer programs they’d never touched,’ Nallera said wryly, taking a swig of the cheap black sludge she’d been served. It was doing its job, at least.

‘Wow. I worked here for years. Never knew those things could do that.’ Q’ira shifted her weight. ‘Cassidy just had a call in. Your ship’s an hour out.’

‘Thank God,’ Nallera groaned, then winced. ‘Sorry. No disrespect meant to this place.’

‘I mean, this place is trying to kill me.’

‘And hey, once we catch up with this thing, we can prove it killed Torrad-Var. Then you won’t be hunted here. Then you can come back home.’ Nallera hadn’t been sure how to handle the Orion since she’d joined the team. Masks and trickery weren’t her forte; she preferred to take people as she found them and left the rest to people like Rosewood and Cassidy. It was easier, she thought – she hoped – since Q’ira had ended up with her back to the wall. That was usually when people showed who they were.

‘Maybe.’ Q’ira looked up at the bartender, a husky Andorian male. ‘Hey, Therik, can I get a light beer?’ She was silent until she had the bottle in her hand, fidgeting with the label. ‘Not so sure this place is home any more. Any of it.’

‘That’s okay. Things change. You can make new homes. I’ve done it.’

‘With Starfleet?’ Q’ira sounded dubious, aware this wasn’t a solution available to her.

Nallera tilted her head this way and that as she considered. ‘With the people I’ve met. They’re what make homes.’

Another pause. Q’ira swigged her beer. ‘I’m sorry about Tiran. She was – I don’t know. Maybe not nice. But professional. I appreciated that.’

‘Thanks.’ Nallera stared into her mug for a moment. ‘It wasn’t just professionalism. She was fair. With everyone. Maybe she was harsh sometimes, and she wasn’t exactly warm and fluffy, but she made her expectations clear, and they were never unreasonable, and if you were fine by her, you were fine. She didn’t change up on you day by day, or treat you differently to anyone else if you did your best.’

Q’ira gave a gentle scoff. ‘That’s underrated.’

‘Right? You know how many people I’ve known who’ve pinkie-sworn they were good guys, my friends, who got weird the next day?’ This was still more than Nallera had really wanted to say. She’d come down because the attic room was getting musty, and days of living on top of the rest of the Rooks was starting to feel claustrophobic. Sitting in a bar made her feel more normal, but that was apparently extending to being more babbly to someone she didn’t fully trust. ‘So you’re with us for the next haul.’

‘Until we get to the bottom of this or Cassidy gets sick of me.’

‘In which case…’ Nallera drained her coffee and set it on the bar before drawing a sharp, apprehensive breath. ‘Don’t jerk Aryn around.’

Q’ira didn’t exactly flinch at that, but even Nallera could see the eyelash-fluttering reaction of surprise. ‘I don’t…’

‘He’s a good guy. A bit naive, a bit egotistical – he’d never say it, but he does think he’s smarter than everyone else. So he thinks he can study his way through every problem, and maybe that includes you.’ Nallera put an elbow on the bar as she shifted to face her. ‘I don’t know if he’s sweet on you or what, but he’s had your back. Don’t take advantage of him.’

Now Q’ira’s expression was settling – a little haughty, a little detached. Nallera couldn’t see what was going on under it, but she at least knew deflector shields were being raised. ‘He’s the one who could get me left behind if he said the word. What makes you think I got power over him?’

‘I mean, he won’t do that to you.’

‘Says you –’

‘Hey, I’m not here saying we’ve got it worse than you or anything!’ Nallera winced, finding herself flustered. ‘I’m not trying to get at you. I’m just saying. You could hurt him. So, like. Don’t.’

The simplicity of the argument seemed to take Q’ira aback. She shifted her weight on the stool. ‘I’m not trying to,’ she said after a beat, sullen.

‘Good.’

They fidgeted for a moment, quiet, until Q’ira said, ‘So you’re good friends.’

‘You see how much he does for the team,’ said Nallera. ‘Lives and breathes the job. We’d be up shit creek without him. Someone’s got to watch his back when it comes to his weak spots. Feelings are his weak spot. So, yeah. I tease him, but he’s good company, he’s hella loyal, and I look out for him.’

Q’ira brushed a lock of pale green hair behind an ear. ‘He’s kind,’ she said after a beat. ‘I’m not used to that.’

‘Yeah, it’s rare,’ Nallera sighed.

There was a rustling from the back of the bar, then the weathered figure of Zayna emerged through a door. The worn, middle-aged woman looked guarded as she saw them. ‘Q’ira. Thought you’d do me the decency of hiding upstairs.’

Q’ira dropped her head. ‘I just came down to drop a message.’

Nallera sat up, frowning. ‘It’s not your problem if someone spots us in here. We’re the ones managing our profile.’

Zayna folded her arms across her chest. ‘It’s my problem if the Syndicate kick in the door when someone sells you guys out because you were stupid enough to wander around in broad daylight.’

‘We’re sitting in the bar! Indoors! There are no windows!’

‘It’s okay.’ Q’ira hopped to her feet. ‘I’ll go -’

‘No, hang on, she saw me down here with a coffee earlier and didn’t give a damn.’ Nallera reached out to grab Q’ira’s elbow, stopping her, and glared at Zayna. ‘Cassidy’s paying you, ain’t he?’

Zayna pursed her lips. ‘He’s paid half.’

‘Do you reckon he won’t pay the rest? You’ll find out in about an hour when our ship’s in orbit and he can make some calls.’ Nallera stood. ‘If this is about the money, you got nothing to be pissed about.’

‘I didn’t say -’

‘And if it’s personal, then this girl’s about to take off and maybe never come back. So you could either keep your mouth shut and wait an hour and be free forever, or…’ Nallera worked her jaw, righteous indignation faded as she realised how much she’d furiously blundered into someone else’s issues. ‘Or maybe do something else with that time.’

In the silent that followed, Q’ira gently but firmly pulled her arm back. ‘It’s fine,’ she said after a moment. ‘Zayna was good for taking us in. I don’t need to be difficult.’

At that, Zayna rolled her eyes, and irritation surged in Nallera’s chest until she said, ‘You should be.’ At their surprised looks, she huffed. ‘You always tried to get somewhere by cosying up to someone or other. Maybe it worked – you got out – but it made you… I don’t know. Pliable. It’d do you good to be difficult sometimes.’

‘I don’t…’ Q’ira looked away. ‘That’s a great way to get left behind.’

‘Not if you earn your place. Make yourself essential. Don’t fluff people’s egos. Make it so they can’t ignore you.’

‘She’s doing that,’ Nallera blurted. ‘I mean, in a subtle, sneaky, smiley way. But she’s been essential. We’d be nowhere without her. Maybe dead.’

Zayna nodded, slouching against the bar with an air of indolence that Nallera only suspected was affected because she’d been so open. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have seen through the feigned, protective indifference. ‘I was pissed when you came back because I thought you’d found a new useless man to attach you to, who’d suck you dry, and now you were making his problems my problems. I don’t know about Starfleet shit…’ Here Nallera got a dubious look that was definitely sincere. ‘But whatever this is, it sounds like a chance at something that isn’t just being some idiot’s accessory. You were always better than that.’

Q’ira shifted her feet. ‘Not sure about that.’

‘Everyone’s better than that,’ Nallera blurted.

‘That’s cute, Starfleet,’ Zayna drawled. ‘Stupid, but cute. But maybe keep telling this girl it, and she’ll believe it, instead of thinking that she only gets anywhere ‘cos of that pretty face.’

‘And tits,’ Q’ira said quickly. ‘Those help.’

Zayna snorted and nodded. ‘Your big fella’s got us squared,’ she said after a beat. ‘Don’t worry about that. You can come back here. Just… don’t. Go to other places. Better places.’

‘I’d say this lot could help me with that,’ said Q’ira, ‘but they definitely kill people for Starfleet.’

‘Bad people!’ Nallera protested. ‘But in between we go to better places.’

In her pocket, her comm gave a chirrup, and she pulled it out to put it to her ear. ‘Chief? Did the girl even get you?’ Cassidy’s voice squeaked through. ‘Big bird’s here. Let’s get going.’

‘Better places,’ Zayna echoed, looking firmly at Nallera. ‘Even if it’s just for a little bit.’

Nallera nodded. Then paused. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘About that. And where we’re going next…’

‘Home, sweet home,’ Nallera groaned as the Rooks slouched off the transporter pad on the Blackbird. ‘Nobody better have touched my room.’

Commander Ranicus had her hands behind her back and her mouth open to address Cassidy – but stopped at that, squinting. ‘Why would anyone have… never mind.’ She shook her head and turned to the front. ‘Welcome back, Commander. I see we’ve picked up a stray.’

‘Consultant,’ Cassidy said bluntly, a hand on Q’ira’s shoulder. ‘She gets the guest room. She’s with us for the ride to our next destination.’

‘Which is?’

‘Oltanis IV. Set off at once. Max warp. Our target got a one-or-two day head start on us.’ Cassidy met Ranicus’s cool gaze without wavering. ‘We got a lot of Federation space to fly through to get there. If you want to argue, we can argue on the way before we get into trouble.’

Ranicus worked her jaw, then nodded and turned to Q’ira. ‘Ms Zherul. Let’s get you to your room.’

Q’ira balked at that. ‘How’d you -’

‘It’s my job,’ Ranicus said calmly. ‘This way.’

The Rooks watched the two women leave, gently nonplussed, before Cassidy shrugged and led them towards their section of the Blackbird. ‘Guess someone did their homework.’

‘I feel dumb,’ said Nallera. ‘Of course she’s got a family name.’

‘It didn’t matter before,’ said Cassidy. ‘You never know if it matters now.’

Rosewood sucked his teeth. ‘We’re taking her with us and not trusting her?’

Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘You make it sound like being careful is the same as putting a collar on her. She’s spent years with the Syndicate. I believe she wants to take the Changeling down, I believe she’s not gonna go running to T’Mell. But she probably spent half her life thinking we’re the bad guys. I’m gonna be careful.’

Rosewood glanced at Aryn, whose expression was studiously blank. As the Rooks descended the ladder to their operations section, he broke the silence.

‘Why would the Changeling go to a black market hub for Borg tech?’

‘That’s the million-bar question, right?’ said Cassidy, visibly relaxing as they moved on to work. The Rooks stopped in the corridor, the four facing each other. Rosewood could feel how none of them looked towards the door to Tiran’s room. ‘You’re the genius. What could it do with Borg tech and the Regulator?’

Aryn made a face. ‘I don’t have enough information to begin to guess.’

‘Ugh,’ groaned Nallera. ‘How do you make the Regulator worse?’

‘Increase its scale?’ wondered Rosewood. ‘Slow down an entire fleet and keep your ship unaffected?’

‘Anything I could imagine doing to it,’ mused Aryn, ‘would very quickly hit problems around power supply. Which is something Borg technology might be able to help with. Oltanis IV might not be about the what, but about the how.’

‘Good start.’ Cassidy nodded encouragingly. ‘You said you didn’t have the info to guess, Aryn. Then you guessed. I want you and Nallera working on these kinds of ideas during the trip.’

‘Again, the options are potentially infinite -’

‘What else are you gonna do?’

‘I,’ said Rosewood, nose in the air, ‘am going to get some sleep on a proper mattress.’

It was another occasion to sleep as if the universe would be better in the morning, sleep until the stars all burnt out. When he finally woke, exhaustion had not left his bones, and the quiet in the Rooks’ section of the Blackbird suggested the other three were similarly trying to sleep off the nightmare of the past few days.

The ship hummed at warp with an intensity that confirmed Ranicus had followed Cassidy’s orders. This was as fast and hot as the little ship could go, pelting them across Federation space. They had further to go than he’d like, but they knew the Changeling had at least been given a regular ship – not only one that they could trace with the details from Pendeor, but one that wouldn’t outrun them.

It was the thought of tracing that had Rosewood eventually head to the small room aboard that was generously designated a mission operations centre, and was in practice a few seats and consoles giving access to major ship systems. From here, the Rooks or their mission support could run processes, make communications, or do other work without disrupting the bridge.

He’d expected it to be empty, and so stumbled in the doorway when he found a figure sat in the gloom, silhouetted by the lights of the control bank. ‘Jesus! You startled me.’

Falaris looked up, owlish and guilty. ‘Sorry. Um. I work in here?’

‘You work on the bridge.’

‘My primary duty is to provide the Rooks with remote technical expertise and support analysis.’ She gestured at the screen with a stylus. ‘That’s best done from in here.’

At last, more awake, he took in the details of the operations centre. More specifically, the comfortable cushion under her chair, the blanket draped over the back of it, and the abandoned pads, empty mug, and personal bric-a-brac on the desk. ‘You’ve been at SB-38 for days.’

‘We came quickly to get you!’ she protested. ‘So I was in here trying to punch through the nebula’s interference and get eyes and ears on Kalviris. And now I’m trying to trace the Changeling.’

Rosewood paused, then headed to the replicator to get a coffee before he pulled up a chair behind her. ‘Any luck?’

‘I’ve been checking in with traffic systems for a ship matching the details you gave us.’ With the press of a button, the display shifted for a holographic projection they could both more easily see. ‘I’m getting a few hits. It would be easier with an exact reg.’

Rosewood scoffed. ‘I’ll feed that back to the Syndicate member we interrogated. It was just a random ship they had in their docks – do you know the reg of every ship available to us?’

‘I know the registry of every ship in the squadron,’ Falaris said with no apparent sense of irony. Then she flushed, realising this was rhetorical. ‘Um. Is that not normal?’

His lips curled. ‘This is good work, even if we can’t be sure. I don’t think the guy was lying, but he could also be, well. Wrong.’

She nodded, looking back at him. ‘It sounds like it got rough down there. Being stuck on your own. Needing to run interrogations with no proper facilities.’

‘The facilities weren’t the problem.’ He hesitated at her curious look, then shook his head. ‘Everyone was just a bit strung out. Including Cassidy.’

‘If it was getting to Cassidy, then I bet it was hard for all of you.’

‘Sure,’ said Rosewood, brow furrowing, ‘but I know what I’m doing. I’m not the one who nearly crossed a line down there.’

‘I… you’d know him better than me.’

Rosewood sat up, gaze sceptical. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t see that he’s basically vibrating with rage right now. That kind of thing colours your judgement.’

‘Well, I don’t see it, because I’ve not seen him since he came back aboard,’ she allowed. ‘But Tiran was – she was one of us. Part of our team. Aren’t you all mad?’

There’s no place for that anger to go. That was what Cassidy had observed when they’d met, and that was even believing the official story about his father’s death. Offering something for him to do something with that anger had been Cassidy’s big sell for bringing him into the Rooks in the first place.

‘Anger isn’t new to me,’ said Rosewood with a shrug. ‘I know how to handle it.’

Falaris watched him for a moment. Then she also shrugged and looked back at the screen. ‘Okay! Well, then if you want to stay busy because you’re so not angry, then you can help me scour these comm records to try to narrow down a ship trail.’ With a quick press of a button, she’d transferred data to a PADD which she shoved in his hands.

‘Who said – who said I wanted to stay busy?’

‘You came down here, didn’t you? And you thought you’d be alone.’

His eyes raked up from the PADD to her, to the blanket and empty mug. Rosewood tilted his head. ‘You were camped out in here.’

‘I… what?’ Now she looked wrong-footed, bashful.

‘After we called you to Kalviris. How long did you spend in here trying to find some sign of life from us?’

Falaris shifted her weight and turned back to the screen. ‘I know I’m not part of the team,’ she said quietly, a little embarrassed. ‘But I wanted to help. Even from a long way away. I wanted to do my part.’

Fleeing Redoubt, learning about Tiran, and discovering backup was days away had been terrifying, Rosewood thought. There had also been something lonely about it, about the knowledge they would have to navigate that dangerous world on their own. That sense of loneliness hadn’t faded, not really – only they could find this Changeling, stop this Changeling.

But as he settled down with the PADD and comms records to try to focus their hunt, give them even an iota more information as they tore across the Federation, Falaris’s concern was at least a little warming.

From orbit, Oltanis IV’s atmosphere looked bruised, or perhaps rotting, with hues of browns and greys from the thick clouds and dim, reflected light of the nearby star. Where the surface could be seen, so, too, could the scars of its history: crumbling Federation infrastructure, scattered Romulan outposts, and jagged, makeshift structures filling in the gaps.

‘I’ve not been here since I was a cadet, when this was a resupply hub for Starfleet’s evacuation operations,’ mused Ranicus, stood at Cassidy’s left side on the Blackbird bridge. ‘It was a place of hope back then.’

‘Sure,’ rumbled Cassidy. ‘Until the Federation remembered that there’s a cost to not putting yourself first.’

Falaris leaned over her console at Ops. ‘It looks like everything left behind by Starfleet has been repurposed. It’s ad hoc, but effective.’ She made a small, disquieted but unsurprised sound. ‘I’m also picking up pockets of life-signs clustered in very confined spaces.’

Rosewood glanced at her screen. ‘Beyond just habitation?’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t want to leap to conclusions.’

‘They’re holding facilities,’ said Cassidy, looking over, voice blunt. ‘This place was just an illicit tech development and trade hub until the Borg tech trade really took off. If you didn’t get your hands on bits from the Artifact or the devices going off in the summer, guess what’s the best source of Borg equipment?’

‘XBs,’ breathed Rosewood. ‘Jesus.’

‘Not sure any higher power gets out this far.’ Cassidy looked at Ranicus. ‘We drawn much attention?’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no local authority, no infrastructure to monitor traffic, and none of the locals are doing any active scanning on the off-chance they find us. Silent running’s stopped anyone noticing us so far. It should suffice for getting us to the surface.’

‘We won’t be able to go full undercover,’ he said, nodding, ‘but it’ll do for keeping out of harm’s way. Take us down to land. Rooks are gonna go in with the Nomad.’

‘Try to not lose this one.’

As the Blackbird descended through the atmosphere, the surface became clearer. Vast stretches of rusted-out industrial zones, the remnants of once-proud Federation infrastructure, showed spotty signs of life. Some hummed with activity, turning raw materials brought to Oltanis into whatever goods could be sold on out here. Others were dead and gutted, no longer in use, but with the occasional sign of life from scavengers. Here and there, small shanty town settlements clustered around the decayed husks of industrial life.

The Blackbird set down in a dusty, abandoned starport some distance from the main cluster of habitation. It took a half-hour’s drive by Nomad before the Rooks were rolling through the outer perimeter of a bazaar of illicit goods. Armed guards in mismatched armour patrolled the area, each working for a different outfit, from gangs to companies, while drones whirred overhead, keeping a suspicious eye on everything.

Stale, arid air thick with the metallic scent of industry and death hit them when Rosewood pulled the Nomad up and they rolled out. Q’ira glanced back at the vehicle, raising an eyebrow. ‘We just gonna let the locals rip this apart?’

‘They can try,’ said Rosewood with a thin smile. ‘If they want a run-in with automated defences.’

Cassidy looked at her. ‘You said you knew where to start.’

‘I’ve an idea,’ she said. ‘Until or unless your girl up there can pick up a trail on Aestri’s ship. We want to talk to Gravik; he’s the local Syndicate fixer. It’d make sense for her to check in with him for whatever she needs in this place. He’d help her for free or for cheap, and he knows everyone.’

‘And if not,’ said Cassidy, scratching his chin, ‘he might be pissed if a Syndicate lieutenant’s cutting him out of local ops. Lead on.’

She gave a tight nod and adjusted her jacket, leading them through the grimy, crowded streets of the settlement. Traders hawked goods on either side of them – hacked tech from the Federation, Free State, or Star Empire; weapons from all origins; selections of narcotics.

‘Far cry from Ilior,’ mused Aryn.

‘Is it?’ said Rosewood. ‘Ilior was the same, just on a bigger scale.’

‘It was cleaner,’ said Nallera.

‘On the surface.’

They passed a stall behind which a metallic skeleton was strung up on a wall, the frame of a body embedded with mechanical implants. Rosewood caught a glimpse of a familiar oily, emerald hue, and had to look sharply at Aryn.

‘Is that…’

His head was down, hands in his pockets with his shoulders hunched. It was Nallera who answered, falling into step with him.

‘Borg. Yeah, that’s probably the remains of a drone or an xB with the biological components, uh, purged.’

Rosewood’s jaw tightened, and he stepped up beside Cassidy. ‘This place is a cesspit.’

‘All the better to get lost in.’ Cassidy had barely spared the stall a glance, but he raised his voice an iota. ‘Keeping your lunch, Four?’

‘Still here.’

Rosewood wanted to rebuke him for the mockery, but then Q’ira gestured to a building ahead.

‘We’re here.’

It had once clearly been a Federation command post, now stripped and gutted. A patchwork of neon lights and a sturdy barricade surrounded it, and above the door hung a banner with the Syndicate sigil, the most brazen and open display of their power and presence Rosewood had ever seen.

‘Let’s hope like hell they haven’t heard I killed Torrad-Var,’ she mused. ‘Or this is going to be a real short conversation.’

There was only one guard at the door, and it didn’t take much convincing from Q’ira to let them in. In Redoubt, they’d been checked by tight security and stripped of their weapons before being allowed anywhere near Torrad-Var. But that had been at the heart of a Syndicate stronghold, and this was only an outpost. If Oltanis was ruled by the law of the jungle, there was no way they could demand anyone disarmed themselves anywhere.

‘Just four guys in here,’ Nallera murmured as the Rooks passed through the doors into the main building. ‘Not heavy security.’

‘Gravik doesn’t have stuff here. There’s nothing much to steal,’ said Q’ira. ‘He deals in information and connections. Plus, who wants to piss off the Syndicate by hitting their hub here without a big payday?’

Going from a marketplace with a corpse strung up in the street to a dingy office felt incongruous even by the standards of the cesspits Rosewood had been to with the Rooks. Gravik kept a desk where the local Federation administrator would have, though all original equipment had been stripped out and replaced with the Syndicate’s own gear. In the gaps between the screens on the far wall, Rosewood could see the scratched and disfigured Federation emblem engraved into the stone.

Gravik himself was a wiry Orion, his skin a pale blue and marred by thin scars. He sat behind the desk with his feet up, fingertips pressed together.

‘It’s Q’ira, isn’t it? Torrad-Var’s girl,’ he said in a voice like a low purr before he stood. ‘Always happy to receive a representative of the Master of the Bleak Shadow.’ But his eyes fell on the others. ‘Less happy to receive Starfleet.’

‘We’re not here for trouble,’ said Rosewood, stepping forward before Cassidy could. ‘Just business.’

‘Business.’ Gravik ran his tongue over his teeth like he was tasting the word, then looked back at Q’ira. ‘I hope they’re making it worth your while.’

‘They pay good if you don’t push them,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Torrad-Var has me looking into the affairs of one of our own. Aestri.’ There was a tell-tale flicker in Gravik’s expression, and she cocked her head. ‘She came by?’

‘Came. Left.’ Gravik shrugged. ‘I know your boss doesn’t like her much. But I try to not pick sides in these sorts of disagreements between the brethren.’

Q’ira sighed, then sauntered closer, the sway of her hips signalling to Rosewood the change in her tactics. ‘Are you sure? Because I can be convincing. And both Torrad-Var and I can be… grateful.’

His leering was open and unapologetic, but Gravik winced. ‘I’d consider it if you hadn’t rolled up with the enemy.’

‘You don’t have to hand anyone over on a platter,’ Q’ira purred. ‘We just want to know what her business here was, who she talked to, and maybe where she went.’

‘That’s quite a lot, actually,’ he pointed out.

Rosewood cleared his throat. ‘I’m not going to try to strong-arm anyone. Starfleet knows places like this exist, and if it wasn’t on Oltanis, it would be somewhere else. But Aestri’s the problem; she’s the one who’s brought us here -’

‘Fuck this,’ groaned Cassidy, and the next thing Rosewood knew, the Rooks’ leader had grabbed Gravik by the throat and slammed him down onto his own desk.

Both Rosewood and Q’ira shouted, but the big man ignored them, glowering down at the flailing, helpless Gravik. ‘Where’d Aestri go? What was her business.’

‘I don’t…’ Gravik sputtered, choked. ‘…you don’t dare…’

‘What, beat the shit out of you? Are your two guards gonna stop me?’ Cassidy snarled. A jerk of the head towards Nallera had her turning, phaser in hand, towards the door, and Rosewood looked on incredulously to see Aryn step beside her. ‘Other people don’t turn this place upside-down because the Syndicate would come for ‘em. Do you think Starfleet gives a shit right now if the Syndicate’s mad at us?’

All Gravik could do was choke more.

‘One, this is crazy,’ hissed Rosewood. ‘We want him alive and cooperating.’

Cassidy ignored him. ‘Nice computer system you got there. I could jack into it and have my ops officer pull all your info in ten seconds. Maybe fifteen if the connection’s bad. Then I won’t just find your records of Aestri’s coming and going, but all Syndicate info. How’s that for picking sides, letting Starfleet snatch and grab all that intel?’

Gravik was pawing desperately at Cassidy’s forearm, ineffective.

‘Okay, so it’s encrypted. Maybe it takes my girl an hour to decrypt it, find what we need.’ Cassidy tilted his head this way and that. ‘So there’s perks for both of us to you telling me exactly what I want.’

Rosewood found he’d bitten the inside of his mouth and could taste blood. ‘One, you want to loosen his grip so he can answer, or choke him out first?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘I best mind my manners with scum.’ He let go with a shove that had Gravik choking and sputtering. ‘Call guards, and all you get is front-row seats to the Chief back there ripping them apart.’ In the background, Nallera somehow cracked her knuckles without dropping her phaser.

Gravik rubbed his neck, chest heaving. ‘…Aestri came,’ he rasped at last. ‘Wanted the most serious outfit I knew for Borg tech supplies and modifications. I sent her to a chop shop run by this Romulan guy, name of Kanem. Southern side of the city.’

‘Location,’ Cassidy growled.

‘Here.’ Gravik picked up a PADD and jabbed in details, then tossed it to Cassidy. ‘They’re serious people.’

‘So are we,’ said Cassidy with a shrug. ‘If I find you’re bullshitting me, this place burns to the ground. Got it?’

Gravik shot a furious look at Q’ira. ‘Torrad-Var’s gonna hear of this. And if he’s on board with that, I’m taking this all the way to the Queen.’

She tossed her hair over a shoulder, though Rosewood could see a glint in her eye. ‘Babes, for an information broker, you’re really behind,’ was all she said.

Gravik knew better than to push his luck further, at least, and nobody stopped the Rooks leaving. Eyes were on them all the way back to the Nomad, but that, too, was untouched, and they were rolling southwards within fifteen minutes of leaving Gravik’s place.

Once the door was shut and they were moving, Rosewood gave up holding his tongue. ‘You should have warned us you were going to do that.’

Cassidy looked incredulously at him. ‘What was your plan? To baby the Syndicate broker?’

‘We could have done that without burning a line on our intel!’

‘My way worked,’ Cassidy snapped. ‘And last I checked, you answer to me, kid, not the other way around. I don’t gotta warn you about shit.’

Behind them, Q’ira spoke now, quiet and resentful. ‘There goes any chance anyone in the Syndicate listens to me again, though. I just used my credit to get you in, and you spent all of it.’

He twisted in the chair, but to Rosewood’s surprise, his voice dropped. ‘Your credit was blown the moment you walked in with Starfleet, first. Second… any day, now, word’s gonna get out that you sold out and murdered Torrad-Var with us. So, yeah, I spent it. Because we’re at use it or lose it time. This is what it’s gonna take to find that Changeling.’

Q’ira didn’t answer that, and the Rooks fell silent as Rosewood drove the Nomad trundling south in the direction set out by Gravik. Perhaps Cassidy was right, Rosewood reflected; perhaps they had to be heavy-handed with Q’ira’s influence, staying barely ahead of the news that would doubtless see her made a pariah among her people.

But it was increasingly unclear to Rosewood where, exactly, the limit was for Cassidy on what their mission was going to take.

The chop shop Kanem ran sat among the remnants of the old Federation industrial zone. Rusted metal and crumbling concrete loomed overhead, the towering skeletons of abandoned warehouses casting long shadows across grimy streets. Makeshift barriers of old shipping containers and repurposed starship hull plating formed a crude barrier between the facility and its defences, and the rest of Oltanis IV’s main settlement.

A stench of burning plasma and coolant filled the air, mingling with that metallic scent of blood and industry. They’d parked up the Nomad a distance away and proceeded on foot, with Cassidy now leading them, his steps measured. They passed by what used to be a large cargo yard, now a scrapyard of twisted metal and dismembered starship parts. Within sat not only remains of Federation and Romulan technology, but the husks of sections of Borg wreckage, too. A lot of abandoned debris from the last year’s uptick in Borg activity had made it to this planet.

The original signage had been repurposed, lettering rearranged or scratched out or scrawled over to warn trespassers in a half-dozen languages: KEEP OUT.

‘Right through there,’ said Q’ira, nodding at the closed doors of the factory building the signage hung above. Two guards stood at the entrance, a Romulan and Andorian. They were both armed, but their disruptor rifles were heavily modified. Rosewood could see, yet again, the gleam of Borg technology built into the mechanisms.

‘I got this,’ he mumbled, and advanced as the guards stared openly at them, hands raising for a placating body language and smile. ‘We’re here to talk to Kanem. We have business.’

The Romulan guard’s face was a patchwork of scars and metallic implants. ‘What business?’

‘We’re friends of Gravik,’ Rosewood said. ‘He sent us here. Said Kanem would want to hear us out.’

The guards exchanged a glance, but Kanem’s voice seemed to carry weight. It became clear theirs weren’t the only eyes on the Rooks as the Andorian cocked his head, listening to an unseen speaker, then he nodded to the Romulan. ‘They’re clear.’

A deep rumble echoed as the heavy doors slid open, revealing the interior of the compound. Inside, the scene shifted from industrial decay for a sprawling, makeshift operation of repurposed industrial equipment and operating stations inside the old factory. Workbenches lined the walls, covered in disassembled Borg implants, cybernetic limbs, and arrays of tools – some of which were medical, not mechanical. Though there was no immediate sign of any of the implants’ original owners, dark stains on the ground spoke of the grisly work done. The workstations were all empty for now, everything carefully and professionally stored and tidied. A handful of workers inside, all in plain, matching jumpsuits, were cleaning each bench, its devices, its tools.

At the far end of the factory floor, under the dull glow of flickering lights, a raised platform led to a steel-reinforced office, its windows darkened but clearly offering a view over the entire operation.

‘This place is worse than I imagined,’ Rosewood muttered, his eyes flickering to the stains.

‘It’s fuckin’ sick is what it is,’ said Nallera, louder.

‘It’s average for this sort of facility.’ Aryn’s voice sounded like it came from a long way away. ‘Just… larger.’

Cassidy advanced on the office. ‘Kanem’s waiting for us.’

Guards at the doors and overhead gantries watched them as they crossed the floor and climbed the metal staircase to the platform. The door inside opened as they arrived, and at once they were greeted with normal lighting and a much sweeter smell. This entire facility was a den of blood and iron, so it was only natural, Rosewood mused, that its master had built an air freshener into his office. Otherwise, he might have to live in the misery over which he lorded.

Kanem was a wiry Romulan wearing a suit Rosewood could tell was expensive, and not merely by the standards of Oltanis IV. The cybernetic implant embedded in his temple looked slick and modern, and though Rosewood had to wonder if Borg technology was involved at all – someone had to dare have those things put in their bodies if the market was booming this much – there was no obvious sign of it. His wooden desk was intricately carved, though with subtle imperfections that spoke of a crafting by hand that only added to its obvious expense. While he, like Gravik, was alone in the room, even the briefest glance identified several cameras. Another attempt at brute force would only summon guards.

‘Starfleet.’ Kanem kicked back behind his desk, saying the word like he was tasting it. ‘Don’t look so surprised – Gravik told me you were coming. He seemed a little… upset?’

Cassidy opened his mouth, and Rosewood surged forward at once, slicking his hair back. ‘We got off on the wrong foot with him,’ he admitted quickly. ‘It doesn’t have to be that way with us.’

Dark eyes raked over each of the Rooks in turn, lingering most of all on Q’ira – and then, to Rosewood’s bewilderment, Aryn. Then Kanem shrugged. ‘If you were here to shut me down, you wouldn’t have needed to ask Gravik about me first, and you wouldn’t walk in the front door. That means it’s business.’ He gave a light scoff. ‘It’s been a while since I talked shop with Starfleet.’

Rosewood worked hard to keep his expression studied, but one of the others must have fumbled their poker face, because Kanem laughed.

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ the Romulan scoffed. ‘You might not like what I do, but I do it in an ordered fashion. Out here, where Starfleet can’t be bothered to send a starship? Of course there have been times we’ve made deals. It’s been very convenient for your superiors for them to sometimes help me take down – and take over – a volatile, violent, dangerous competitor, for example.’

‘Unlike your work here.’ That was Aryn, and now Rosewood had to turn, surprised and indignant, as the lanky science officer piped up. His expression was flat, voice low. ‘No signs of violence here.’

Kanem’s head cocked, eyes going cold. ‘If you came here to lecture me…’

Rosewood stepped forward, putting himself between Kanem and the rest of the Rooks. ‘We came for business,’ he said quickly. His gaze flickered to Cassidy, who had walked to the window overlooking the main factory floor and was staring out on it instead of getting involved. That seemed for the best. ‘All we want is information. It’s very simple.’

‘It’s never simple with Starfleet. But I don’t have time to hold your hand through the moral dilemma of compromising with me.’ Kanem clicked his tongue and leaned back. ‘As if you haven’t spent decades compromising with the brutality of the Klingon Empire, or the oppression of the Union. I might appear messier. But my scale is merely industrial. Theirs is imperial. And you let them do it anyway.’

‘If you don’t want a lecture on your work, then don’t give me a lecture on the reality of geopolitics,’ Rosewood drawled. ‘Can’t we both be adults and professionals?’

Kanem sat up. ‘I would like that, yes. What do I call you?’

‘John,’ Rosewood said easily, and slipped into the seat across from him. He heard Aryn, over his shoulder, step away, moving to the periphery of the office and the discussion. That seemed for the best, if the operator had decided he had boundaries today. ‘We’re looking for someone Gravik said came to do business with you.’

‘Ah,’ said Kanem. ‘The Orion. Aestri.’

‘That’s right. I know you deal in more than implants. We saw the scrapyard out there. You’ve secured the lion’s share of salvage of Borg technology.’

‘I have. But my clients rely on me for a certain level of discretion.’

‘That just means,’ said Rosewood, ‘that we have to strike the right price. I can’t imagine she paid an astonishing amount to secure a meagre amount of hardware.’

‘It’s not just hardware,’ said Aryn, turning from the window to face them, and Rosewood wanted to yell at him. ‘There’s more than implant extraction going on here, isn’t there? You have research facilities, development labs. A lot of that Borg technology is sophisticated and dangerous; people can’t just plug it into their freighter. So someone has to work out how to put all of this hardware to use. Or you can’t shift it.’

Kanem’s expression was emotionless as he looked up at Aryn. ‘We offer a range of services here, yes. I’ve already confirmed the person you’re looking for engaged some of them. I can’t possibly tell you what they were.’

‘If you -’

‘Four.’ Rosewood’s voice was clipped before he looked back at Kanem. ‘He’s one of my developers. You know how they can sometimes lose track of actual business. You should talk to me.’

Kanem eyed Aryn for a moment more, then rested his elbows on the desk and looked at Rosewood. ‘Then what do you want to say? John?’

‘Let’s cut to the chase. I want to know what Aestri got out of you, and any information you have on where she went. So just… name your price.’

‘The price. To sell out an Orion Syndicate lieutenant to Starfleet.’ Kanem clicked his tongue as he plucked a PADD off the desk.

‘An Orion Syndicate lieutenant who managed to draw Starfleet’s attention here for the first time in how long?’

‘That’s why we can have this negotiation at all. It doesn’t help the price. It just means there is one.’ Kanem tapped the PADD a few times, then slid it across the desk. ‘Here.’

Rosewood reached for it, but Cassidy was there first, grabbing it and reading. Rosewood had to resist the urge to pull it from him as the team leader stood still for a moment, staring down at the screen.

Then he tossed it back on the desk. ‘No.’

Kanem made a face. ‘This isn’t a haggling sort of occasion. You should be grateful I’m discussing selling this information at all; I’ve no time to play games with Starfleet –’

Rosewood sat up. A quick glance at the screen showed an eye-watering amount of latinum, but it still didn’t compare to what they’d spent on Ilior. ‘We -’

‘Playing games is exactly what you’re gonna do,’ grunted Cassidy. ‘Because you don’t like the alternative to playing games. So I’m saying “no,” and you’re gonna sleep on it, and then we’re gonna talk again.’

Kanem stared at him for a moment. Then tossed a hand in the air. ‘Tomorrow, it’ll be the same price, except your target’s another twenty-four hours away. Be my guest. Or, rather, stop being my guests.’ His look at the door was pointed.

At Gravik’s office, Rosewood had ground his teeth and held his tongue until they were back in the Nomad. This time, as he walked with his fists clenched through the factory floor and then out past the compound barricade, he got as far as around the corner before he rounded on Cassidy.

‘Should I just sit on the ship for these meetings?’ he snapped. ‘Seeing as you know all about doing these negotiations? He isn’t going to budge!’

Nallera made a small, upset noise. ‘We don’t know that.

‘I… think he’s right,’ said Q’ira with a wince. ‘We’re working at a very high level here. He’s taking a risk just taking the meeting; he might not let us in when we go back.’

‘We’ll get in,’ said Cassidy, but his eyes were locked on Rosewood, impassive. ‘And you need to get a grip, Five. We’re in public.’

‘I’ve got to get a grip?’ Rosewood snarled. ‘I had two perfectly good negotiations set up, and in both of them you’ve come in to wreck everything with brute force -’

‘It worked with Gravik.’

‘Well, it won’t work with Kanem! And I knew that! But you’re so caught up on this rip-roaring mission of vengeance that you can’t see a way through something without violence!’

Cassidy took a step forward, and Rosewood could almost hear the intakes of breath. He was silent a moment, looking Rosewood up and down. ‘I’m caught up on vengeance.’ His voice was low, his scoff gentle. ‘Look at yourself. How much would you have lined the pockets of the worst people in the galaxy today to get what you want?’

‘I -’

‘Like I said with Gravik: all we lost was credit we needed to spend or lose anyway. But you were willing to hand him a small fortune, because, what? Blood’s not on your hands if you can’t see it? Paying to support violence is morally superior to inflicting it?’

For a moment, Rosewood thought the shuddering in his chest was rage. Then it fluttered into something more complex, and whatever it was took the wind out of his sails, dampened his fury. He paused, if only to swallow down the bile and void rising within him. ‘What about Kanem? Do you have an answer to how we get intel out of him? Or just arbitrary superiority?’

‘I’ve got an answer. I got that answer the moment I heard what he was. And knew it was right the moment we set foot in that factory floor, stained in blood.’ Cassidy looked from Rosewood to the rest of the team, and when he straightened it was as if his gravitational field had become more powerful. ‘Aestri came a long way to see him. Whatever it was she needed, it won’t have been small. In an operation that slick, there’ll be records of it. So we take ‘em.’

Rosewood swallowed again. ‘Take them.’

‘Yeah. You know. With guns and shit-kicking boots, because they’re a bunch of murderous assholes.’ Cassidy gave a smile that was all teeth. ‘And then we burn that entire operation to the ground.’

‘They know we’re here,’ said Cassidy, gesturing about the Rooks’ briefing room. ‘But they don’t know about Blackbird. They’ve no idea of the resources we’ve got. So there’s no way they’re prepared.’ He turned to Falaris and nodded. ‘Lieutenant.’

She stepped to the main holographic display and with the press of a button summoned the sensor feed of Kanem’s compound. ‘They’ve various forms of shielding around the compound itself to block transporters and sensors. Certainly we can’t just beam into their office and out, but I’ve been able to calibrate our sensors to get a more complete image of the facility than they’d like.’

‘Nice,’ said Nallera, eyes lighting up as she looked at the sophisticated scans of the facility. ‘Starfleet sensor technology wins the day again. Guess we should thank the scientists, huh?’ She elbowed Aryn lightly, but his wan expression didn’t shift much.

‘Starfleet sensor technology gives us a good start to the day,’ Cassidy said, voice clipped. ‘It’s let us make a plan. We’re the ones who gotta execute it.’

Rosewood leaned back in the comfortable seating littered about the Rooks’ meeting room, and listened as Cassidy elaborated. In a pause, his eyes flickered from Cassidy to Falaris, and he raised a languid hand. ‘Can we really hack their computer systems that well from here? This isn’t a soft target. This is an expensive and professional operation.’

Falaris blinked, clearly not expecting the challenge. ‘Oh! Uh, there are some particular gaps in the software, is the thing…’ She looked down at her PADD and began to scroll. ‘Most of the systems in the facility are what you might call “locally sourced;” that is, acquired right here on Oltanis IV.’

‘How sustainable,’ drawled Nallera.

‘Which means that the basic software is Federation in origin. Modified and updated and with various other programmes plugged in,’ said Falaris, nodding quickly. ‘That’s actually a really smart move by Kanem because the encryption protocols are second to none. But they’re also fifteen years old – so, Federation systems segment their networks into modular subroutines to compartmentalise data, but the older models don’t have the adaptive feedback loops the new ones do, and if I inject the right data strings through a legacy API they never patched -’

‘Okay!’ Cassidy waved a hand. ‘Point is, you can bust open their systems, and Rosewood ain’t actually qualified to question you. Is he?’

Rosewood sighed deeply. ‘I wanted to check,’ he said tersely, ‘because if the lieutenant can’t get in, then this entire plan is bust.’

‘She can get in,’ said Cassidy bluntly. ‘Any other questions?’

Ranicus had been standing by the door the entire time, and raised a hand sharply at this. ‘One: is this legal?’

A silence fell over the room. Nallera turned her head after a beat. ‘Uh, it’s a chop shop for xBs. They put out bounties on them to be brought in alive, before they cut them up, rip out their implants, then murder them, and modify and sell.’

‘According to whom?’ Ranicus’s expression didn’t move.

‘I mean, Gravik told us,’ Nallera said.

‘We don’t need Gravik’s testimony,’ Rosewood butted in. Cassidy’s methods for extracting intelligence off Gravik could be glazed over in a report explaining how they moved on from lead to lead. It wouldn’t stand up to the scrutiny of a legal inquiry.

‘Then what do you have?’ said Ranicus. ‘Lieutenant Falaris identified clustered life-signs that might indicate detainees on the sub-level, but you -’

‘I saw them.’ Rosewood looked Ranicus dead in the eye. ‘When we were on the factory floor.’

This was a lie. There had been the suggestion of remains. Stains that might have been blood, might have been oil. Devices that definitely were implants taken from a body, but potentially acquired from elsewhere. A cluster of evidence that mounted up to treat Kanem’s operation as a chop shop for the purposed of intelligence and investigation. Not enough to give the order for a strike.

Seeing it for themselves was something else.

It was unclear if Ranicus believed him or disbelieved him. She stared him down for a moment, then looked at Cassidy. ‘If that’s all in order,’ she said, voice holding a clear warning, ‘then I’ll get to the bridge and identify a dense patch of atmo we can park ourselves in to run systems hot enough for transporters and transmissions without getting noticed.’

‘Good,’ said Cassidy.

But Ranicus paused again, and looked at Q’ira. ‘There is no way she can participate in a deliberate assault on a target like this. You know that, right?’

Cassidy’s hands came up. ‘I’m not an idiot, Commander. I’m not arming and equipping her to go into a shootout with these guys. There’s things I can justify on Kalviris in a pinch. This ain’t that kind of pinch.’

‘It’s not,’ Ranicus agreed. ‘I’ll let you make your preparations.’

Once she was gone, Cassidy turned back to the other four. ‘She’s right that we can’t screw this up. We pull it off, and we’ve taken a bad player off the board to acquire critical information. We get it wrong, and we’ve gone off-mission to start trouble with whatever consequences we stir up.’

‘Not to mention,’ said Nallera, ‘we’re completely screwed in finding Aestri.’

‘Not to mention,’ Cassidy agreed with a brisk nod. ‘Get some sleep, Rooks. Mission launch is 0100 local time.’

Rosewood waited until the others had left, staying lounging back on the seat. Cassidy clearly noticed this, and stood with his arms folded across his chest, glaring right up until the doors shut behind Nallera and Aryn.

‘What now?’ Cassidy growled.

‘I just lied to justify this op.’ Rosewood stood. ‘Because Ranicus is right: this is impulsive and we’re in danger of going way out of our mission parameters.’

‘You’re doing what you have to for the team.’ Cassidy’s shoulders eased. ‘That’s what a Rook should do.’

‘You mean I’m covering for you.’

Cassidy scoffed. ‘Don’t act like this is just for me.’

‘I don’t -’

‘You’re Mister Smart “I Read People” Good,’ Cassidy sneered.

‘First of all, that’s a terrible nickname -’

‘Because you’re being shit at it. Take an ounce of that talent and put to good use.’

‘How?’ Rosewood’s jaw dropped. ‘So I can figure out how Kanem feels when we take his entire operation off the board?’

Cassidy grabbed his PADDs and turned off the holodisplay. ‘No,’ he said simply, calmer now, colder. ‘Completely wrong direction.’

Then he left, and only once Rosewood had been stood on his own for about three minutes did it click.

When Aryn opened the door to his room, he looked worn, tired. He’d shucked the outer layers of his field gear, stripped down to the base t-shirt and work trousers, tops and jacket and boots ditched in a pile. ‘What?’

Five minutes ago, Rosewood would have been taken aback by such an uncharacteristically terse response. Now, veins fizzing, he all but pushed past Aryn so the door could shut behind him and give them privacy before he turned and said, ‘You’re an xB.’

Aryn froze. Rosewood had been sure he was right, but the hesitation, the visible calculation of whether to deny, gave him all the answers he needed. ‘Cassidy didn’t -’

‘Cassidy didn’t say shit. But it’s true, isn’t it? It’s why you hated being in there. And it’s why…’ Rosewood rocked back on his heels. The spark in him wasn’t anger or betrayal, but the sense of putting a puzzle together. ‘I thought your record was weird – why would you go from R&D to field work? But I assumed you’d been recruited during that section that’s massively classified, but you were assimilated –’

‘John, I wasn’t trying to lie.’ Aryn’s voice came in a rush, eyes widening. ‘Most people don’t know. And I did my homework before you came aboard, and I know your father was gunned down on Frontier Day -’

‘My father,’ said Rosewood, now a little light-headed, ‘was replaced by a Changeling.’ When he’d told Tiran – or who he’d thought was Tiran – it had felt like he was dragging the words out of him. That felt like a million years ago, though, and now the truth spilt more freely than he expected. ‘So if I’m going on a roaring rampage of vengeance, it’s not against you.’

‘Oh.’ Aryn’s shoulders dropped. Then, ‘I’m sorry. That’s really awful.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Rosewood’s nose wrinkled. Voicing feelings was often painful, forcing them to the light where he had to experience every sensation, every anguish of them. But there was a simple power to having that pain acknowledged he often underestimated.

It still didn’t mean he wanted to linger, eyes raking over Aryn. ‘How come – I’m sorry, I’ve barged in here to make accusations, and it’s none of my business.’

‘No, I suppose… I need to get a better poker-face. I’m the one who’s been lying. Ask away.’

‘How’ve you been able to hide it?’

Aryn sighed, eyes going to the ceiling. ‘I was one of the lucky ones. Highly responsive to treatment, possibly due to Ardanan maturity rates. Doctors were able to regrow a lot of what was… replaced. So there’s no visible implants. Some scarring. I sleep normally. I’m not sure I’d be in this job otherwise; it’d just make me a target.’

‘But going back to R&D wasn’t an option,’ Rosewood surmised. ‘Not with the level of clearance they’d need to give you to do it like you used to.’

‘There’s that,’ said Aryn, rolling his shoulders, ‘and I’ve got debts to pay. It was Cassidy who got me out.’

I got you out of that forsaken lab, I got you out of that inquiry where they were gonna hang you out to dry, I gave you purpose when the galaxy was about to spit you out, Rosewood remembered Cassidy snarling at Aryn in the dark on Kalviris. Perhaps Aryn did mean Cassidy had been instrumental in freeing him from the Collective. But that was probably not the whole of it.

Rosewood let out a slow breath. ‘I’m sorry I was going to make that deal with Kanem.’ He meant it, he thought. But it wasn’t the whole reason he said it.

‘You didn’t know,’ said Aryn with a shrug. ‘You may think Cassidy’s going off the deep end. But he does look out for us, you know that? I don’t know if he’d have asked me to be party to that.’

Or, Rosewood mused, he gets to do what he wanted anyway, but pretends it was out of respect for you. ‘Does Nallera know?’ Aryn nodded, and Rosewood’s lips twisted. ‘I bet Q’ira doesn’t.’

‘No,’ said Aryn lightly. ‘I didn’t tell the Syndicate runaway my darkest personal secret.’

‘Hey. I didn’t either.’

Aryn gave a gentle, wry scoff. ‘It at least explains why you’re wound so tightly. I understand. But Kanem… I don’t need to explain why what he’s doing is disgusting, I hope. He may not be our mission. But there’s no reason we can’t do a little bit of good along the way.’

‘Good,’ Rosewood echoed. ‘It gets easy to lose sight of that, doesn’t it, sometimes? The outcomes of our missions. When we’re right in the middle of the dirt, there isn’t good or bad, there’s just… objectives.’

‘I find that’s a time for trust. Trust in leadership. Trust in the team.’ Aryn looked him up and down. ‘You should try that.’

To get a view overlooking Kanem’s facility, the four Rooks had to set up a surveillance post nearby. The Romulan was smart enough to stop any serious operations from setting up near his, but that meant that the tall, decrepit storage facility nearly one hundred and fifty metres away from Kanem’s facility was empty that night. From the opening of a shattered wall, they could hunker down in the shadows and watch.

Cassidy peered through the telefocals and gave a grunt. ‘Two guards at the barrier gate. Turret above it. No guards at the entrances to the facility proper, but two patrolling solo within the barricade.’

‘About what we expected,’ mused Rosewood, then glanced up at the night sky. ‘Blackbird, anything we’re not seeing?’

‘Not on the exterior. Interior guard numbers are difficult to confirm,’ came Falaris’ voice in his earpiece. ‘No telling who’s a guard and who’s a prisoner. I see twenty-four life-signs.’

‘Let’s hope that’s not twenty-four guards, then,’ mumbled Nallera. ‘Or we got our work cut out for us.’

Cassidy ignored that. ‘Breach their systems when you’re ready, Blackbird.’

‘On it. Ready to crack this thing open like a jefforior.’

There was a pause. Rosewood cleared his throat. ‘Nobody here knows what that is.’

‘I – it’s a fruit – they have them back on -’

‘This is the most secure channel on the planet but let’s not give up our home world and mothers’ maiden name just yet,’ drawled Cassidy.

‘Sorry, One.’

‘Don’t be sorry. Get it done.’ To Rosewood’s surprise, Cassidy didn’t make that a rebuke, but more like a firm hand steering Falaris back to the job at hand.

Beside them, sat with his back to the wall, Aryn studied the sensor feed from the Blackbird on his reinforced field PADD. ‘This had best work,’ he mumbled after cutting his mic. ‘Or we fail at the first hurdle.’

‘Yeah,’ said Nallera, fidgeting with the two-foot long, cylindrical piece of equipment she’d had replicated specially for the operation. ‘Or we breach under direct fire with a lot of attention.’

Rosewood wasn’t sure they’d breach at all if it didn’t work, but he didn’t say that, shaking his head. ‘She knows what she’s doing. How many times has her work saved our asses? She’s like the sixth Rook.’

Fifth, arguably, Rosewood thought wryly, but nobody voiced that. A moment later, his faith was rewarded with Falaris’s jubilant voice, crowing with more volume and enthusiasm than they dared from their vantage point.

‘Got it! I’m into their camera feed. Injecting a false input now on the main gate; that camera feeds the turret, too. They’ll think something’s out there.’

Cassidy pressed the telefocals closer as he peered. ‘Confirmed, Blackbird. Guards are moving to the gate to respond.’

Nallera hefted her gear. ‘Do we move?’

‘We move when we know it’s clear,’ said Rosewood sharply.

‘Yeah, but… they’re distracted now. We don’t know if it’ll get better.’

‘Stick to the plan, Three,’ Cassidy chided. ‘We move now, we just show our asses in front of a cluster of guards.’

A noise of frustration came over the comms. ‘Automated systems defences have spotted my intrusion,’ Falaris swore. ‘Good news is they think this is just a glitch. Bad news is they’re locking me out.’

‘That was fast,’ muttered Nallera.

‘Far faster than we need,’ Aryn agreed.

‘And – I’m out.’ Falaris sighed. ‘Sorry, Rooks.’

Cassidy clicked his tongue as he watched through the telefocals. ‘Guards at the barricade are returning to position.’

Rosewood breathed a soft oath. ‘That wasn’t as good as we hoped.’

‘Do we go anyway?’ Nallera asked again.

‘You all need to hold,’ Cassidy said, and now he did sound like he was rebuking them. ‘One bad mission and you all lose your nerve? You’re professionals. Get it together.’

Aryn peered around the wall to look down at the facility. ‘If those guards aren’t sufficiently distracted -’

Then the facility went dark. Every light – the floodlight overlooking the main entrance, the lights at the corners of the barricade, the illumination creeping from the few windows and gaps of the central facility – died. A heartbeat later, a new voice piped up on their comms.

‘Energy disruptor in place. Generator’s out; should look like a technical failure,’ Q’ira reported.

Cassidy didn’t hesitate before nodding to Nallera. ‘Now we go.’ He pressed a finger to his earpiece. ‘Confirmed, Six. Pull out when you get a window.’

‘Uh, no, One. I’ll wait for you inside and join you.’

‘No time to really argue that,’ said Nallera, hefting the cable launcher onto her shoulder and getting down on one knee. ‘Launching!’ There was the soft thunk of air as she pressed the trigger. Quieter than Rosewood would have expected, the shoulder-mounted gear launched the cable across from their vantage point and over the one-hundred-and-fifty metre gap between them and the interior facility. Hooks embedded themselves deep in the wall of their destination, and Nallera took a moment to consult the launcher’s screen before she nodded to herself and set it down. Another button embedded the cable into the floor they stood on.

She stood. ‘Cable secure.’

‘Plenty of movement,’ reported Falaris, ‘but the perimeter guards are more worried about the gate. They’re moving there. You should be able to breach unnoticed.’

Cassidy signalled the team, and with practiced precision, they clipped onto the cable. One by one, they zipped across the gap, silent shadows against the night sky in a smooth, swift, controlled descent. The cable was enough to get them over the barricade, forcing them into a short, managed drop as they hit the side of the main facility to reach the ground.

Nallera was first, rolling fluidly to watch in the direction of the gate – further around the building, and around a corner. Cassidy, second, all but landed with his phaser rifle raised and aimed.

That was crucial. A heartbeat later, one of the patrol guards turned the corner from the rear of the facility, his gait quick and tight in the blackout they’d just experienced. He didn’t get a chance to so much as breathe in their direction before there was a muffled hiss from Cassidy’s phaser rifle, and the suppressed shot took took the guard down in an instant.

‘Clear,’ he confirmed as Rosewood and Aryn dropped behind them. ‘Main gate. Take them quick and fast.’

Kanem’s facility had lost power in a heartbeat, and even the appearance of a technical failure was a good cause for panic. But it meant the eyes of the gate guards, and the rest of the exterior patrollers who’d moved to join them, were outward, not inward. Moving like ghosts up behind them, the Rooks’ approach went unseen, unheard. And by the time the three guards had hit the dirt, they were still none the wiser.

‘Keep it moving,’ said Cassidy, turning to the main entrance. ‘They won’t sit around inside.’

‘Confirmed,’ came Falaris’s voice. ‘Movement inside has given me a better idea of who’s a guard and who’s not. Two on the downstairs level. Four on the main floor. Two on upper levels.’

‘Then let’s not give them the chance to team up,’ said Rosewood.

From the shadowed corner of the building, a low voice hissed, ‘Velvet!’

Aryn turned at once, rifle raised, even as he called, ‘Spire!’

Q’ira slid around the corner, propping night-vision goggles onto her forehead as she joined them. ‘You can’t lose me that easily.’

Cassidy gave a low, appreciative scoff. ‘Impressive stuff.’

‘It’s not my first break and enter. These guys are good, but I think they’ve gotten lazy. I shouldn’t have been able to slip into the maintenance hut just because we messed around with their cameras.’

‘It worked. You still with us?’ She nodded. ‘Then stick at the back. We’ll clear the main floor inside. You join Four going below to free the prisoners.’

She nodded, but winced. ‘What’re we doing with them? How’re they getting out of here?’

Cassidy nodded across the courtyard of the complex to the westward side, the direction Q’ira had come from, at the shadow of the cargo shuttle on the small landing pad. ‘On that.’

By day, the main floor of Kanem’s facility had felt like someone had thrown a blanket over a horror show, the day-to-day operations obfuscated while the Rooks met with the owner. At night, it was even quieter, everything stowed, and cleaners had dealt with the worst of the staining.

That just made it, in its way, more like a nightmare. Rosewood stuck close behind Cassidy as the Rooks initially breached. Darkness and surprise had helped them overcome the gate guards, but surprise was fading now. A smoke grenade covered their entry through the main door, and the guards’ equipment didn’t match the Rooks’ body armour, night-vision goggles, perfectly calibrated phaser rifles.

They entered. They fanned out. They fired. Shapes moved amidst the counter-tops and work tables, the equipment and facilities of the chop shop as in the dark, the Rooks entered the sterile slaughterhouse, and turned the balance of power upside-down.

One guard hunkered behind cover in the middle of the floor, rising up the moment they arrived. Cassidy’s shot took him in the throat. Another two behind pillars along the sides of the building; Nallera rushed to the side to flank one, while suppressive fire at the other from Aryn flushed him out for Cassidy to drop that one, too. At the far end, at the railing outside Kanem’s office, one took cover to shoot from a distance.

Rosewood took swift sidesteps to get an angle, spread out the guard’s targets, and took a knee beside a work surface. Tools leered over him on an articulated arm, equipment that even out of the corner of his eye he could tell were used to cut flesh, not metal. He slowed his breathing to block it out, raised his phaser, and fired.

Fury did not narrow his focus. Fury made it waver. It took three shots before the guard was down.

That should have been the numbers – but Falaris had been clear that all she had was a guess, and from the far stairwell at least two were coming down, though one ran right into Nallera’s phaser shot. Rosewood turned to join them, until he had a sharp voice in his ear from the Blackbird.

‘Five! On your right!’

Instinct had him pivot. Being unprepared was why he had to make a snapshot with the rifle from his waist, and take out the guard rushing in from the nearby door.

In the silence that followed, Cassidy’s voice was clipped and clear. ‘Sound off.’

‘Three here.’

‘Four here.’

‘Six here.’

Rosewood took a deep, shuddering breath, and swallowed bile. Not just at the near miss of the guard at his flank. Not just at the absence of Two, Tiran, to report in. Turning to Cassidy meant overlooking the slew of vivisection tools, equipment used to rip living beings apart for the wealth inside their bodies as if they were nothing. Veins of riches to be plundered. ‘Five here.’

In the dark, Cassidy should have looked monstrous, too, a hulking figure in his body armour and headgear and rifle – no identifying insignia, blacked out to stay hidden, a figure of retribution without accountability, reckoning without oversight. But he stood over the bodies of fallen men – stunned, and likely just because he didn’t want to face the paperwork – and looked less like an instrument of vengeance, and more like righteous consequences.’

Cassidy shouldered his rifle and nodded. ‘Three; set the charges. Four, Six – go below, take out the rest, get those people out, call if you need backup. Five…’ He looked from Rosewood to the gantry to Kanem’s office. ‘Let’s get the package.’

It wasn’t justice. But justice didn’t reach this far out in the galaxy. So they would have to do.

‘Clear.’ Aryn felt his voice ring out in the darkened corridor, and only discipline and necessity meant he didn’t throw up.

Behind him, Q’ira stepped over the body of the first guard and peered at the second at the door. ‘You should have given me a proper gun,’ she said, waggling her little hold-out disruptor.

‘XO was right. That would be illegal. We’re already bending the rules on you being here. Official report’s going to have to say that Blackbird’s software intrusion brought down the power.’ He glanced at her. ‘You’re a civilian, after all.’

‘That’s still crazy to me. I helped you on Ilior. On Kalviris.’

‘First: don’t talk specifics out loud on an op. Second: that was either in the scope of a cleared mission, or undeniable necessity. We were stranded. This is different. Even if we’re a body down.’ He picked his way towards the door, eyeing the dead panel beside it that would, if there were power, get him to the locking display.

‘The rules you people choose to care about,’ Q’ira sighed as she followed him. ‘These guys are scum.’

‘That’s why we bend the rules.’ He looked the panel over. ‘I would have thought emergency power might kick in.’

‘Three gave me the gear I needed. Sabotage looks like a glitch that’s just about to right itself, basically. Every time emergency power is about to gear up, it sends a signal telling the system that it’s okay.’ She moved to the panel and reached to pull the frame off. ‘Now this… there should be the manual override in here.’

‘You did well,’ Aryn said, watching her work, because he didn’t want to be in the dark and silent, knowing what was on the other side of the door. ‘Two would have done this, normally. You were professional.’

‘I wasn’t. I was practiced. Because I didn’t get your fancy training, but I did learn how to do this where the consequences for failure were being shot, not being made to do laps.’ Q’ira reached in and found what she was looking for after a minute. ‘Gotcha.’ And the door opened.

It was wrong to say Aryn couldn’t imagine being down here, in this room where people were clustered like chattel, with tags around their necks to keep them identified so their owners knew what bits would need carving out of them. He’d not only imagined it; he’d dreamt it, and done so for years, after almost every time a new report had come in about a place like this. He’d come narrowly close to ending up somewhere like this himself.

He could only imagine what it must have been like for the imprisoned xBs when the lights went out. Waiting in the dark could not have been an occasion for hope. More likely, the assumption must have been, that the operation had decided it was time to cut their losses. Perhaps that would come with death now, something pumped in to kill them in confined spaces in the dark. Perhaps they would simply be locked and left there.

Aryn propped up his night-vision goggles onto his forehead and turned on his flashlight, largely so everyone could see, and partly so they could see he had a face. Bodies shifted in the gloom, moans of fear emanating from the depths.

‘You’re alright,’ he called, mouth tasting like ash. ‘We’re Starfleet. We’re here to get you out of here.’

In his office, Kanem had found a flashlight and a gun, but only the wits to use the former when Cassidy and Rosewood breached the door.

Goggles on his forehead, Cassidy looked him over and scoffed. ‘Y’know, they say you should have a better work-life balance than this.’

Rosewood was supposed to be the one to make jokes, he thought. But his heart was pounding too heavily in his chest, and he stood behind Cassidy, jaw clenched tight, weapon in an iron grasp.

Kanem looked down at the disruptor in his hand, then up at the two armed and armoured operators. ‘You’ve no idea who you’re fucking with, Starfleet.’

‘Like you said. We’re Starfleet.’ Cassidy advanced, seeming to not care about the gun, and grabbed Kanem from behind the desk to throw him to the floor of the office. He kicked the disruptor away. ‘Do we look like we care about a two-bit crook like you? Five, get to work.’

Kanem raised his hands, hissing an oath. ‘You destroy me, then someone else takes my place – someone less predictable, less manageable -’

‘See, that’s true for so much of you scum. Better the devil you know, and all that. But what’s a worse devil than you? Three xB harvesting operations that fill the gap, all with less resources, less connections? Less name recognition that makes bounty hunters take on these unsavoury contracts?’ Cassidy shook his head as he loomed over the man. ‘You’re not the devil I know. You’re vermin. And even if vermin comes back, you destroy the nest.’ His eyes flickered up to Rosewood, who hadn’t moved. ‘Five.’

‘Right.’ Rosewood’s eyes snapped up, and he advanced to the console on the desk. He slung his pack to pull out a mobile power source and connected it to the dead terminal. A few quick key-presses and the system hummed back to life, just enough for him to interface with it.

‘I’m in,’ said Falaris. The power supply came with a linkup to the Blackbird. ‘Extracting the data now.’

‘I’ve got friends,’ Kanem was hissing. ‘People reliant on my operation. People you don’t want to make enemies of.’

‘Can’t imagine what it’s like to make enemies of crime bosses,’ Cassidy drawled.

‘You think it’s just Neutral Zone scum I work with? You think the Free State doesn’t need me?’

Cassidy cocked his head. ‘Now ain’t that interesting. Do tell.’

Kanem’s eyes widened. ‘I… yes. I know things. Free State local operations. The things they do to keep the Neutral Zone in the condition they like it.’

‘Start with Aestri.’ Cassidy waggled his phaser in Kanem’s face. ‘We’re learning what you did for her right now. But where’s she gone?’

He worked his jaw, then swallowed. ‘I tell you,’ he croaked, ‘and you leave?’

‘Sure.’

‘I mean, leave now. No more damage to my operation. You don’t hurt me.’

‘I won’t hurt you. I promise nothing else.’

Kanem swallowed hard. ‘Virida Station. Abandoned old Star Empire research facility. Edge of the Lliew Rift.’

‘That’s true,’ said Falaris in Rosewood and Cassidy’s ears. ‘I’m just skimming now, but the Lliew Rift is mentioned in this work order – something about space-time ruptures?’

The two Rooks exchanged glances, and Cassidy scoffed, glancing back at Kanem. ‘Turns out, that’s something we could have found out for ourselves.’

‘I… the Free State, then!’ Kanem babbled. ‘I can tell you about Tal Shiar operatives, operations, deals…’

The disruptor pistol sat on the floor by the desk where Cassidy had kicked it. Rosewood was almost stood over it as he’d linked Falaris in, but now she was working and he wasn’t needed.

It was light in his hand. Intricate carvings down the grip gave it a personalised touch, but it packed a tidy punch; he could tell from the modified power cells. Kanem carried it to impress, but he was also ready to use it. It sat well in Rosewood’s grip. Comfortable, even through his gloves. The trigger had a good resistance, but pulled clean and smooth.

Just like the shot, clean and smooth through Kanem’s head.

‘Woah!’ Cassidy jumped, eyes wide. ‘What the hell!’

Rosewood stared down at the Romulan’s body. Then he tossed the disruptor pistol down beside Kanem, and said, in a tone he knew came across as almost comedically emphasised, ‘Didn’t realise he could reach his gun. Guess he saw that was the only way out.’

Cassidy stared into space for a moment. Then he reached up to turn off his mic, and nodded for Rosewood to do the same. For a moment, both men stood there, silent in the dark. When Cassidy did speak, his voice was a low rumble. ‘He was offering us intel. A deal. Thought you loved those.’

Rosewood’s gaze dragged from the body to his team leader. ‘You were right before,’ he said, bile in his throat. ‘This is no place – no thing – to make a deal with.’

‘Fuck me,’ Cassidy sighed, looking away. ‘You better get a grip, Five, and get it quick -’

‘Like you did?’ Rosewood snarled. ‘Giving all that money to Nank, then threatening Pendeor and Gravik, then deciding we do brute force here -’

‘Command said we buy from Nank,’ Cassidy snapped. ‘That was the mission. That was a determination made based on analysis of what Nank does, where he spends his money, who it goes to, and what the harm might be, a decision made by people above our heads. They decided we compromise, and that it was worth the risk. After that point, I have been making every decision based on doing as little harm, as little impact as possible.’

‘You threatened Gravik because you were angry, and decided we burn this place because it’s an evil right in front of your face instead of one a hundred light-years away.’ Rosewood jabbed a furious finger at the workshop floor through the windows. ‘Don’t dare act like you’re making calm calculations -’

‘Why not? ‘Cos you think I’m angry? I am. I’m fucking furious. But I know what to do with that fury, and I know there’s a difference between letting it out when it’s useful, and what you’ve been doing.’ Cassidy’s lip curled. ‘You think that pretending to be reasonable means you’ve not been so coiled up with rage that it’s blinding you?’

‘I didn’t -’

‘Pretending to be reasonable meant you nearly handed a fortune to Gravik and a fortune to that scumbag.’ Cassidy pointed at the body. ‘Because you think getting through a problem without violence is the same as getting through a problem without harm. While you’ve been willing to dance with the devil, ‘cos your instincts tell you not to do that, and you don’t trust yourself.’ His eyes fell now on what remained of Kanem. ‘Until now.’

Rosewood stared down at his handiwork. Bile again rose in his throat, and he fought to swallow it, but before he had to reply, there was a chirrup from his earpiece.

‘Uh. One? Five? You still there? I’m, uh, done,’ came Falaris’s report.

Cassidy stared Rosewood down for a moment, then flicked his mic on. ‘Understood, Blackbird. We’ll wrap up here.’ He jerked his head at the console. ‘Pack up.’

The disruptor had felt comfortable in Rosewood’s grip, but now his fingertips tingled as he worked. Packing away the equipment to breach the console felt methodical but clunky, and by the time he was following Cassidy out into the workshop floor, blood was pounding in his ears.

Nallera was there, voice sounding like it came from a long way away. ‘…charges set,’ came her muffled report. ‘…timer, or we can remote detonate…’

To Rosewood’s eyes, Cassidy moved as if dragging himself through tar as he gestured and instructed. One of the guards was roused, stripped of weapons, and given the explanation that they had five minutes to drag their comrades free or they could join the facility when it imploded.

Beyond them, Aryn and Q’ira were leading gaunt, pale figures out from a stairwell and through to the outside. Some of the xBs walked stiffly but steadily as they boarded the cargo shuttle, those healthy ones responsible for powering the vehicle up, getting ready to leave. Others helped those who were less able; the ones whose liberation from the Collective had been hard, or those whose limbs and organs had already been taken.

Rosewood hadn’t realised he was staring at the procession until Q’ira slunk up beside him. She looked like she might have been crying at some point, shoulders hunched. She nudged him with an elbow.

‘It was worse down there,’ was all she said, and they stood in a companionable, hollow silence. Aryn, grim-faced, did not stop working until the xBs were all loaded, and the cargo shuttle was ready to go.

‘You’re the only life-signs left in the facility,’ Falaris’s voice confirmed. ‘Guards have dragged each other free.’

‘They don’t deserve that,’ Q’ira muttered.

‘We don’t get to decide,’ said Nallera, sounding discontent. ‘Apparently, only people hundreds of light-years away who never see this place get to make those decisions.’

‘They’re not our mission,’ Cassidy said, cutting them off. ‘Assemble for beam-out. We’ll detonate once back aboard and the freighter’s clear.’

Aryn looked around as he rejoined them. ‘Where’s Kanem?’

Rosewood swallowed, but Cassidy answered without missing a beat. ‘Shot himself,’ the big man said. ‘We got the package anyway.’

Nallera made a small noise. ‘We shouldn’t look so glum, then,’ she said, glancing around the empty factory they’d gutted and cleared out, that would soon be dust, its sins buried and its mechanisms of evil destroyed. ‘After all: we won. Mission accomplished.’

When the light claimed them, it did not feel earned.

‘So how does this work?’

They’d finished the op six hours ago. Left the Oltanis system four. And as the Blackbird thundered through space towards the Lliew Rift, deeper and further rimward into the Neutral Zone, they still knew little more about what came next but their destination.

None of them could sleep, and by now, Rosewood, Nallera, and Q’ira had camped out in the lounge. Nallera had found a sports game to put on, and it spoke of Rosewood’s desperation for distraction that he was tolerating watching lower-league Parisses Squares games.

He looked at Q’ira at her question. ‘Falling off the ramp loses points -’

‘I mean the job. I don’t care about the rules of the game. They’re just hitting each other with sticks.’ She waved a hand at the door. ‘Do we sit around and do nothing until Aryn bursts out saying he’s got it?’ It hadn’t taken Falaris long to decrypt the data they’d pulled off Kanem’s console. Since then, Aryn had been locked in his room, studying whatever it was that the Changeling had needed Kanem’s people’s hardware and expertise for.

‘You know, this is my first time with this,’ Rosewood admitted, looking at Nallera.

‘Whash?’ Her eyes had been on the game. She swallowed a mouthful of chips before sheepishly extending the bag to them. ‘You want some?’

‘I mean – yes, but – Mac. Does he just burst out yelling “Eureka?”’ Rosewood grabbed a fistful of chips.

‘Basically. We just gotta wait.’

Q’ira leaned over to pluck a single chip from the bag. ‘What is this Lliew Rift?’

‘It’s what happens when Romulan scientists fuck up their development of the singularity core centuries ago,’ said Rosewood, leaning back in his chair and watching the game on the holo-projector. ‘Now you’ve got a whole stretch of space full of subspace distortions. Nobody knows much about it; the Star Empire stuck the region in the Neutral Zone after the Earth-Romulan War, and it’s such a hellscape of stellar phenomena that nobody’s gone near it since the collapse.’

‘Weird place for a Changeling to run,’ sighed Q’ira.

Aryn didn’t yell ‘Eureka’ – or, indeed, anything at all – once he’d finished. He did burst into the lounge, wild-haired and wild-eyed, his Daystrom Institute t-shirt coffee-stained and rumpled. What he lacked in yelling he made up for with hissing intensity as he advanced on them, brandishing a PADD. ‘Time travel.’

They stared at him. Nallera was first to react, throwing down the bag of chips. ‘Fuck’s sake. Get Cassidy.’

Cassidy looked like he, at least, had been sleeping, and rubbed his eyes as he entered the lounge. ‘This better be what you know, and not what you’ve guessed, Aryn,’ he growled.

‘Well, I can’t be sure,’ Aryn babbled. He’d probably had too much coffee. ‘But this is my best working theory, based on both the information from the server and the chosen destination -’

‘Maybe try skipping to the end,’ Rosewood suggested gently.

‘Yes!’ Aryn snapped his fingers. ‘The Kairos Regulator was originally…’

‘Is this the end?’ Nallera muttered. Rosewood elbowed her.

‘…a high-energy particle device used for controlled manipulations of subspace. It entered life as something fairly benign – not a weapon, but for precise calibrations in advanced scientific studies. Obviously it then took a different form at Daystrom Station -’

‘I want Aestri’s plan, not the device’s life history,’ Cassidy snapped.

‘Right.’ Aryn slowed down. Once again he called up a holographic pen, relying on the projectors to let him write explanations in mid-air as he carried on. ‘Aestri called on Kanem’s R&D people – annoyingly they were probably home, asleep, far away when we hit the facility – to modify the device in accordance with her specifications. She didn’t really explain why, so I have some of their theories in the notes, and my own extrapolations. What is clear is that the Borg tech they integrated into the Regulator allows it to manipulate gravimetric distortions far beyond its original design. Specifically… they integrated a vinculum.’

Rosewood’s eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘A vinculum – are you kidding? They had one?’

‘The remains of one. In sufficient condition to serve the purpose Aestri needed: to process subspace signals and feedback on a massive scale.’ Aryn pressed a button on his PADD and a 3D rendering of the modified Regulator flickered to life from the holographic projector. Aryn zoomed in on its core components. ‘The vinculum enables to Regulator to generate much larger gravimetric pulses that can create artificial tears in the fabric of space-time. Ones the Regulator is capable of calibrating.’

‘So, like, a wormhole,’ said Nallera.

‘That’s space. What does the Regulator affect? Time. Time-wormhole.’

‘Shit,’ surmised Rosewood. ‘Why the Lliew Rift, then?’

‘The Regulator can already do that. But the power to do it would be… massive.’ Aryn blinked as he mentally ran calculations, then clearly decided to not burden them with the details. ‘But the Rift is rife with subspace distortions. If the Changeling can identify the right kind of rift in space-time, then amplify and calibrate it with the Regulator, it doesn’t need that power boost.’

Nallera raised a finger. ‘That sounds like something that could go very wrong.’

‘Absolutely. If the wormhole destabilises or collapsed prematurely, it could cause a masssive subspace shockwave. If she succeeds, she travels in time to… who knows when. If she fails, she could tear apart local space-time.’

Silence met his words. Q’ira’s nose wrinkled. ‘…why does she wanna time travel?’

‘Go back to Frontier Day, make sure the Borg plan succeeds,’ rumbled Cassidy. ‘Go back to the Dominion War, tell them how to beat us.’

‘Or to leave the Alpha Quadrant alone,’ Aryn said. ‘The Founders care about nothing more than themselves and their own wellbeing. They run the Dominion to control what they fear: everything.’

‘No Dominion War at all sounds like a peach,’ said Cassidy, hands on hips, ‘but I don’t want to face the paperwork of failing to stop a time travelling Changeling.’

‘But if the war didn’t happen, we’d -’

‘Nope.’ Rosewood raised a sharp hand to cut Aryn off. ‘No Grandfather Paradox talk. Absolutely not.’

Nallera looked between Aryn and Cassidy. ‘What does this mean for the mission? We hunt down her ship, stop her, save the day?’

Aryn shook his head. ‘I expect she’ll have to board this research facility at the edge of the Rift. She’ll need its core to power the Regulator.’

‘That buys us time, even though she’s ahead of us,’ said Nallera. ‘No way that facility’s going to be working properly, and even if it is, you don’t just plug in a device like that to a singularity core. It’ll take modifying.’

‘So we board the station,’ said Q’ira, sitting up. ‘Take out any goons she’s got, capture her, and prove to the galaxy that she’s a Changeling.’

The simplicity of it had Rosewood take a sharp breath and look at Cassidy, whose granite brow was folded like his face had been carved that way from stone. After a beat, he looked at Aryn and said, ‘How do we stop this?’

Aryn clicked his tongue. ‘The obvious way is to prevent her from powering up the Regulator in the first place. Once the process starts… there’s literally no telling how quick it will be. It’s very dependent on localised subspace distortions in the Rift. Off the top of my head, you’d probably want some sort of directed tetryon beam that could stop the process or close any wormhole.’

‘Like the sort of thing the Cardassians did with Underspace,’ surmised Rosewood.

‘So, Starfleet science rays.’ Q’ira waved a hand. ‘Blackbird can do that, right?’

Aryn ran a hand through his hair and looked at Nallera. ‘I suppose we get to work on that, then, Nal?’

‘Do it,’ agreed Cassidy. ‘If we can get to the Changeling before it rips up space-time or ruins history, so much the better. But we better have a Plan B. You’ve got less than twelve hours.’

‘Then I,’ said Q’ira, sticking her nose in the air as she stood, ‘am going to get some beauty-sleep. One has to look gorgeous for a vengeance spree.’

Rosewood stayed put as the other three left, eyes locked on Cassidy. He waited until they were gone before he sat up and said, ‘Blackbird isn’t the kind of ship you send to shut a crazy time-wormhole or stop a subspace eruption.’

‘No.’ Cassidy worked his jaw. ‘We are who you send to stop a Changeling starting any of that shit in the first place. But you’re right. We need a Plan C.’

‘What I want is to board that station. Find the Changeling. And not just melt it with… I don’t know what you use to melt Changelings. But get it to tell me all of its secrets first. Like what it did with Tiran. What they did with everyone.’

A beat. Then Cassidy gave a sharp nod. ‘I worked with her for fifteen years,’ he said, glowering at nothing in particular. ‘But let’s be real. She’s probably dead. And there’s probably no way we ever learn when we lost her. Maybe you never even met her.’ He rubbed his temple. ‘Damned thing is she’s the person who’d tell me what I gotta do next.’

It was the closest thing to uncertainty Rosewood had ever seen Cassidy express. A day ago, he would have sneered, exploited it. Standing in the dark in the chop shop office over Kanem’s corpse had made everything different. ‘How the hell do you stop the fury from blinding you?’

‘Practice,’ Cassidy said, sharper this time. ‘Not practice in controlling anger. Practice in trusting your gut when you’re not blind. You can rationalise a billion atrocities; it’s your instincts that make you know right from wrong. So you practice listening to ‘em, so when it matters, really matters, you can tell the difference between them and… anything compromising.’ He took a deep breath and straightened. ‘You also gotta be less afraid of being wrong. Because you will be wrong, sometimes. Because this galaxy doesn’t just make it difficult to be right – sometimes, it’s downright impossible.’

‘And until you’ve got that practice down?’ Rosewood swallowed. ‘Here? In the dark?’

Cassidy didn’t smile. But his grimace held a certain wryness as he looked over. ‘Simple. Stand by the team.’

The Lliew Rift was like a knot between the stars. Centuries ago, enterprising Romulan scientists had pushed the boundaries in their development of the singularity core, the power source that let them leap between the stars at boundless speeds and fuelled their covert cloaking devices. Such progress inevitably came at a cost, and this stretch of space that had once been a backwards corner of the Empire had paid that price. Now, it was a region that was all but impassible, subspace distortions collapsing any warp bubble, and localised phenomena making impulse travel dangerous beyond all measure. For a Changeling seeking to bend space-time and open a wormhole into the past, it was perfect.

For a covert operations Starfleet unit trying to approach undetected, it was also perfect.

‘They’ve certainly been repairing Virida Station,’ said Falaris, sat at her station on the Blackbird’s bridge. ‘Getting a loud and clear power signature.’

‘Its systems had to have a base level of operating all these years,’ said Aryn. He stood with Rosewood and Nallera at rear of the bridge, in full gear, arms folded across his chest as his eyes darted from display to display, soaking in the unfolding details from a distance. ‘The local phenomena would have destroyed it if its basic shielding collapsed.’

Nallera gave a low scoff. ‘Can’t we just sabotage that, then? Let it get sucked into the rifts?’

‘It wouldn’t happen instantly.’

Ranicus stood over the shoulder of the pilot, and looked back at Cassidy, sat in the command chair. ‘We’re as close as I expect we can be without getting detected.’

‘Good.’ Cassidy nodded. ‘Falaris, what’s their status?’

‘My best guess,’ butted in Aryn, ‘is that they’ll need to integrate the Regulator with their deflector systems to connect it to the power supply and use it to manipulate a nearby rift.’

‘Deflector power has been slowly growing over our approach,’ Falaris confirmed. ‘If the lieutenant’s right, they might be gearing up for it. I’m also detecting at least three subspace distortions in reasonable proximity to the station that might be suitable for their purposes.’

‘Time-frame?’

She winced. ‘Really difficult to say with the amount of conjecture going on.’

Aryn moved to stand at her shoulder. After a moment’s reading, he clicked his tongue. ‘Less than an hour.’

‘Shit,’ said Rosewood succinctly.

‘We can’t wait around.’ Cassidy stood. ‘Can you beam us aboard?’

‘I can.’ Falaris sounded tense. ‘Picking up life-signs aboard the station – she’s definitely not alone – and I think internal security systems are active, too.’

‘Here.’ Aryn pointed over her shoulder at a spot on the screen. ‘This area is close to a secondary power relay, and further away from guards and defence systems.’

Nallera joined him. ‘There’s enough juice on that station that taking out just that relay won’t stop them.’

‘But they’ll have to make adjustments. It’ll slow them down.’

‘Then let’s go.’ Cassidy turned to Ranicus. ‘Ship is yours, Commander. Scan the exterior of the station, see if you can figure out places to hit them that might affect their power systems. We can’t take on a station in a straight fight, and the wrong blast in the wrong place might make all of this go really wrong, but… give me options.’

Ranicus gave a cool nod. ‘Understood, sir.’

The Rooks trooped out with what felt to Rosewood by now like practiced purpose. Weapons were grabbed from the lockers on the way down, and they entered the transporter room to find Q’ira, in her personal gear, already waiting for them.

‘It’s about damn time,’ she said, checking over her small holdout disruptor. ‘Are we doing this? Boarding the station? Going and getting that thing?’

‘We’ve got a plan,’ Cassidy said with a tight nod.

The corners of Aryn’s eyes creased. ‘You don’t have to join us -’

‘I want to see that thing turn to goo for good. I’m going. Screw the loopholes you used to justify me being there on Oltanis IV; I’ve got a right to be here -’

‘Then stop talking about it,’ said Cassidy, stomping past her, ‘and get your ass on the pad.’

Going into action with the Rooks was still new to Rosewood, but the sense in his gut as he stepped onto the transporter pad was even newer. He was growing accustomed to the nerves, the adrenaline, the anticipation. This time, there was an edge of nausea to the apprehension, a sickness that had taken root in him longer ago than he cared to remember.

Then the air shimmered with the eerie hum of the transporter, and they materialised in a narrow, dimly lit corridor of an undeniably Romulan-built station. It was like beaming aboard a museum exhibit, the halls and construction harkening back to before humans had even known the empire existed, and now reeked of stale air and forgotten industry. The quiet groan of the station’s structure, and the sound of the dissipating transporter beam, echoed in the background.

The Rooks moved without instruction, falling formation without Cassidy needing to utter a word, each of them limbs of one body by now. They crouched low, dark gear blending seamlessly with the rusted metal walls, and each step was deliberate, calculated. The nausea began to ebb, or at least control over it tightened; this, at least, was familiar ground.

In his ear, Falaris’s voice chirped to breach the silence. ‘Movement approaching. They’ve detected you.’

‘That was expected,’ Cassidy growled. Ahead, they could hear the hum of the relay at a power systems control hub, but with it came the sound of footfalls, and then the low buzz of station defences.

‘Incoming,’ whispered Nallera, and they pressed into the alcoves lining the walls.

From the chamber of the control hub again, shadows moved, silhouettes of armed humanoids. The dim light showed green-hued skin on muscular frames, and Rosewood’s jaw tightened. Syndicate guards. That had been the point of reassuming the identity of Aestri, after all: to harness the crime gang lieutenant’s resources, connections, and followers. They likely had no idea what they were following. But this was no time to talk them down.

Even if Rosewood had wanted to, Cassidy acted first, his phaser beam cutting through the air before the guards even spotted them. The first dropped without a sound, his body crumpling to the floor. Rosewood ducked out from the alcove and fired a single, precise shot that took out the second.

‘Clear,’ he said.

Cassidy nodded. ‘Move.’

‘That’s not all of them,’ warned Falaris over comms. ‘Difficult to be sure of numbers through all this interference, but there’s life-signs converging on your location.’

The small chamber itself was empty, an innocuous room where maintenance staff could once conduct repairs and calibrations on a simple secondary power relay. The relay itself hummed in the wall, a section of conduit shimmering bright, a control panel beside it. That was easy to access – worse news was the two additional corridors leading to this chamber.

Cassidy, Rosewood, and Aryn took up positions at each one, with Q’ira joining Aryn, as Nallera knelt beside the relay terminal, her fingers already moving with expert precision over the centuries-old control panels.

‘Give me thirty seconds,’ she said, voice calm but focused.

The sound of clanking metal grew louder. Rosewood peered into the dark, but he saw no sign of the reported approaching guards. Moments passed, with none of the others issuing warnings. This couldn’t last, surely?

‘Twenty seconds,’ muttered Nallera.

Then – movement. Not from people, but the ceiling of the corridor shifted before Rosewood’s eyes as automated turrets descended, their red targeting lasers sweeping across the hallway before focusing on the open doors to the chamber.

‘Those are still working!’ hissed Aryn, ducking behind cover to narrowly avoid a burst of plasma fire.

‘Take them out, and keep them off Three!’ Cassidy barked, stepping out to rake weapons fire into his corridor – and physically block the way between the shots and Nallera. The other three opened fire, and Rosewood had to grit his teeth, remind himself to be careful, deliberate. These were automated systems; suppressive fire didn’t work on them. He had to hit.

‘Five seconds!’ Nallera yelled, fingers flying over the controls even as sparks rained down around her from the turret fire.

‘Guards converging now on your location!’ yelped Falaris.

‘Confirmed movement!’ snapped Rosewood as he saw shadowed silhouettes thunder down the corridor ahead, the numbers unclear.

‘And here!’ called Aryn.

‘Done!’ Nallera slammed the panel shut and dived behind a wall for cover. ‘Relay’s down!’

Cassidy looked back at the Rooks, all of them moving for shelter, then at the corridors through which weapons fire poured. His expression was inscrutable, but as he met Rosewood’s eyes, Rosewood gave a small nod.

Now there was a flicker of a grimace as Cassidy pressed a finger to his earpiece. ‘Rook One to Blackbird. Bring us home.’

Q’ira’s head snapped around. ‘We’re leaving? This is just one relay! You said this was just to slow them down! That thing’s gonna be in Ops, surely – we gotta -’

But the transporter light engulfed them all before she could finish, whisking them back to the Blackbird, back to safety – and away from a job which, Rosewood had to admit, they had left unfinished.

‘What the hell?’ Q’ira’s outrage had travelled with the Rooks from the station to the transporter room. ‘We’re just giving up?’

Cassidy didn’t look at her as he descended the step. ‘Tell me how we were going to break out of that junction against automated defences and an unknown number of guards? Actually, don’t – I don’t answer to you,’ he snapped, voice low and taut. ‘We gotta get to the bridge.’

‘So we find somewhere else to beam to!’ Q’ira followed, eyes blazing. ‘Bounce about, draw their attention, then, bam! Breach Ops and take the Changeling!’

‘We can’t transport through their shielding everywhere,’ said Aryn, rushing up beside her as the Rooks all proceeded with Cassidy towards the bridge. ‘We can only reach so many -’

‘Then we reach somewhere else! I don’t know, you’re the specialists!’

‘You’re right,’ said Cassidy, not looking back. ‘You don’t know.’

As a civilian, Q’ira hadn’t yet been on the bridge. Rosewood wondered if he should stop her from following, but when Cassidy didn’t banish her as they clambered through the hatch to reach the Blackbird’s control room, figured the decision had been made. He might not have been listening to the Orion girl, but he perhaps thought she deserved to not be kept stuffed below decks while this played out.

Ranicus was on her feet as the Rooks filtered in and surrendered the command chair to Cassidy. ‘They detected us when we beamed you in. We’ve had to dance in and out of weapons range.’

‘That’s not hard,’ added Falaris, nose almost to her display screens, ‘but obviously if we’re away enough to be safe, we’re not close enough to be effective. You had an impact; their power levels are fluctuating heavily. They must be trying to reroute power from other systems and sections.’

Cassidy’s fingers curled around the armrests of the command chair. Rosewood watched him look down at the display by his seat, then across the bridge, then up. ‘Identify key power conduits close to the exterior of the hull, key systems – anything we can damage that might disrupt them. Then we hit and run.’

Rosewood leaned in towards Nallera and made damn sure to keep his voice down. ‘Has he taken this ship into a fight before?’

Nallera stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth as she thought. Then, ‘Nope.’

‘Great.’ Casually, Rosewood reached out to grab the nearest railing.

The Blackbird was not made for an open, fair fight – just as the Rooks weren’t. She was mostly designed to not get into a fight at all, but if that was inevitable, she was a shiv in the dark, surging through space to hit, to bloody the enemy’s nose, and then withdraw.

Under Cassidy’s instructions, the ship dived, pivoted, and spun through the station’s weapons fire, its own phaser blasts raking across the station’s hull and deflectors before the defences became too fierce, and they pulled back. Again and again they struck, sweeping in and out of range, launching torpedoes in carefully targeted attacks. But for every time Rosewood saw a report flash on the screen of a successful hit, every time he saw an impact thud into the station through the Blackbird’s canopy, the ship underneath him shuddered and shook twice, thrice.

Ranicus sucked her teeth as the Blackbird fell back from the latest assault. ‘Our shields are down to forty percent. Their weapons are old and don’t pack much punch, but there’s a lot of them.’

Rosewood looked around. ‘Are we even making a dent?’

‘More against their deflectors than their systems,’ said Falaris. ‘They have to shield themselves against our attacks, which is drawing some power… but not as much as if we were really hurting them.’

Aryn had taken the auxiliary console at the rear, fingers flying across the controls as he ran scans. ‘I’m detecting increasing neutrino levels from one of the subspace distortions nearby,’ he warned. ‘Whatever they’re doing, it’s starting.’

‘We gotta stop then now, then,’ said Nallera, eyes flashing. ‘If we blow them up halfway through opening a wormhole -’

‘That could be catastrophic,’ Aryn agreed.

‘We’re nowhere near blowing anyone up,’ muttered Rosewood.

Q’ira stepped forward. ‘Then we’ve got to board. Right? It’s do or die, and all that!’

Cassidy looked back at his team for a moment. Then turned to the front. ‘I prefer to not die,’ he said. ‘Hail the station.’

‘What do you possibly have to say -’

A holographic panel shimmered to life in front of the canopy to serve as a viewscreen. The battered and worn interior of the Romulan station’s operations centre was clear in the background, shrouded but still humming with active systems. A half-dozen figures could be seen at stations, monitoring and managing systems. And there, front and centre, was the face they recognised as Aestri.

‘You’re too late, Starfleet,’ said the Changeling in disguise. ‘By now, I’m sure you can detect the wormhole opening.’

‘You still have to get through it,’ said Cassidy, leaning on the armrest. ‘You gotta go through us to do that.’

‘Under the cover of this station’s defences -’

‘Listen up, all of you!’ Q’ira stepped in front of Cassidy, eyes not on ‘Aestri’ but on the figures behind her. ‘This isn’t who you think it is! This is a shapeshifter, a renegade Changeling! She killed Torrad-Var and took on Aestri’s identity! She’s not working for the Syndicate; she’s using you!’

Heads behind the Changeling turned in the screen’s direction, but the gazes of the Syndicate members were disinterested, impassive.

‘Aestri’ scoffed. ‘Bold claim from the murderer of Torrad-Var and traitor to the Syndicate. Is that the best tall tale you have to justify selling out to Starfleet, little one?’

‘She’s got a point,’ Nallera muttered to Rosewood. ‘I wouldn’t believe her, either.’

Rosewood glanced between her and Cassidy, Q’ira, the others, and stepped forward. ‘Let’s talk in private, Aestri,’ he said. ‘It’ll stop the girl from disrupting a negotiation.’

‘Do we have anything to negotiate?’ But to his surprise, she took a beat and nodded. The screen went blank.

Cassidy looked over. ‘The show’s yours, Kid.’

Moments later, the screen reactivated with Aestri stood before them again in a dusty office. ‘Don’t try to do anything clever, like beam an admission back to my team,’ the Changeling drawled. ‘I’m controlling comms to and from the station.’

‘You know as well as I do,’ said Rosewood, heart thumping in his chest, ‘that this whole thing could go wrong. A miscalculation, a power surge – our ship getting in the way – and this wormhole collapses into a big enough rip in space-time to make the Lliew Rift look like a pinprick.’

‘Then don’t get in my way.’ The face of Aestri had gone slack, now, emotionless. The Changeling was maintaining the facade in appearances only, but had stopped apeing the image of feelings. ‘I’m not doing this to best you. I’m trying to avert disaster. For my people and yours, Solid.’

‘What, by bringing them under Dominion rule in the past?’

‘By stopping the war at all.’ The Changeling shook its head. ‘If I travel back even forty years, we can secure the wormhole between our quadrants, stop you from breaching into our territory, and make sure we leave each other alone.’

‘The Founders seek to stay safe from the galaxy by controlling the galaxy. What you master can’t hurt you. How do you convince them?’

‘I’m one of them -’

‘You can’t link with them!’ Rosewood jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘You might not want to acknowledge it, but I read the reports, I know the physiological changes to your body. You link with a Changeling, you infect the Changeling.’ He heard a faint mutter from behind him, even Cassidy sounding confused. Playing a trump card with the Changeling had meant showing his hand to his own people. There were things he knew that nobody aboard had the clearance to know.

The Changeling was silent for a moment. ‘Even delaying the war will help my people. This is happening. Stop me at your peril, Starfleet.’

The screen went dead, and Rosewood pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Well, I tried,’ he sighed.

‘That was good,’ grunted Cassidy after taking a beat to gather himself.

‘Good?’ Q’ira looked wildly between them. ‘What were you trying to do? Talk it down? Did you actually think that’d work?’

‘I was buying time,’ Rosewood admitted.

‘It might not be enough,’ said Aryn, voice tight. ‘Seriously elevated neutrino levels coming from this rift – something’s forming out there.’

‘What was the point?’ snapped Q’ira. ‘Buying time so we can watch her change history in about ten minutes instead of two minutes?’

‘Sensor contact!’ called Falaris, voice apprehensive for a moment – then she gave a small, victorious hiss. ‘Here she comes!’

And through the canopy, dropping out of warp almost on top of the Rift, on top of the station, soared into sight the shining, silver hull of the USS Liberty.

The corner of Cassidy’s lip curled. ‘Buying time,’ he said, ‘for backup.’

‘Captain Galcyon is hailing us, sir.’

At Cassidy’s nod, the forward viewscreen appeared to show the shining bridge of the USS Liberty bathed in alert lighting with, front and centre, the figure of Captain Elara Galcyon. Rosewood stepped back, scratching his nose self-consciously; he hadn’t seen Galcyon since they’d run her blockade back on Tau Mervana.

‘Commander Cassidy.’ If Galcyon held a grudge, she wasn’t letting it show, her voice calm and professional. ‘We came as quickly as we could.’

‘Just in the nick of time,’ said Cassidy with a nod Rosewood found surprisingly respectful. ‘They’re using their deflector to open a wormhole.’

‘I can see that. We made the modifications you suggested.’ Galcyon read something offscreen and made a small, frustrated noise. ‘We’ve got to act now. Moving into position. I’ll keep you posted.’

‘Pull us back,’ Cassidy ordered Ranicus as the screen went dead. ‘Let the Liberty take point.’

Q’ira looked at Cassidy indignantly, but seemed to think better of yelling at him, instead turning to Rosewood. ‘You didn’t mention calling for backup!’ she hissed.

He winced. ‘You’re not privy to those sorts of mission plans,’ he said. It was only half of the answer.

‘Liberty is in position!’ called Falaris. ‘Station is opening fire on her, but… there’s no way they can bust down a Sagan’s shields in the time they have.’

On the holographic viewscreen, they could see the Liberty swooping into position, her deflector dish glowing brighter and brighter with a build-up of energy. A brilliant beam of light erupted from it, connecting with the darkened knot in space that was the nascent wormhole. For a brief moment, the swirling rift began to falter.

‘She’s using her deflector to launch a directed tetryon beam at the nascent wormhole,’ said Aryn, a shot of satisfaction running through his voice. ‘It’s receding!’

Q’ira shifted her feet. ‘We can still do this,’ she murmured, and Rosewood knew she was talking to herself. ‘We can still get her.’

He didn’t answer, because he felt no surprise when Falaris called out again.

‘Station’s power grid is about to overload! Commander, they’re trying to brute-force this. Liberty’s compensating, but if the station keeps this up…’

The screen flickered with an incoming hail from the Liberty, and Cassidy jabbed a button to bring the screen up. Galcyon’s expression was grim as she greeted them.

‘Pull back, Blackbird. Liberty can ride this out; you can’t.’

Aryn was on his feet. ‘Captain, respectfully, if that station detonates with the device on board, then the ensuing subspace damage -’

‘Your briefing was thorough, Lieutenant, and my crew accounted for this possibility. If we split our tetryon beam, we can stabilise the subspace disruption of the station’s detonation and close this wormhole.’

Cassidy sucked his teeth. ‘Captain, I got this far, and I ain’t just gonna stand back and let you put your ship and crew in danger while we sit our asses down -’

‘Commander, you got the mission this far. Please trust me and my crew to finish it without worrying about keeping you safe.’ Galcyon’s eyes shone with desperate sincerity.

There was a pause. Then, once again, Q’ira burst forward. ‘Captain – you don’t know me – I’m not Starfleet – but you have to get that Changeling off the station, we have to prove they’re a Changeling –’

‘Do what you have to do, Captain!’ Cassidy was on his feet, and Rosewood found he barely needed a look from his commander to grab hold of Q’ira’s arm and haul her back. ‘We’ll get clear.’ As the screen went dead, he rounded on Ranicus. ‘You heard the lady – get us out of here.’

‘No!’ Q’ira’s cry was all but ignored by Ranicus, and the deck hummed as the Blackbird pulled away. She turned to Cassidy, eyes blazing. ‘You said we’d stop her! You said I’d get payback, justice – you promised!’

Rosewood cleared his throat. ‘Nobody promised -’

‘Maybe I did,’ said Cassidy bluntly. ‘I let you believe that, anyway. I wasn’t lying. It’s just worked out that keeping my word to you isn’t the most important thing here.’

Her expression collapsed. ‘You’re… you’re Starfleet. You all go back to your jobs and uniforms. This was my entire life…’

Rosewood never thought he’d be grateful for a subspace disaster, but Falaris’s voice interrupting the horrified tension was more welcome than it had ever been.

‘Station’s power grid is overloading – the whole thing’s going up.’

Cassidy’s jaw was iron-tight. ‘The wormhole? The Liberty?’

‘Splitting a tetryon beam, just like they said.’ Aryn sounded almost admiring. ‘Wormhole’s receding, but -’

‘Station’s going -’

On the viewscreen, the starbase shattered as an eruption came from deep within. Its heart had burst. Blackbird soared away, and within seconds they could feel the deck shudder and shake, the initial impact hitting them enough to have Rosewood again grabbing hold of the railing. Then the viewscreen went dead.

‘We’ve lost sensors!’ called Falaris. ‘Interference is too great!’

But Ranicus’s voice held a different urgency. ‘Main shockwave still incoming -’

It hit before she’d finished the pronouncement. Rosewood’s arm felt like it was nearly yanked out of its socket as the Blackbird lurched and spun, knocked so wildly out of control that inertial dampeners barely did their work. Then Nallera crashed into him, and they both went down as emergency alerts went off, the lights flickered wildly, and while it could have only lasted seconds, it felt like a lifetime before everything went dark, and quiet, and still.

Cassidy groaned as he stood. ‘Report,’ he grunted.

Falaris had somehow kept her post, gripping her console hard. ‘We’re in one piece, Commander.’

‘The station? The Liberty?’

‘Too much interference…’

Aryn was wincing as he read his screen. ‘Subspace didn’t get ripped apart,’ he said, voice rough. ‘I think… I think they did it.’

‘But they were right on top of whatever happened.’ Rosewood couldn’t stand, but Nallera could, and she hauled him up as if he weighed nothing.

Cassidy rounded on Falaris, expression twisting. ‘Get me eyes, Lieutenant.’

‘I’m trying, sir -’

‘This don’t end with us sitting back and watching while another ship fights and dies -’

‘Incoming communication!’ barked Ranicus. Her voice cleared after just a beat, relief almost palpable. ‘It’s the Liberty!’

The holographic screen flickered as it came to life. Conditions aboard the Liberty didn’t look much better than on the Blackbird. Captain Galcyon’s hair was wild, her face scuffed, but she held firm to the armrests of her command chair, and there was a tight smile to her face.

‘Liberty to Blackbird. Mission accomplished, Commander. The wormhole was closed before it could fully open.’

Cassidy let out a slow breath. ‘Are you alright, Captain?’

‘Only minor bumps and scrapes here. But I’m sorry, Commander. The station’s gone. Nobody survived that. A terrible loss, but… it’s over.’

Nobody spoke, but Rosewood could feel the tension on the Blackbird’s bridge break with relief as people breathed, softened, relaxed. They had not come face to face with their foe, but there had been victory, nevertheless. For days, they’d been desperate to get the job done by their own hands, but though they’d been denied that, the only thing that mattered now was that it was over.

Except for one of them. And in the shower of relief, Rosewood could not bring himself to look at Q’ira, who could only hear the final notes in the symphony of her life being utterly, irrevocably destroyed.

For the Rooks, the job was over. For the rest of the crew of the Blackbird, the mission wasn’t yet done. Rosewood ducked onto the bridge some hours after he’d thought the dust had settled on the Lliew Rift to find it still buzzing with low-level activity. Aryn was still up there at the auxiliary console, a headset on as he read scans and muttered to himself, while Ranicus stood near the front of the canopy, monitoring local activity. Through the canopy, the white-silver shape of the USS Liberty hung in space, the only thing visible to the naked eye to suggest there was anything of interest out here at all. The knots of the Lliew Rift were beyond his perception, and of Viridia Station, nothing remained.

Ranicus’s eyes were cool and set, and rather than interrupt her, Rosewood slunk to Falaris’s console, leaning over with a ready grin. ‘No rest for the wicked up here, huh?’

She jumped, tired eyes meeting his, and he felt a pang of guilt. ‘Oh, uh – Commander. Sorry. We’re still sweeping through wreckage.’

He glanced from her to the canopy. Galcyon had said she wanted the Liberty to do a thorough scan of the Rift to make sure the localised subspace distortions had stabilised after their meddling. That left Blackbird to root for remains and evidence. ‘Any luck?’

‘I’ve reached one conclusion,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘Yeah?’

‘If you ever want to really scrub something from existence, put it on a station where the singularity core was amplifying a device that distorts space-time and then collapsed.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘No luck so far, but we’re here until Liberty is done.’

His eyes drifted to Aryn, hunched over a console. ‘I assume Mac’s looking for some sign of the Regulator.’ She gave a small nod. ‘I’m gonna check if he needs his head pulling out of his ass.’

‘Before, ah, before you go.’ She looked up at him, but at once checked the bridge, and he stiffened as he realised she was seeing if anyone was listening. Even once she had, Falaris still hesitated. Then said, ‘It was a shame we couldn’t take Kanem into custody.’

Rosewood froze. ‘Arresting those guys wasn’t our mission,’ he said after a beat.

‘When we thought none of the serious culprits would be there at night. We couldn’t throw them all in the brig. But maybe the leader of the operation.’

‘Aside from our jurisdiction being dubious, I don’t think you rehabilitate that man. One way or another, he needed to be stopped for good.’

Falaris bit her lip. ‘One way or another.’

She’d been on the other end of the comms, the comms they’d silenced after he’d shot Kanem in the head. And she wasn’t an idiot. Rosewood drew a raking breath. ‘Listen…’

‘I just thought you should know…’ But she stopped, uncertainty taking over whatever had compelled her to speak at first. She cleared her throat. ‘I know you guys go through a lot down there. But. I’m here.’

On the surface, it sounded like an offer of support. But then, it could have been a reminder of solidarity from the final member of the Rooks, the one who watched from on high and looked out for them from afar.

Or it was simply a statement. She’d been there. She knew.

‘Thanks,’ he said tonelessly, and was relieved when she nodded and returned to her station.

It took three attempts to get Aryn’s attention when he rolled up on a stool beside him, and the science officer jumped and scowled as he took his headset off. ‘What?’

Rosewood blinked. ‘I’m checking in. Gotta talk to Cassidy. Saw your nose was glued to the scans. You okay?’

Aryn sighed, then rubbed his temples. ‘Yeah. Sorry. I just… our mission was to recover the Regulator. I’d hoped some of it might survive what happened. But there’s no sign even of wreckage.’

‘I thought our mission was to stop it from falling into the wrong hands.’ Rosewood winced at Aryn’s sharp look. ‘Oh, that was naive of me.’

‘Oddly so. There are reasons there weren’t more of it. I’m not sure anyone has the clearance to make another. It was built in a different time. And now…’ Aryn waved a hand at the screen full of empty scans. ‘At least we can mollify R&D with the records of Kanem’s modifications.’

‘More experimentation on integrating Borg technology. Great.’ Rosewood’s nose wrinkled, but he glanced at Aryn. ‘Pleasing your buds at Daystrom can’t be the only thing that’s got you stressed.’

Aryn was already focused back on his work. ‘What else would it be?’

‘Q’ira. Us screwing her over.’

He paused, but didn’t move. ‘We had to make a choice.’

‘Where our lives happen to be fine, and hers is ruined.’

‘I can’t do anything about that.’

‘You can’t.’ Rosewood nodded, relieved. ‘Good. I’m glad you’re not beating yourself up about that. I was worried you’d get caught up on some girl we made a fickle alliance with we’ll part ways with in a few days.’

This time, Aryn’s gaze flickered, but he still didn’t look away from the screen. ‘Like you said, John. I’m not good with women. But it’s fine.’ He tapped the edge of his console. ‘You should go see Cassidy.’

‘Right.’ Rosewood clapped him on the shoulder as he left, but knew he couldn’t procrastinate any more.

He had almost forgotten Cassidy had his own office on the Blackbird. Rather than a full ready room, it was more like a closet with a desk in it, giving little surprise to the truth that Cassidy tended to work in his quarters or from the Rooks’ lounge. Its sole advantage was its proximity to the bridge, giving the ship’s commander somewhere he could retreat to receive private communications or read sensitive information and, sparingly, receive visitors.

Ranicus used it most of the time, and Cassidy hadn’t bothered to even adjust the chair settings as he hunkered over the desk, almost comically hunched over to read the screen. ‘You took your time,’ the big man grunted as Rosewood stepped in.

Rosewood glanced around for somewhere to sit and in the end had to settle for another stool. ‘I was checking in with the others.’

To his surprise, Cassidy looked up. ‘They doing okay?’

‘Aryn’s wound tight. This mission took a toll on him and he doesn’t exactly open up. I’ll keep an eye on him.’

‘He thinks he has to put on a strong front with me,’ Cassidy grunted. ‘Most of the time, that does make him tough. Catch up with him in a couple days.’

Rosewood nodded, quietly surprised at the insight, the deliberate thought behind both the appraisal and a behaviour Cassidy had no doubt instigated, cultivated. He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘And, uh. Falaris knows – I’m pretty sure Falaris knows what happened to Kanem.’

Cassidy’s expression didn’t move. ‘Her post-mission report gave no sign of that.’

‘Good.’

‘And mine didn’t, either.’

‘I wasn’t about to write it in triplicate,’ Rosewood drawled, the wryness softening some of the nausea in his gut. Or obfuscating it.

‘Falaris is new to this kind of work,’ said Cassidy. ‘But Ranicus rated and vouched for her. She’s not going to snitch at the first sign of trouble.’

Is it snitching to report illegal activity from your unit? ‘I didn’t think so. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to warn me first, anyway.’

Cassidy shrugged. ‘People can do stupid things under pressure.’ Now his eyes flickered back to Rosewood. ‘What you did there was incredibly dumb.’

Rosewood straightened. ‘We could have grabbed Kanem, thrown him in the brig, brought him back for a trial. Watch him try to slip through the cracks as a lawyer pokes holes in the process we went through to arrest him. And even if he doesn’t, you don’t rehabilitate someone like that. He’d just rot in prison forever.’

Cassidy tilted his head. ‘Is that why you did it?’ He scoffed at Rosewood’s silence. ‘Then quit with the self-serving bullshit.’

Frustration coiled in Rosewood’s chest. ‘You don’t care,’ he spat. ‘You don’t give a shit that I shot him, you don’t give a shit about that guy -’

‘I don’t,’ Cassidy admitted. ‘I hated him, I don’t care that he’s dead, and I don’t really care by what means he was stopped from continuing to do what he did. But you’re a galaxy-class liar, John Rosewood, and you’re no use to me if you turn your skills on yourself all the time.’

‘You can’t…’

‘Look me in the eye.’ Cassidy leaned forward, expression suddenly open and oddly honest. ‘And tell me what you did and why you did it.’

Rosewood’s mouth was dry. ‘What is this, some kinda loyalty test?’

‘I’m not the one playing games here. You are.’

‘I…’ Rosewood swallowed. His heart had punched out of the coils of frustration, now thumping loud enough to almost deafen him. He ran a dry tongue over his lips and drew a raking breath. ‘I shot him.’

‘Go on.’

‘Because he was a monster.’

‘So? Lots of people are monsters. You gonna shoot all of them?’

‘I don’t -’

‘Why’d you shoot him, John?’

Rosewood shoved his stool back and stood. ‘You came here for a report -’

‘You can answer the question, or you can get off my ship when we make it back to Gateway and never come back,’ said Cassidy, leaning back with cool indifference. ‘It’s up to you. I don’t know where you get off acting high and mighty at me right now -’

‘As if you haven’t done shit like this all the time -’

‘You don’t have a clue what I’ve done, but I saw what you did. I just want to know why? Did the privileged, pampered kid decided this edge of the galaxy, that so many people endure and survive, was just too hard for his little nerves -’

‘I shot him because I wanted to!’ Rosewood barked. ‘Because he was a monster, and I wanted to hurt him, and because it made me feel better.’ The admission did not stop the singing of blood in his ears, even as it echoed through the tiny box of an office, his words bouncing off the bulkheads and hitting him a second time.

Cassidy was silent for a moment, watching him. Then he said, ‘Do you still feel better for having done it?’

‘I… don’t know.’

‘That’s okay.’ He nodded sharply at the stool and, a little numb, Rosewood sat down. ‘When you came aboard, I told you we’d put your anger to good use.’

Rosewood stared down at his hands, suddenly both exhausted and feeling like a naughty schoolboy summoned to the headmaster’s office. ‘Was that good use?’

‘Maybe. It wasn’t the kind I meant, though. Because anger was in the driving seat. But you don’t master it by ignoring it. And I got no use for a man who’s piloted by his fury and pretends he ain’t. Not to mention no use for a man who killed a target he weren’t supposed to and couldn’t be bothered to figure out why.’

‘You don’t seem that bothered that I did it.’

‘If you were gonna go off-mission and cap anyone, it might as well be him.’ Cassidy’s eyes narrowed. ‘This one gets to be a learning experience. You gonna do it again?’ Rosewood swallowed and shook his head. ‘Good. Got an offer for you.’ Cassidy plucked a PADD off the desk and slid it over.

Rosewood blinked at the pivot. ‘An offer?’

‘Tiran’s gone. Probably dead. Probably we’ll never know for sure.’ Cassidy sounded quiet, rather than coarse. ‘One way or another, this unit needs to move forward. We need to move forward.’ When Rosewood looked up, the big man’s eyes were on him. ‘I need a new second-in-command for the team. Not the Blackbird, of course; Ranicus runs this ship better than I do.’

‘Oh,’ Rosewood breathed. ‘What’s next comes at us fast.’

‘There’s always another mission. So what about it, John?’ Cassidy raised an eyebrow. ‘Or do I call you Rook Two from now on?’

The Liberty had left the Lliew Rift at the same time as the Blackbird, but its powerful engines had brought it to Gateway Station first. That meant that by the time the Blackbird arrived, the mighty explorer had nearly finished taking on supplies and getting debriefed. The resupply consumed all operations on one of the station’s shuttlebay, crew from both Gateway and Liberty bustling to double-check pallets of equipment to load them onto smallcraft, their voices overlapping with the soft whir of antigrav units.

Cassidy found Captain Galcyon near one of the shuttles, her crew working diligently around her as she studied the manifest on a PADD. Even on a duty such as this, her uniform was crisp and tidy, her demeanour professional, while he had thrown on the field jacket and left it open as the easiest way to avoid being challenged entering these areas.

‘Double-check Pallet Three-Oh-Beta,’ Galcyon was saying to an aide, and handed off the PADD. ‘Be sure they’re the type-five conduit parts. Fitzgerald, I want you to – oh.’ She’d turned at the approaching footsteps, and stopped when she found Cassidy before her, not one of the crewmembers.

‘Don’t worry,’ he drawled. ‘I’m not here to impersonate your crew again.’

‘What a happy reminder,’ she said distantly, but her guarded look faded quickly. ‘I hope your trip back was safe. How’s your team?’

‘Carrying on.’ He jerked his head towards the forcefield protecting them from hard vacuum. ‘Liberty’s still carrying some marks.’

‘We were on top of the explosion of a Romulan station’s singularity core and space-time trying to fold in on top of us.’ But her lips quirked. ‘It’s nothing we can’t handle.’

‘You did handle it.’ Cassidy shifted his feet. ‘We couldn’t have finished the job without you.’

‘Because it’s not just your job, Commander. I hope you understand that.’

‘I understand there’s things my team do that your ship can’t, and vice versa.’

Galcyon hesitated, and her voice was soft when she said, ‘Is that true?’ He cocked his head and she sighed. ‘I’m under no illusions. Liberty was the ship closest and able to answer the call. But you sent me the report, and I understand a lot of the decisions you made on this mission were by necessity.’

‘They were,’ Cassidy grunted.

‘Did they have to be undertaken by a half-dozen officers with nothing but the resources of a small scout behind them?’

His brow furrowed. ‘I’m open to suggestions on how I bring an entire starship to infiltrate a Ferengi auction, if that’s what you’re saying.’

‘That’s not the premise, though, is it? The premise was “how do we retrieve this sensitive technology?”’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not trying to insult you, or question your team’s purpose. My point is actually that your team don’t have to be as isolated in these missions. That this wasn’t “your” job. It was Starfleet’s job. Our job.’

‘Decisions like that are made above my head. Or yours.’ Still, Cassidy rolled a shoulder, uncomfortably self-conscious. ‘Liberty wasn’t the ship closest and able.’ She frowned in confusion, and he drew a slow breath. ‘There were two other starships within range. I didn’t reach out to you by necessity. I chose to.’

Her frown now turned troubled. ‘Commander, you don’t have to build up a – a network of contacts, of captains you know you can specifically trust -’

‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but my second-in-command had just been outed as a Changeling,’ Cassidy rumbled, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘I absolutely did have to make a determination on who I could and couldn’t trust.’

She pursed her lips. ‘There is absolutely no way you could have been sure of my identity, under that premise.’

‘Yeah. That’s what trust is, isn’t it.’

‘Or, arguably, you had more chance of figuring out if I were a Changeling than a complete stranger you never met,’ Galcyon observed, a hint of wryness entering her voice. Her gaze softened. ‘Then forget I said anything. You’re right; you were in exceptional circumstances. Thank you for trusting me.’

He tried to not frown, wrong-footed now by how she’d ceded ground. It didn’t feel like any sort of victory. There was something disarming about her willingness to see his perspective. ‘I expect you’re back out to strange new worlds next.’

‘That’s the hope. But you can call me again, Commander, if you need help. I rather enjoyed getting to be the cavalry.’

‘And if you run into trouble you can’t handle out there, the offer goes both ways.’ Cassidy gave a curt nod. ‘Goodbye, Captain Galcyon.’

‘Goodbye, Commander Cassidy.’

It was easy enough to fade into the background of the hustle and bustle of station operations. Cassidy found it comforting, in a way, to drift from the conversation that had turned closer than he’d expected, and instead sink into the practical, simple work going on around him.

He could dump his field jacket for his next destination, at least, swapping to more comfortable, run-down clothing as he headed for one of the sections of guest quarters on the floating city of Gateway Station. He’d requested these be allocated the moment they arrived, and its resident given a berth on any Federation transport leaving in the next week. Which meant that if he didn’t move soon, there was a chance he’d miss this window.

On the bridge of the Blackbird, Q’ira had railed at him, and rightly so. She’d then all but locked herself in her room on the way back here. If he’d expected she’d be covering herself in sackcloth and ashes, though, he’d have been surprised when she opened the door to her temporary quarters.

The holographic projectors were hard at work, stripping the sterile, standard Federation decoration for the appearance of a high-end resort. The furniture was draped in silky, burgundy blankets that were a far cry from the standard-issue utilitarian upholstery, and a faux-fur throw with a truly eye-watering pattern had been thrown on the sofa. Low, ambient lights cast a warm glow to replace the cold overhead fluorescents, and the scent of rich, exotic perfumes hung in the air.

Q’ira herself had replicated an outfit equally luxurious, and greeted him adorned in flowing black silk with gold embroidery that was somehow both opulent and comfortable. A cocktail glass with a delicate stem was already in her hand. Despite this, she tossed her head as she saw him, and turned away from the door. ‘Cassidy.’

‘Uh. Glad you’re settling in.’ He took a hesitant step inside, brow furrowed as he looked around. ‘Didn’t even know you could do this to these rooms.’

‘Federation citizens lack imagination,’ she huffed, throwing back the cocktail and plucking out the olive on a stick. ‘Drinks? They’re on me.’

They were on the station, of course. He had to admit she had a point about knowing how to make the most of her available resources. ‘Nah. You know where you’re going next?’

Q’ira huffed and sauntered to pluck up a PADD sat atop the faux-fur throw. ‘Anywhere in the galaxy, so long as one of your ships can take me there. I wonder if I can find fruitful work as a fine, upstanding pillar of Federation society.’

‘Sounds like that bores you.’

‘If I’d wanted to move to the Federation, I’d have done it.’

He set his hands on his hips. ‘Was working for Torrad-Var that much better?’

Her nose wrinkled. ‘Don’t you dare act like you’ve done me a favour. You came here for my forgiveness? You’re not getting it. Don’t pamper me with Federation treats and then think I’ll suddenly swoon at Starfleet’s salvation of my poor, wayward way of -’

‘Oh, shut up,’ he groaned. ‘That’s not why I’m here. So you don’t have a plan for what’s next. I’ll cut to the chase: come work for me instead.’

That stopped her short, suspicion clouding her gaze. ‘What, a silly little consultant you can call up whenever you need a briefing paper on some corner of the Syndicate, except my knowledge will dry up in approximately six months -’

‘I think the Syndicate changes slower than that, but no.’ He pulled a PADD out of his jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. ‘I cleared it with Fleet Captain Faust. Offer of a provisional commission. Not to piss around with analysis, or stick you on a starship. Come to the Blackbird. Come be a Rook.’

Her mouth formed for a surprised, ‘Oh,’ but no sound came out. It took a moment before she could rally and say, ‘But you lost Tiran, you need a professional -’

‘First, Tiran was my recon specialist. Good with an array of vehicles, sharpshooter – Rosewood’s got those skills. Getting places unseen for recon and infiltration? Getting into places she shouldn’t? You’ve got them skills. Showed it on Oltanis IV.’ He shrugged. ‘Otherwise, what I need is out of the box thinking. I got people who’ll do things the “Starfleet way.” Give me different ways. As well as, sure, more knowledge on the underworld than anyone I could bring in.’

She picked up the PADD at last, touch ginger, as if the offer might delete itself should she mishandle it. ‘You got this cleared already, you said?’

‘I had a whole mission of evidence behind me. And this isn’t charity – I don’t bring someone into my unit ‘cos I feel bad. But you build a good team by being loyal, and rewarding loyalty.’ He watched her for a moment, and sensed he’d pushed as far as he possibly could. Cassidy turned away. ‘I’ll let you think about it.’

He’d hoped she might answer as he headed away. Silence was the second-best thing, and Cassidy left her behind with all of opportunities of the Federation spilling out before her, trusting that something else would whole more appeal: getting her hands a little dirty with purpose.

The Driftwood wasn’t favoured by Starfleet officers on Gateway Station, so its ebbs and flows of activity didn’t hew to shift patterns like many establishments on the station’s arcade. It meant the Rooks could walk in fresh off debriefing, in what the alpha shift would consider the middle of the day, and the bar was in full swing.

‘Full swing’ in the Driftwood still only meant a gentle buzz of activity, a holographic jazz band on the low stage, but they could grab a booth against the wall and Rosewood acknowledged it was his turn to get the drinks. When he returned with only three bottles of beer, handing one each to Cassidy and Nallera and holding onto the third, Aryn sat up with indignation.

‘Nothing for me?’

‘I’ve got something for you. Be patient,’ Rosewood said enigmatically, glancing around the bar. ‘It’s odd,’ he pressed on to change the topic and avoid interrogation. ‘Going through something like this and now we’re just… in a bar. Around normal people.’

‘Isn’t that Starfleet life?’ grunted Nallera, kicking back with her beer.

‘Normally the bar is full of other people who went through at least some of what you went through. But there’s no bar on the Blackbird. Just a mess hall and our lounge and only fifteen other people aboard.’ Rosewood shook his head. ‘We shoot around the galaxy doing crazy things alone, but we don’t even have that little… fortress you get from a starship.’

‘We got a fortress,’ said Cassidy in a low, cool voice. He waved the beer around the table. ‘It’s this.’

Nallera’s lips curled. ‘Wow, Boss. That was positively gushing. Going soft in your old age?’

‘Esprit de corps keeps us all alive,’ Cassidy drawled, but his gaze went serious as he sat up. ‘We should take a moment, though. There’s only four of us here today. Last time we were here, we were five.’ He tilted his bottle to the middle. ‘To Jessa Tiran. Best damn poker player I ever met.’

Nallera sighed and lifted her bottle, too. ‘Jessa. Drove like a demon.’

‘I…’ Aryn glanced around, giving Rosewood a brief, pointed look, before he raised the bowl of peanuts to the middle. ‘To Tiran. An excellent shot. A top-class problem solver. An invaluable teammate.’

Rosewood hesitated. They still had no idea when Tiran had been replaced by the Changeling; for all he knew, he’d never met the real Tiran, had only known the impostor. But even if that were true, he’d known a facade the others hadn’t seen through. Known a facsimile that had convinced those who’d known her best. Was that the same thing?

Not in truth. But, perhaps, in feeling. He lifted his bottle. ‘To Jessa Tiran. Smart. Funny, in a dry sort of way. Kind, in a “I also kill people for the good of the Federation” way. Triple-threat, really.’

Cassidy gave a low snort. ‘You’re an idiot,’ he said, but clinked his beer bottle against Rosewood’s, and they all drank. Aryn ate peanuts.

‘Any idea what comes next?’ said Nallera, putting her bottle down, clearly keen to move on.

‘Gotta wait and see how the dust settles with the Syndicate. A lot of movers and shakers have been cleaned out by Starfleet’s op,’ said Cassidy. ‘Maybe we’ll be on mopping up. Maybe something else that’s a problem.’

Aryn looked to Rosewood. ‘Did you order me a drink that’s coming, or…’

‘Not a drink… ah.’ Rosewood spotted movement through the glass front of the bar, a recognising a figure approaching through the Arcade crowds, and elbowed Aryn. ‘A beautiful woman’s about to walk in. You’re about to take her on a date. Not here. Go to the Foxglove, it’s fancy there and you can… probably get away with it.’ He looked Aryn up and down, then nodded. Aryn’s propensity for shirts and sports jackets even off-duty was holding him in good stead for a surprise visit to Gateway’s nicest cocktail bar.

‘A date… what?’

‘You said you’re bad with women, you had a hard time this mission and need brightening up… and she’s smart and Starfleet and so isn’t going to think your job or a Rook is weird or your experiences as a science officer are too boring and technical. There we go,’ Rosewood finished as a blonde woman in what he deemed an incredibly judiciously selected ‘first date’ dress walked in. He waved her over. ‘Elsa!’

Aryn’s eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t ask for -’

‘Go out. Have a drink. Have fun. With someone who’s not going to look at you funny or judge you,’ Rosewood hissed, and straightened with a smile as the woman reached them. ‘Mac, this is Lieutenant Elsa Lindgren, USS Endeavour. Elsa, this is Lieutenant Mac Aryn, science specialist, enterprising action nerd.’

Lindgren gave Rosewood a look that suggested she was wise to his antics, though he wasn’t convinced she knew exactly what those antics were, but turned to Aryn with a smile. ‘He’s ambushed you into this, huh?’

Aryn flushed. ‘I’m – apologies, Lieutenant, but no, I wasn’t given much notice -’

‘Elsa,’ she corrected with light amusement. ‘I still cleared my schedule for an evening out. You won’t let John be such a rascal I’ve wasted my night, still?’

‘I…’

‘We can go to the Foxglove. Have a drink. And give it enough of a try that he won’t bug you about it tomorrow.’

Rosewood stared at Aryn. ‘Wow. I set you up on a date with a gorgeous woman and you act like I’ve had cloaked Jem’hadar jump out at you.’

Aryn swallowed, and got to his feet. ‘You’re right,’ he said, then winced and turned to Lindgren. ‘Elsa, you’re right. Not him. I’d rather not acknowledge him. Let’s go for a drink.’

Rosewood smirked happily into his beer as they left, and Nallera barely waited until they were out the door before guffawing.

‘You’re a menace, John,’ she chuckled.

‘Huh,’ said Cassidy.

‘What?’ Rosewood straightened, a little defensive. ‘He’s had a hard mission. Got played around with by a gorgeous Orion girl. I know what I’m doing; Elsa Lindgren might be the sweetest but smartest officer I’ve met. He needs someone who’s going to do some emotional heavy lifting for him, but isn’t going to be weird about him or his job.’

Nallera nodded, still snickering. ‘He’s got a point.’

‘He does,’ said Cassidy, still looking guarded. ‘That wasn’t what I was thinking.’

‘What were you thinking?’

It was his turn to look up to the door to the bar, and Rosewood saw his expression twitch. ‘That the universe has got a judicious sense of timing, though maybe not a funny enough one.’

Rosewood looked over, and his eyebrows shot up as he saw Q’ira threading through the crowd to join them. ‘Hey… stranger,’ he drawled, too wrong-footed to have a more diplomatic greeting than that.

She gave him a flat look. ‘You putting on the right face for any occasion sometimes runs out of battery power, doesn’t it.’ He sputtered as Nallera snickered, and she turned to Cassidy, expression not changing. ‘You win. I’m in.’

‘Excellent,’ said Cassidy, and nodded to the seat Aryn had vacated. ‘Sit down. Let Rosewood get you a drink.’

‘I – in what?’ Rosewood sputtered.

‘He’s not that bright, either, is he?’ said Nallera, who looked like she’d caught on, or was just pretending.

‘I -’

‘Get the girl a drink,’ Cassidy repeated.

‘Make it a cocktail, something fruity,’ Q’ira said with a waggle of the fingers. ‘I might be about to lower my quality of life, but there are some compromises a girl just can’t make.’

By the time Rosewood had ventured to and from the bar, putting a spiral glass of something bright pink in front of her, the penny had dropped. He looked at Cassidy before voicing anything, not wanting to risk being wrong. ‘Have you done what I think you’ve done?’

‘If you mean, brought on a random Orion girl as his fifth team member for reasons which escape everyone?’ drawled Q’ira, sipping her drink. ‘Yes. And I’m part of everyone. At least I’ll make us look good. That’s something, right?’

‘Yeah,’ grunted Cassidy, leaning forward. ‘You’re eye-candy and you were paraded around on Torrad-Var’s arm like you were ornamental, and you’re good at that. To the point everyone underestimated you, including us. I can use that. You’re also a liar and a thief. I can use that, too.’

‘What he means,’ drawled Rosewood, gathering his composure again, ‘is that we’re all thieves and liars here, so you’ll fit in.’

‘Hey!’ Nallera sat up. ‘I’m neither!’

Rosewood winked at her. ‘Stole my heart, didn’t you?’

She laughed, then raised a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, hey, Aryn will want to know – but should we interrupt him?’

Q’ira glanced between them. ‘Interrupt what?’

‘He’s got a longer debriefing,’ said Rosewood effortlessly. ‘All that work with the Kairos Regulator.’ It wasn’t a lie that would last forever. But it was a lie that could get him through the rest of the drinks. He looked at Cassidy. ‘You’re not going to get in trouble for us failing to recover that, right?’

‘Command wasn’t thrilled,’ Cassidy acknowledged.

‘It’s almost as if,’ sniffed Q’ira, ‘Starfleet thinks dangerous technology isn’t dangerous in their hands.’

‘You’ve got a point,’ said Nallera, ‘but the Changeling did try to use the Regulator to change time, so that is pretty dangerous.’

‘And even with those modifications, Starfleet isn’t relieved it got blown up?’

Cassidy snorted. ‘She’s got a point. But our decisions are justified. Having Galcyon’s word behind us for the final stages helps.’ He grabbed his beer. ‘Guess this means it’s time for the second toast. To our newest Rook.’

As the others raised their drinks, Q’ira gave an airy sigh and picked up her cocktail. ‘Roaming the galaxy, righting wrongs for the good of the Federation, living on a tiny flying military box… I used to be a kept woman, you know? This is a downgrade.’ But she tilted her head this way and that with a gleam of pleasure that Rosewood, at least, could spot in her eye. ‘I suppose it’ll do.’

‘Sterling recommendation like that,’ Rosewood drawled, lifting his beer aloft. ‘How can the Rooks fail?’

Most Starfleet officers considered their ship to be ‘home.’ Counsellors routinely urged against this, encouraging them to have a more well-rounded balance between work and life, a more healthy relationship with a lifestyle that could uproot them at any moment. The Blackbird was such a small ship it could not be considered the formal, permanent residence of its officers, the vessel expected to regularly berth at starbases or work closely alongside larger ships. This meant his formal residence, at least – aside from the quarters aboard Gateway Station he’d never given up – was still, technically, the Rosewood family home in the suburbs of Alpha Centauri City.

He’d never lived there as an adult. At the age of eighteen, he’d left the family home to attend Starfleet Academy. The rest of his life had been spent moving from assignment to assignment, ship and station to ship and station. His legal home was a place for whenever shore leave overlapped with birthdays, festivities, or for when he simply couldn’t shake his mother’s quiet expectation to visit. The last had been more powerful, lately.

Nallera had said something about seeing out 2401 with a bender on Qualor II, insisting she knew enough clubs serving enough substances they could not possibly see straight come midnight local time. Once, he might have jumped at a hedonistic escape from engaging with anything sincere, particularly after a difficult mission. Instead, a mere week after the post-Lliew Rift debriefing, he sat on a commercial passenger transport, gazing out the window at the rising spires of his hometown.

The city was thus a masterpiece of symmetry and grace, its skyline gleaming in the soft amber light of the twin suns of Alpha Centauri. It was all clean lines and open spaces, with towers of translucent, white-tinted glass rising alongside lush green terraces, the blend of organic and technological perfectly harmonised. Expansive parks and tree-lined avenues wove through districts like veins of life to shine bright against industrial fabrication, connecting bustling residential and commercial plazas. Some might call it sterile or uninspired, but to Rosewood, Alpha Centauri City was a triumph. It was where humanity had first dared to dream beyond war, poverty, and inequality, and finally build something enduring. He spent half his life pulling away from the place, but it was where his ancestors had carved out a future, free to express the full potential of what humanity could become.

Legacy, his father had called it. Nowhere in the galaxy could be like Earth. Earth was an unattainable dream. Alpha Centauri, on the other hand, was a paradise made real.

The paradise became a cold reality quite quickly – at baggage collection, in fact, where Rosewood waited at the unmoving conveyor belt in the spaceport, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at a screen promising his luggage would be out soon. Even in paradise, he knew such promises were lies.

‘Hello, John.’

Adrenaline spiked before he swallowed the bitter taste. There were fewer places safer in the galaxy than this, and while that didn’t make him immune to danger, no threat would announce themselves. Besides, after a second of his heart near ripping itself out of his chest, he recognised the voice, and turned with a wry smile.

‘Lizzie. You shouldn’t be back here.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. This is a great place to talk. Sort of open and public, but nobody can wander in off the street.’ Commander Elizabeth Lockhart, Fourth Fleet Intelligence, pulled her winter coat closer with a self-satisfied smile.

‘You wandered in off the street.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just flew in from SBB. Good trip?’

‘Long – did you come all the way here just to meet with me in baggage claim?’ Rosewood gaped.

Lockhart scoffed. ‘I live here, too, John, remember? It’s the festive season.’ She tilted her head this way and that. ‘Okay, so I did pick a flight with an arrival to coincide with yours. I can mix business and pleasure.’

They’d known each other forever, their families intertwined by service to Starfleet and long histories among the elite of Alpha Centauri. The tension in Rosewood’s shoulders eased, though he couldn’t shake the hint of apprehension. ‘You could have just walked up and said hi.’

‘That’s exactly what I did.’

‘Please. You were practicing. You miss fieldwork.’

‘I really, really don’t,’ Lockhart scoffed. ‘I’m actually going to enjoy a break. Which is why I wanted to get this out of the way, instead of needing to whisk you away at the Christmas Eve drinks for us to talk shop in a corner over eggnog. Your mother’s still hosting, right?’

‘Of course,’ Rosewood sighed. ‘I told her she doesn’t have to.’

‘We’re Centaurians. We’ll keep up appearances even in an apocalypse.’ Her gaze softened. Around them, travellers grabbed their bags, headed for the gate, hugged loved ones and came together. They lingered here in this liminal space, no longer travelling but not having yet arrived, concluding their work here before crossing the threshold into life. ‘I read your report. Sounds like a tough mission.’

‘You didn’t stop by to express concerns.’

Her expression shifted; guarded, irritated. ‘I stopped by because you dropped hints about highly classified operations in the middle of your bridge. Even on the Blackbird, there are people who weren’t cleared to know about it.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t make me elaborate.’

Rosewood sighed. ‘That’s what this is about? Yeah. I did. I mentioned knowing the conditions of that specific enemy, maybe some details the others didn’t know. Nothing on how it came about.’ Nothing about how we did that to the Changelings. How we made them hate us more.

‘Alright.’ Lockhart nodded, but didn’t look relaxed. ‘Have any of them asked about it? Or about you knowing that?’

‘No. This team isn’t like that, Lizzie. I bet there’s loads Cassidy knows I don’t, and I know Aryn has information from his R&D days I don’t. We all have secrets. We don’t pry.’ He sighed. ‘If you know I said this, you know exactly what I said. What’s this about?’

‘We’re in a different era, John. A lot changed this year. A lot of skeletons in the closet, and there are people who want to clean house of anyone and everyone who had anything to do with these less… tasteful parts of our division. The report rattled some people. I wanted to make that go away.’

Rosewood gave a gentle scoff, relaxing another iota. ‘A clean bill of health from Beckett’s office helps that.’

‘Exactly. How’re you doing otherwise? It reads like a tough mission.’

He shrugged, eyes going back to the luggage screen. His bags were still not unloaded from the transport, somehow. ‘I didn’t know Tiran very well.’

‘We still wouldn’t have sent you on an op like this without more preparation.’

‘The Rooks are used to -’

‘I mean you, John. We wouldn’t make you deal with this situation without more prep.’

‘You mean psych screening to make sure I don’t break.’

‘However you want to frame it. But you didn’t snap. You, in fact, gave up on an opportunity to gather potentially critical intelligence by recovering the target.

‘The mission took priority.’ Rosewood rolled his shoulders.

‘That must have been hard.’ Her eyes were locked on him, piercing, unwavering. ‘That’s why I’m here, John. I don’t know who else in the universe gets what you gave up out there: a chance for more information. A chance for the truth.’

‘If this is meant to be a personal checking in,’ he grumbled, shifting his feet, ‘then why’d you do it in the middle of the city spaceport?’

‘Because you’d be no more forthcoming in a back room drinking eggnog.’

The display changed. The conveyor belt began to move. Something eased in Rosewood’s chest – or, perhaps, sank deeper beneath the surface, out of sight. He turned to Lockhart and gave her a tight, performative smile. ‘It is what it is. I’m no worse off than I was in April. I’ll see you Christmas Eve.’

It was late afternoon by the time he was out of the spaceport, catching the tram across the city. The Rosewoods had lived on Alpha Centauri since its founding, generations living in and around the capital. He’d grown up in a large, red-brick house in the suburbs, where his mother still lived, the matriarch ruling over the family who hadn’t moved very far. Festivities and birthdays and other big gatherings were hosted in this heart of the clan, and by the time he was walking the street lined with trees, the crisp winter air carrying the scent of pine and woodsmoke, it was like he was fourteen again. Like he’d been out playing football, coming in just after dark with his kit, ready to settle down for a big meal and a gentle nag to do his homework. Not like he’d been roaming the galaxy’s darkest corners. Not like he’d let an opportunity to discover his father’s fate slip through his fingers.

Each house he passed was aglow with activity, windows revealing families gathered in cosy rooms, the comforting hum of laughter and conversation seeping into the street and reaching him in the stillness. Then, his family’s house came into view, that large, stately home with its peaked roof and wide, inviting porch. Light spilled out from every window, illuminating the path that crunched under his feet as he walked to the front door. He could hear the muffled voices inside, the tell-tale sounds of a full house; his mother, his siblings, their children, and more.

Rosewood paused for a moment, hand hovering over the familiar brass handle of the door. He tried a smile. Held it for a moment, feeling out the expression; if it rang true. If he could hold it.

No, that one wouldn’t do. A different one. Wearier, perhaps. Suggesting a hint of sincerity, like he was acknowledging there were burdens on his shoulders, but that he was so glad to be back they were growing distant. This was a family used to Starfleet service. They knew it wasn’t all easy.

He had to tell the right lies so they didn’t know how hard it was.

Mask in place, Rosewood opened the door, and stepped into the light.