‘Captain? We’re receiving a distress signal.’

Those should have been words to strike fear, or at least tension, into the heart of any Starfleet captain. For Matt Rourke, feeling like his back was about to fuse with Endeavour’s command chair after all these hours of tiresome nothing, he was ashamed to identify the feeling swelling within him as relief.

He stood and straightened his uniform, jaw tight, focused on retaining the comportment that befit his station and a possible disaster. ‘Go on.’

‘It’s an automated message from the freighter Amnesty,’ Lindgren elaborated from Comms. ‘Federation owned,’ she added, because out here in the former Neutral Zone, such details mattered. ‘They’re transporting a shipment of deuterium, but have been struck by a rogue comet. They’ve suffered engine and hull damage and have lost warp capability.’

Rourke turned to the science console, and quietly resented that Graelin was already anticipating his questions. Their rapport as captain and second officer was not established, but Rourke had been XO of the Achilles for long years with Graelin as the ship’s science officer. The man was as competent as he was obnoxious, and knew what questions he’d ask.

‘They’re an hour away at maximum warp,’ Graelin said, then looked up with a frown. ‘I can see the Amnesty on long-range sensors, but there’s no sign of the comet.’

‘Is that unusual at this distance?’

‘That depends on the comet.’ Graelin looked to Lindgren. ‘If they’re talkative, Lieutenant, find out more of the nature of their damage, when it happened – and the nature of the comet. We have to be sure.’

Rourke frowned at him. ‘Sure of what?’

‘That they’re not making it up.’

If anything killed any positive emotions like relief, it was listening to Commander Graelin. Rourke ground his teeth and turned to the front. ‘Lieutenant Arys, set a course for the Amnesty. Maximum warp.’

‘My concern, sir,’ said Graelin as the ship hummed under them to go to warp, ‘is that this is a ship hauling a hugely important and expensive cargo, damaged and incapacitated by a freak occurrence we cannot detect. Do you know the odds of a rogue comet -’

‘What is our mission in this region, Commander?’ Normally, Rourke wouldn’t have put up with this exchange happening on the bridge. But he felt eyes on him every time they went toe-to-toe, and was intent on delivering a killing blow one of these days.

‘To offer support and recovery to the inhabitants of the former Neutral Zone, in accordance with treaties with the Romulan factions -’

‘I mean here, right now.’

Graelin stiffened. ‘To survey and sweep these trade routes so they can be, if necessary, updated or cleared of obstacles.’

‘No, no.’ Rourke waggled his finger. ‘Right now.’

‘Sir?’

‘We’re answering a distress call. In accordance with Starfleet regulations, and indeed, all Federation law obliging any capable ship render aid when it is required. Keep one eye open, Commander. But remember our mission priority.’

Graelin subsided, and Rourke looked about the bridge as he took the command chair again. He only had the backs of Arys and Thawn’s heads to go by, and Kharth’s expression had hidden behind a mask he couldn’t penetrate for weeks now. But against his better judgement, he caught Lindgren’s eye for a split second before the comms officer dropped her gaze.

She thinks I condescended my second officer for no reason but miserable old grudges, doesn’t she. For now, all he could do was bite his lip and wait.

When a chirrup sounded at the helm some time later and Arys looked over his shoulder to say, ‘Ten minutes out, Captain,’ Commander Valance had joined them on the bridge and Rourke was feeling a little better about the situation before them.

‘Any more word from the Amnesty, Elsa?’ he asked Lindgren, standing again.

She shook her head. ‘It’s an automated message.’

He knew what that meant: they might be too late. But it could have meant a thousand other things, from the crew losing physical access to the comm systems to them simply having their hands too full to sit at a console. ‘Notify them of our arrival, anyway.’ He glanced up. ‘And take us to Yellow Alert.’

Graelin leaned forward. If he was at all abashed by Rourke’s criticism earlier, it did not show. ‘I have more readings now we’re closer. The Amnesty is in orbit of a gas giant at the periphery of the system. They don’t appear to be in any danger of falling deeper into its gravitic well, which makes sense as they have to have basic impulse.’

Rourke tilted his head. ‘Have to?’

Graelin shrugged. ‘I expect they moved to the gas giant after being struck by the comet. If the odds of their being struck by the comet were literally astronomical before, then the odds that they were struck while in orbit of a planet – and didn’t see it coming – are even longer.’

‘It makes them easier to find,’ offered Thawn, turning back from Ops. ‘So long as they can maintain altitude.’

But Rourke watched her dark eyes, and though her voice didn’t waver, he heard the feelings she’d exiled from her tones. The USS Endeavour was racing to a distress call of a freighter orbiting a gas giant. It wasn’t a song he’d played before, but he knew the tune had been lethal for some of his bridge crew in the past.

He looked between those veterans now, between Thawn and Lindgren and Valance. ‘Everyone okay? If you need a moment or want to step back, now’s the time. We have relief officers. I won’t have pig-headed determination making the decisions on this bridge.’ Once he would never have asked, simply expected them to press on as professionals even though there was no good reason to force them to knuckle down in the face of traumatic memories resurfacing.

‘If that’s so,’ said Commander Valance gently, ‘then we all need a different assignment.’ Once, that would have been a stinging comment. Now she wore a tight smile, and inclined her head. ‘We need to help these people.’

‘After all,’ said Thawn, tilting her chin up, ‘it’s possible the gas giant’s atmosphere will interfere with the transporter signal. I’d rather be here to work through it.’

Rourke couldn’t help but mimic his XO’s smile. ‘Alright. Commander Valance, assemble an aid team in case we need to send a party over there. Lieutenant Arys, make the King Arthur ready to depart in case we have to fly them.’ He tapped his combadge. ‘Bridge to Sickbay. We’re approaching the Amnesty; Doctor Sadek, make ready to receive casualties and send Doctor Elvad to join Commander Valance’s first response team.’

As he was giving that last batch of orders, he could hear Valance beside him giving instructions down to engineering, securing Lieutenant Forrester for her team and preparing Commander Cortez in case the circumstances of the Amnesty were more complicated than anticipated. She lingered once finished, waiting by his side to see what response the situation demanded.

‘Dropping out of warp in five,’ came Arys’s warning, and Rourke braced himself for the slow to impulse so close to the gravitic pull of a planet. Inertial dampers compensated for the shift in momentum that would have otherwise smeared him across the bulkheads, and the slightest adjustment of his weight managed the micron left over.

‘On screen,’ he instructed, and the viewscreen flickered to life to show the distant swirls of the gas giant, and the dark speck of the Amnesty hanging in the void between them.

‘They’re at a relatively low orbit,’ Thawn warned as Endeavour began to sweep closer. ‘It’s possible the atmosphere will prove an impediment to sensors and transporters.’

Rourke didn’t need to tell her to compensate if she could, but before he could give his next orders, he heard a low, ‘huh,’ from Science. For the moment he ignored that and looked at Lindgren. ‘Any luck on comms?’

‘No response. The automated message is still transmitting.’

At last he turned to Graelin. ‘Life-signs, Commander?’

‘Unclear, with the interference of the atmosphere,’ he said in a clipped voice. ‘I’m still scanning. But I’m not picking up any sign of damage to the hull or warp core.’

If the interference is stopping you from picking up life-signs, Rourke thought, maybe it’s obscuring the rest of your sensors. But then he felt Lindgren’s eyes on him, and looked for just a heartbeat at his Communications Officer. Elsa, you’re hitching yourself to the wrong star.

But the hint of reproach from Elsa Lindgren, even if she didn’t know Petrias Graelin like he did, brought one reminder: no matter much he hated Graelin, he couldn’t deny he was very good at his job. Rourke scratched his beard. ‘Commander Graelin, what do you need to get better readings? Time or proximity?’

‘I’m already there, Captain,’ said Graelin with a rather superior tone. It was almost enough to make Rourke regret putting trust in him. ‘It’s not that I can’t pick up life-signs on the Amnesty. There aren’t life-signs on the Amnesty. Nor damage to their systems or hull. Nor deuterium in their cargo bay.’

Rourke had barely opened his mouth before Valance was on her feet beside him. ‘Red alert,’ the XO said, and their eyes met as the bridge was plunged into emergency lighting.

He gave the slightest nod of approval, then turned back to Graelin. ‘Scan deeper into the gas giant’s atmosphere, Commander; if this is a trap, that’s where the noose is hidden.’ Then to Lindgren. ‘Open a channel; all frequencies.’

‘Channel open, sir. If someone’s out there, they’ll hear us.’

Rourke straightened his uniform. ‘To anyone lying in wait, this is Captain Rourke of the USS Endeavour. We’re here to respond to the distress call of the freighter Amnesty. We’re not looking for trouble, and I dare say we’re not fish you wanted to hook with this bait. Show yourselves, and we can have a conversation.’

Valance raised an eyebrow as he finished. ‘Someone uses the story of a freighter in distress as bait, and we talk to them?’

‘That depends who they wanted to hook,’ Rourke mused. ‘Considering the ruse included advertising precious cargo, free for the taking from a vulnerable and desperate freighter.’

‘Captain.’ Kharth’s voice held a whip-crack of urgency. ‘Picking up three ships emerging from the gas giant’s atmosphere, shields raised, weapons charged.’

‘Wait a second,’ Graelin half-muttered, hands racing over his controls, superiority faded for urgency. ‘I know those designs. They’re – oh, dust.’

Rourke frowned at the tone of frustration. ‘Commander?’

Graelin looked like he’d sucked on something unpleasant. ‘They’re Rangers.’

‘Captain,’ piped up Lindgren. ‘They’re hailing us.’

Rourke took a moment as he turned to the front, scrubbing his face with his hands. ‘I bet the first round of drinks tonight they can’t go ten seconds without self-righteously suggesting we’re in their way.’

To his enormous consternation, it was Graelin who snorted and muttered, ‘No bet.’

The viewscreen shifted again to show the gloomy cockpit of the small craft favoured by the Fenris Rangers, a lean-faced human woman with an unimpressed expression dominating the view. ‘USS Endeavour, my name is Theron, of the Fenris Rangers. I’d advise you move along.’

‘Sorry.’ Rourke snapped his fingers, not sounding sorry at all. ‘Your irresponsible trap brought us here on the belief someone needed help. Assuming your three little shuttles didn’t want to pick trouble with my explorer, what are you actually after?’

Theron met his gaze flatly. ‘By our observations, you’ve been in the region for about five minutes, Rourke. Do you have time for me to walk you through every single pirate and raider threat – even sometimes the Romulan militaries – who would rather rob a freighter than let it pass through?’

‘So you weren’t after anyone specific. Just seeing what you’d catch.’

‘I didn’t say that. I just don’t have to answer to you.’

‘Formally, no.’ Rourke folded his arms across his chest. ‘But right now, your tactics are pretty indistinguishable from those of the pirates you consider yourselves superior to.’ Today was a day of managing petty frustrations, he realised, and let out a slow breath. ‘We are new to the area, Theron. But my ship has been sweeping these trade lanes for the last weeks, trying to make them safe. I’d be happy to share knowledge -’

‘Your enormous, obvious Starfleet ship isn’t going to root out rats who run to dark corners the moment they see you coming. Because the moment you leave, they’ll come skulking back again. Then it’ll be down to us to keep the area clear,’ Theron pointed out. ‘And once you’ve finished performing for your superiors, you’ll leave the Neutral Zone and nothing will be any different.’

The only thing worse than self-righteous superiority, Rourke mused, was self-righteous superiority attacking Starfleet’s indefensible track record. Instead, he said, ‘I hadn’t realised the Rangers were operating this close to Republic space, this far from Fenris.’

‘We go where we’re needed. If you want to be of any use, Rourke, stick to bloodying the nose of the Empire. Let big powers fight big powers. We’ll take care of the little people.’

‘So you’ve heard of me.’

‘I’ve heard of you getting a bounty put on your head and making trouble at Jhorkesh and Teros.’ Theron shrugged. ‘Don’t think that makes you relevant. Like I said: if you want to be useful, focus on the Empire, the Free State. Don’t think your one ship can waltz into the Neutral Zone and make things notably better for the people who live here. All you’re doing is dishing out treats to improve a single day.’

‘Life’s made up of single days,’ Rourke pointed out, ‘and I don’t need your approval, Theron. Stop using distress calls to lure in people you think are bad guys.’

‘Oh no,’ Theron sighed with mock-horror. ‘Have I offended Starfleet’s delicate sensibilities? It takes stones to tell me how to handle distress calls when you collectively forgot how to answer those of the people of Romulus, of the people out here.’

Rourke ground his teeth together. A handful of retorts sprang to mind, but they were the sort to be joined by a dozen more the next time he had a shower. Perfect to score points in this game nobody cared about, not even Theron, but not actually helpful. He drew a slow breath. ‘I know Starfleet has a lot to do if we’re to earn any serious goodwill out here. So we’re going back to work.’

He didn’t know if he imagined Theron softening, the stern-faced Ranger giving only a nod. ‘So will we, Rourke.’ She glanced at her instruments, then shrugged. ‘Nobody’s responded to a call quicker than you have, by the way.’

‘When I’m sitting on one of the most finely-tuned pieces of technology for twenty light-years, that shouldn’t be a matter of bragging; that should be a matter of course.’ He fancied he caught a flicker of a half-smile before he pressed on. ‘Let’s try to cooperate or steer clear of each other, Rangers. Endeavour out.’

Valance scratched her forehead as the viewscreen went blank. ‘I don’t think you’re getting the first round of drinks tonight at least, Captain,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Your loyalty’s noted, Commander,’ Rourke said wryly. ‘But I’m not sure I got the better of that situation.’

Graelin leaned across his console. ‘Sir, dozens of the Fenris Rangers have warrants out for their arrest – with the Federation, often with the Romulan factions we’re ostensibly trying to cooperate with…’

‘You’re suggesting we curry favour in the Neutral Zone by going after the only people who’ve consistently protected them?’

He made a face. ‘I’m suggesting we don’t eat their rhetoric wholesale, and maybe look critically at the individuals we encounter. The Rangers attract loners who are willing or eager to do violence in accordance with their own judgement, unaccountable to anyone. Those aren’t the sorts of people we should trust to act freely.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Rourke, ‘and if we encounter Rangers causing trouble, I’ll treat them as I would anyone else. But otherwise, I’m not picking a fight with the likes of Theron because maybe some of the people on those ships have done something wrong. What they’ve done here, falsifying a distress call, isn’t even illegal outside of Federation territory.’

‘Maybe,’ said Graelin, ‘but it’s wrong, and we’ve no idea how they decide who needs to be shot when they show up. You’re leaving an extra-judicial force to conduct extra-judicial violence.’

‘If they were ships of the Romulan Star Navy, would you suggest I started something?’ Rourke’s eyebrows raised. ‘You wouldn’t. But I trust any random Fenris Ranger more than I’d trust the Empire.’

Graelin cast a quick glance about the bridge, then subsided. ‘I wanted to be clear that the Fenris Rangers are not our allies, sir.’

‘Your opinion, Commander, is noted.’ Jaw tight, Rourke turned back to the bridge crew. ‘End red alert. I expect the Rangers will move the Amnesty on now we’ve drawn attention to their gambit. Lieutenant Arys, set a course for our previous location. Let’s get back to work.’

Because spending the rest of this week monitoring space lanes, only for troublemakers to return once their big, brash, bold starship was gone, was the only thing he was allowed to do next.

By the time she made it back to the Uther Pendragon, she’d been gone for six hours. The journey back and forth was not a short one. There’d been the body to deal with, as well as Kowalski’s gear, once she’d recovered her faculties. She’d had to consider her story and its necessary supporting fabrications before she got close to the runabout.

And she’d had to take care of Kowalski’s shuttle.

So it was dark as she crunched across the open expanse of rocky, grey nothing towards the Uther Pendragon. Before she was close, before she could have possibly been spotted by even the keenest eyes, the landing ramp whirred down, bathing the path before her in a light she knew should have been warm, welcoming.

But when she stepped out of the shadow, instead it was blinding. She had to lift a hand to shield her gaze, even at the silhouetted figure at the top of the ramp who bounded down once she was at the bottom.

‘Let me take that.’ Adamant Rhade’s voice was low, firm as he helped her out of her pack, clearly not taking no for an answer. ‘Get in, and sit down.’

She’d steeled herself for a cool, rational report. Prepared her story forwards and backwards, with evidence to match. She had not been ready for him to guide her to the mess room, ease her into one of the chairs, put a steaming mug of tea in front of her, and only say, ‘Do you want us to depart right away?’

When Dathan’s hands wrapped around the mug, she realised how numb they were. It took a physical, wrenching effort to look up at him, frowning. ‘What?’

‘Is there anything more you need to do here,’ Rhade pressed gently, ‘or should we get underway?’

It was not what she’d been prepared for as a first question, and swept away the lines she’d drilled into herself for a moment. Dathan swallowed. ‘Let’s go.’

He lifted a hand. ‘Stay there. Drink that. I’ll get us gone.’

She was left in the mess section with a tea she recognised as one of Carraway’s favourite replicator blends, with nothing more to do than sit and drink as she felt the Uther Pendragon hum around her as it alighted, as it rumbled through the atmosphere of Theta Curry IV. For a moment, she thought it was shaking off the dust the world had left inside her, but then they were in the smooth nothing of the void, and still it felt like too much grit was in her.

When Rhade returned a while later, she was gripping the long-empty mug of tea far too tightly. She felt his eyes flicker to her white knuckles when he said, ‘We’re at warp. We’ll be back at Endeavour at approximately 1400 hours.’

She drew a deep breath as he approached, but all he did was reach for her cup and take it to the replicator to refill it. Her hands felt empty, cold at the absence, and when he put the fresh mug before her, he only said, still in that same soft tone, ‘I’ll be in the cockpit.’

He was almost out the door by the time she found her voice, and then the only words she could find were a wavering, ‘That’s it?’

Rhade turned back to her. ‘Are you hurt?’ he said with a sudden frown. She shook her head, and he gave a slow nod. ‘Then if you need me, if you want company, I’ll be in the cockpit. If you want to stay here or get some rest, do so. Like I said: I’m here to have your back. Not to press.’

Her throat constricted, and in her silence he’d yet again almost left before she finally spoke once more. ‘He’s dead.’ It was the first part of the lines she’d practiced all the way back, the lies she’d made ready to tell him, to tell Captain Rourke, to tell anyone who needed telling. With Rhade breaking the script, breaking all her preparations, all she had were the shards, clumsily dealt like she was playing cards with a mismatched deck.

Rhade said nothing for a long moment. Then he approached the mess table and drew up the chair beside her. She wasn’t sure how conscious he was of the presence he projected, the aura of calm that emanated off him, but she felt it anyway as he sat in silence for several thudding heartbeats; felt his closeness soothe even though she knew how dangerous it was. At length he said, ‘Was he dead when you got there?’

Dathan tried to recite the next line. The Rebirth must have got to him. It was a trap. I didn’t have a choice. But the words threatened to choke, and all she managed to do was shake her head.

Rhade nodded. ‘Is there anything you need to do next? Does this need reporting to anyone? Does anyone need warning?’ She hesitated, and he pressed on. ‘Urgently, I mean. Before we return to Endeavour. One step at a time.’

Now she lifted her head, eyes locking on him with a wonder she couldn’t disguise. All she saw was open concern in those honest eyes, and even as her gaze dragged across his face, every furrow held worry, not suspicion. She could not help but sound awed as she breathed, ‘What do you think happened out there, Adamant?’

He was silent for a moment, frown deepening as he visibly gathered his words. ‘I don’t know if that matters. I know I trust you, and I trust your judgement. I know that if you want to talk, I will listen, I will support you.’

‘You have no idea what happened,’ she breathed, too shocked to be disciplined, all scripts and masks forgotten in the face of his sincerity. ‘You have no reason to trust me like this. You don’t even know me.’

‘I know you more than you think,’ Rhade said softly. ‘That includes knowing there’s a lot I don’t know.’ He hesitated, and tension roiled in her at the apprehension his eyes. ‘I felt it. On Tagrador, on the rescue mission. I found you because I sensed you, and I sensed you because…’ His voice trailed off, the frown deepening. ‘It’s difficult to explain to a non-telepath. I know the feel of your mind, not because I’ve ever broken your privacy, but in the same way I know what you look like because we’ve been in the same room. That was how I recognised you on Tagrador. But I noticed you from a long way away because of the sheer depth of your… feelings.’

She’d been alone. Trapped in the dark, without any of her tools and weapons, a cheap life to the Romulans who held her, expendable to the Starfleet who had every reason to cut her loose, with nobody coming. Not until the door had open and he’d been there, armed and armoured and her saviour in every possible way. If he’d sensed her, then he was being diplomatic to simply say feelings because the right word was terror.

But then he pressed on. ‘And I know you didn’t expect anyone to come for you. I don’t know what happened in your life, in your work, to make you feel like that. I’ve no right or intention to ask. So I want to be as clear as possible, Tahla: Whether it’s waiting on standby while you put to rest this past that hurt you, or fighting through enemy lines to rescue you, you can count on me. Always.’

If you knew the truth, she thought, you would either run a hundred light-years, or you would put me down in an instant. But there were parts of her still trapped in that dark cell on Tagrador – parts of her that had been trapped in a dark, cold place long before then. In the dark, he was always the shining beacon of light come to rescue her.

Cold calculation told her to make excuses and go to her room – until they added the factor that she’d just killed Kowalski, just refused an extraction order, and gone rogue to live a lie that would see her killed or imprisoned if the truth came out. Cold calculation had played no role in her decision then, and couldn’t guide her now. She’d acted on some deeper instinct, some deeper feeling, too far beyond her comprehension to turn to it.

Rhade shifted his weight, and she realised she’d been locked in silence for long enough that he’d drawn back. He cleared his throat self-consciously, and got to his feet. ‘If you need me,’ he said again softly, ‘I’ll be in the cockpit. I’m sorry.’

She didn’t know why she’d acted when Kowalski had turned his back. But she knew that when Rhade pulled away, the cold in his wake threatened to be unbearable.

‘Adamant.’ Her chair rattled as badly as her voice as she stood. His name tasted like copper, and she realised she’d bitten the inside of her mouth hard enough to draw blood. ‘Don’t.’ 

One more time he turned back, expression open in its uncertainty, and the sincerity of his apprehension, concern – affection – made the cold around her ache. He didn’t say anything, merely waited, and that made it worse, forced her to take a stumbling step closer, extend a hand and not know what she was reaching for.

‘You…’ You should hate me. Cast me away. Destroy me. There was no end to that sentence she could utter and she froze, her hand inches away from his arm. ‘I don’t deserve that. That trust,’ she managed at last.

‘I think that,’ said Rhade softly, ‘is a matter of perspective. And that you are far, far more than you think you are.’ He hesitated, and she realised she didn’t know if he was being careful about her obvious distress, or if he, himself, was nervous.

She didn’t know if she stepped forward or if he reached for her; she didn’t know which of them decided words were inadequate, but when his arms wrapped around her, warm and safe, she all but collapsed into the hug. Had the ringing numbness from Kowalski’s death and the magnitude of her decision passed, she might have cried. Or perhaps the numbness went longer, deeper, back as far as she could remember having feelings. Regardless, she did not cry, and the cold within her did not thaw, and even the warmth and comfort of Adamant Rhade’s simple trust could not make everything better.

But she could bury her face in his shoulder and clutch at him like he was the only thing she had in two universes. And worst of all, she didn’t have even that much.

When Commander Graelin came into the archaeology lab, checked they were alone, and told Beckett, ‘We need to talk,’ he was sure he was in trouble.

Studying research of historic Vulcan archival protocols was hardly incriminating behaviour, but Beckett still switched his screen off as he spun his chair around. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

‘I appreciate your ongoing commitment to the Koderex study. And your patience with Doctor T’Sann.’ Graelin brought up a PADD, studying it. ‘We need to make a decision about the good doctor’s future with this archive, so I’m trying to assess how integral he is to the restoration and analysis process.’

Beckett tried to not bite his lip. ‘He has more expertise on this specific topic than me – than a lot of people, in fact, sir.’

‘Yes, but with you working on it more-or-less full-time, we can’t exactly justify a civilian consultant in the long-term.’

Beckett hesitated. While he was suspicious of T’Sann, he still respected the man’s work, and knew that if he was wrong, the doctor was a trailblazer in his field whose contributions could be invaluable. He cleared his throat. ‘What’re you thinking?’

‘Simple,’ said Graelin, lowering the PADD. ‘If we’re keeping him aboard, that frees you up for more responsibility. Unless you’d rather keep dedicating your focus to the Koderex?’

‘You say “full-time,” sir, but there’s Hazard Team training as well, and I’ve been working with Commander Cortez to on those papers from Ephrath…’

‘Mn. I was thinking more along the lines of career development. It’s easy in your line of work to stay pigeon-holed.’

Beckett raised his eyebrows. ‘My line of work?’

‘Social sciences. It’s not the most natural route to bridge duty, which means it’s not the most natural route to a department head position and, thus, career progression.’

It was curious, Beckett thought. He could see Graelin before him, see his lips moving, and yet it was his father’s voice he heard. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘You are trained as a bridge officer -’

‘I’ve served as a bridge officer,’ Beckett pointed out. ‘Navigating the Velorum Nebula. In combat at Tagrador.’

‘Good,’ said Graelin, not particularly listening. ‘I’m putting you in for advanced bridge officer training courses, and that’s supporting evidence for your suitability. You can take a step back from the Koderex work, with T’Sann such a useful asset, and we can continue your professional development.’

‘As well as the Hazard Team training.’ Beckett swallowed. ‘Do I get to, I don’t know, sleep? Or is that time I could be improving myself as a useful asset to Starfleet?’

Graelin raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve got opportunities others don’t, Ensign. Your father said I’m responsible for you, so I’m responsible for you. A lot of mediocre students don’t get an officer of my experience and an admiral trying to groom them for more. There’s absolutely no excuse, with your later test scores and background, for you to not aim high.’

Beckett opened his mouth to respond, but sagged in the chair. This was not the first time one of his father’s puppets had castigated him for not meeting standards he’d never set for himself. ‘Fine,’ he sighed at last. ‘I’ll scale back on the Koderex work.’

‘Good.’ Graelin tapped his PADD, the screen turning blank. ‘Though if you find anything interesting in the investigation you’re trying to hide from T’Sann… let me know.’

Tension kept Beckett silent until Graelin left, then he sagged, scrubbing his face with his hands. This was not the worst possible outcome, but it hadn’t been great. His boss knowing and indulging his side project should not have been a surprise. And if Graelin was prepared to let him scale back his lab work to take on this additional training, his schedule and lifestyle didn’t need to suffer. But there was a simple reason Nate Beckett worked in the archaeology lab, even if it wasn’t, as Graelin said, the most straightforward path to career advancement. He liked it.

‘It’s this,’ he mumbled, bringing his screen back on, ‘or sleep.’ He’d been staring at this data for hours, it felt. But coming back after speaking to Graelin was like bringing a fresh pair of eyes, and a series of numbers his gaze had skipped over before now shone bright before him.

Beckett tilted his head. ‘Huh.’

Twenty minutes later he was hammering a door-chime on Deck 2, practically hopping on the spot with anticipation. Over and over he hit it, eventually rapping his knuckles on the door, and when Thawn finally opened up, he almost knocked her on the forehead.

‘What?’ She was dishevelled and bedraggled in night-wear, hair wild, eyes bleary.

‘Oh.’ Beckett’s hand dropped. ‘Oh you were commanding the gamma shift -’

‘I have had three hours of sleep, Beckett,’ Thawn snarled. ‘So this better be good.’

‘Wow, you’re not a morning person. Okay.’ Despite that he ducked past her, brandishing a PADD. ‘I know what T’Sann’s looking for.’

Her eyes narrowed, and he watched curiosity spark through fatigue to win at last. ‘I swear, if he’s just after some ancient Vulcan philosophy -’

‘He is not. Coffee. You’re going to want coffee. I’m going to want coffee.’ She pointed at the replicator, and he hurried over to fetch them two steaming mugs. ‘So I went through research of contemporaneous Vulcan archival techniques – which, let me tell you, is super niche? I had to dig through the methodology chapters of a whole bunch of historical research on the era, and then I had to get in touch with several scholars to ask for their research data itself -’

‘Yes, you’re very switched-on and attentive when it comes to historical research,’ Thawn droned, snatching the coffee from him. ‘Please skip to the end.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, are you the only one who gets to pontificate geniusly when you’re being a genius?’

‘At this time of night? Nobody gets to.’

‘Forgive me for anticipating the nitpicking I know you’d give if I opened with my findings and absolutely no explanation of how I -’

‘Beckett.’

‘Okay, okay! I found a similar archival reference to the classification system used on the Koderex, and then I went looking for what those Vulcan historical archives pointed at. It’s records from archaeological research, and they aren’t in great condition – I assume the wars of the Romulan exodus didn’t do archives much good…’ Her expression tensed, and he lifted his PADD in a placating fashion. ‘The digs were of sites five to six hundred thousand years old on Vulcan, and suggest an alien colony that predates any known Vulcan culture.’

Thawn stared. ‘Aliens on the planet Vulcan who had a whole society and colony before the Vulcan people? Why don’t we know about this?’

‘We do. We don’t know much, but we know more than the Vulcans from the time of Surak did. They were called the Arretans, we know they colonised several planets including Vulcans in that time period, and they were so advanced they developed massive mental powers and were basically gods. They extinguished all life on their own planet. A few survivors were found about a hundred years ago; they possessed crewmembers of the USS Enterprise, and apparently all died in the encounter. But they were wicked powerful.’

Now she frowned. ‘Let me get this straight. T’Sann is looking into a powerful, ancient species who had holdings on multiple planets, including Vulcan, and whose existence is known to Federation scientists. But to find out more, he’s consulting not Vulcan archaeological archives, but records from a lost Romulan archive?’

‘The Vulcan archives are damaged. The archaeological site was damaged. Maybe T’Sann thinks there’s information about the Arretans which didn’t survive anywhere but Romulan records – Romulan copies of the original Vulcan research?’

‘Okay,’ Thawn said slowly, and sipped her coffee. ‘Why?’

He stopped, hand dropping. ‘…I don’t know.’

‘Why would he keep this a secret? And if you think he’s been so weirdly driven, to the extent he doesn’t care about colleagues dying, why would he be like this for old records of an old Vulcan archaeological dig?’

Beckett winced. ‘This is going to sound crazy,’ he said, ‘but the only answer I have to that is: because the Arretans had practically god-like power and he’s after that?’

‘You’re right. That does sound crazy.’ She stalked towards him and snatched the PADD out of his hand. Then she turned to her desk console and flicked the screen to life.

‘What’re you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ She did not look at him. ‘Getting back to work. If this is as wild as you think, we should probably know for sure.’

‘Okay, it’s just…’

‘You can stay here,’ she said without missing a beat, ‘and continue to read on the Arretans. On one condition -’

‘I – Thawn -’

‘You have to keep bringing the coffee, and figure out some sort of disgustingly fatty brain food -’

‘It’s just now I finished explaining everything, I realise -’

‘…because that’s the only way I can – what?’

Beckett gave a slightly frantic gesture, heat rushing to his cheeks. ‘It’s just now I finished explaining everything, I realise that if I’m going to stay and you’re going to work, you really need to put on more clothes.’

Thawn looked down at the rather silky nightie that she’d probably owned for quite a while, and that Beckett had slowly realised was altogether more form-fitting than either of them had initially figured. She let out a slow, rather embarrassed sigh. ‘Humans. For that, Beckett,’ she said in a higher-pitched, clipped voice as she headed for her bedroom, ‘you’d better replicate some donuts.’

Self-conscious, he gave her a ridiculous finger-salute and spun on the spot towards the replicator. ‘Yes, ma’am. Donuts and coffee coming right up to as we investigate possibly a devious scheme to unlock ancient godlike power, ma’am.’

‘Great Fire,’ he heard Thawn groan from the next room. ‘When you say it out loud, it does sound stupid, doesn’t it?’

Being under the cold-eyed scrutiny of Matt Rourke was an experience Dathan thought she’d left behind her, but as she stood before his ready room desk, she could feel the caution and suspicion radiate from him. ‘I appreciate the circumstances are complex, Lieutenant. But you requisitioned a major asset of this ship, not to mention one of my officers, for several days. I need some sort of explanation.’

She did not think it wise to point out that he had insisted she be accompanied and take a runabout instead of a shuttle. ‘If I may, sir, it’s a long story.’

‘Which I was sympathetic to when you first brought the situation to me. But now you’ve returned empty-handed and, so far as I’m aware, there’s no pressure any more.’ The edge to his voice was palpable, but where his counterpart would have twisted that knife, Captain Rourke gave a sigh and sank back in his chair. ‘I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. You can say “Starfleet Intelligence,” until the cows come home, but I’m a starship captain, with all the clearance that entails.’

She looked over his shoulder at the inky blackness of space through the viewport, and tried to look reluctant as she scrabbled for more pieces of the story. She’d rehearsed this, too, on her journey, and at least Captain Rourke didn’t have the powers of Adamant Rhade in ripping up her scripts. But this was more dangerous – this was the man who, if he got it in his head to truly interrogate her past and records, had the power to find the holes in her tale.

‘This situation was complicated. And it relates to developments within Starfleet itself. Particularly Starfleet Security, particularly over the last eight months.’

‘Commodore Oh, the spy,’ said Rourke, steepling his fingers.

That revelation rippling through the ranks had been a gift to Dathan’s cover story, especially with the information purges orchestrated by the Tal Shiar agent upon her flight from Starfleet. ‘Like I said. It’s a long story. But Starfleet Intelligence has been working hard to unpick the damage from such a high-level infiltration, and this incident is a prime example. Heorot was, to my knowledge, a Romulan member of the Rebirth who had fed information to Intelligence. If he wanted to come in from the cold, I believed that was possible, and I believed he turned to me because he wanted to rely on a personal relationship instead of trusting a system that had been compromised.’ Once she had a thread to follow, the lies came as easily as breathing.

‘But that’s not what you found.’

‘No, sir. It was a trap. I think it’s likely he was a former asset of Oh’s orchestrating a misinformation campaign for Starfleet Intelligence about Rebirth operations.’

‘And you didn’t bring him back alive? He could have been a tremendous asset, if that’s the case.’

‘I did try, sir.’

He watched her for a moment. ‘You still keep your cards very close to your chest, Lieutenant. I’m not Admiral Beckett. I’m not here to turn you into my asset. If you’re still racing around after old problems in Intel, that’s not something you should do on your own.’

‘Truthfully, sir, this was a new one. I’m not taking missions or instructions from Starfleet Intelligence, as a member of your crew, without your knowledge. I’m an analyst these days. That’s all.’

‘Your personnel file says you’ve been an analyst for eight years,’ Rourke pointed out, because the real Dathan Tahla had just been an analyst for eight years. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re lying. I’m saying that you’re part of my crew, and if someone or something’s still out there, holding something over you…’

Her throat tightened. ‘You don’t have to worry about my loyalty, sir.’ It would have been very typical, she thought, if she came under Rourke’s suspicion after burning her bridges to her old life.

Rourke scowled, and a jolt of panic ran through her until he said, ‘This isn’t a question of loyalty. This is an offer of help.’

Despite herself, her shoulders hunched in at that. ‘Oh.’

‘You clearly have a long and complex history with Intel. I understand if you don’t want to drag me or the crew into it, but not only do these hooks have a tendency to dig into the people around you, we have a commitment – a responsibility – to each other, Dathan. Yes, I expect you to tell me if something’s going on that might cause a problem for this ship. But that means I have a responsibility to help you.’

When she’d arrived, she’d thought this attitude of mutual support soft. But with the dead Kowalski’s voice echoing in her mind, she had to fight to keep her masks intact as she shook her head. ‘I understand, sir. I’ll… if something comes up again, I’ll tell you.’

‘Intel don’t care about people’s lives. They don’t care who they hurt,’ Rourke rumbled, with a hint of resentment she couldn’t place. A part of her suggested she find out, so she better knew how to manipulate him, and she didn’t know in that moment if she was going to act on it. But then he said, ‘I’m glad you’re alright.’

‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help – with the ship, even with sending Lieutenant Rhade.’

‘Okay.’ One thing she appreciated about Rourke was that, while he could exude the warmth of this Starfleet, he didn’t like to linger on emotions. ‘Take a day to clear your head. Then we’re back to work.’

She left through the ready room’s side-door, because she had no desire to pass the bridge when her away mission was the inevitable subject of curiosity and rumour. Eventually she’d have to face such rumblings, but everything felt delicate right now, like she was picking her way through broken glass. She had no idea what would cut if she put a foot wrong.

It was thus no surprise when Nestari, the captain’s yeoman, slid forward at her desk with an eager expression. ‘Oh, Lieutenant,’ she called in a sing-song voice. ‘Just wanted to check if you’d filled that report in for Chief Koya? I could get it down to her if you want?’

As the Deck Boss, Chief Koya wasn’t entitled to much – but she was entitled to know if anything had happened to the runabout that needed extra attention. Sniffing around that report was a subtle way to dig for clues, but Dathan knew better than to fall for this innocent question. ‘I handed it to Chief Koya myself before coming up,’ she said, to Nestari’s visible disappointment. ‘But that’s very thoughtful of you.’

The report wouldn’t give Nestari anything, but she didn’t have to know that. However petty it was, it gave Dathan a small surge of satisfaction to outwit this bout of curiosity, and she left the captain’s yeoman there, thwarted.

Her PADD chirruped with a message as she waited at the turbolift. It was a strange tension that coiled in her at the sight of Rhade’s name, a mixture of apprehension and excitement she wasn’t sure how to process even if she wanted to.

How was the captain?

She thumbed a quick response. We talked. It went fine. The brusqueness did not suit the bubbling in her, but she wasn’t sure what more to say. If nothing else, she didn’t want to linger on any dissection of Theta Curry IV – but for once, she couldn’t summon the misdirection that would have been her usual habit. It wasn’t that she’d given up on her old toolset, but the impact of the last few days left her feeling like she’d dropped them, scattered them, and now had to decide which were of use to her any more.

Good, came Rhade’s slower response. If you’re free and still interested, I could introduce you to some Betazoid cuisine tomorrow evening. Tonight, she assumed, he would be reuniting with Thawn. But they’d made those plans when she’d expected to leave forever, to never see him again.

That this was the moment she realised she was going to have to live with the consequences of staying on Endeavour – that she was going to have to live this life. It felt like stupid, naive revelation. She should have realised that the moment she’d considered shooting Kowalski, she should have thought about it on the long trip back, or at any point in assembling or telling her falsified story. But no – dinner with a friend, suggested to be the first of several such occasions, was what had the coiling apprehension shift for an anxiety that almost made her head spin.

Then the turbolift doors opened and Tom Kowalski stepped out. ‘Lieutenant?’

She must have failed at her masks, because he was looking at her like he worried she might collapse. ‘Chief. Sorry, I just didn’t expect you up here.’

‘Checking something with Lieutenant Kharth.’ He moved to one side as if he was blocking her way. ‘Welcome back. Catch you at the gym some time?’

‘I – sure.’ Her throat felt too tight to allow words and breath to pass.

Either he didn’t notice or he was polite enough to pretend he hadn’t, giving a brisk thumbs-up. ‘Once the Hazard Team kids are up to scratch, you should join us on a training session. Put them through their paces a bit.’

‘That would be fun,’ she said without thinking, and fairly fled into the turbolift.

Her eyes slammed shut as the doors did, and she took a long moment to slump against the bulkhead, slowing her racing thoughts and heart. She didn’t know if the tension came from seeing that face again, the face she’d killed along with her past life – or the simple truth that helping train young Hazard Team officers did sound like fun.

The message from Rhade shone bright in the PADD in her hand, blazing and unanswered. She shoved it away, and set her turbolift destination before she lost her nerve.

Needing to go all the way down to the counselling offices did not settle her. Had she done this later, Carraway would have been in his quarters. Had she done this later, she probably wouldn’t have gone, even if this would have only made him hunt her down. That wouldn’t have been on her terms, and whatever tiny inkling of control Dathan could wrest back, she knew she had to seize it.

Carraway only used the desk in his office for paperwork or if he had a particularly standoffish session. Otherwise, the room was all cosy lighting, soothing artwork, a lot of potted plants, and comfortable seating around a low, round table. He looked almost startled when she came in, and she didn’t know if it was because he hadn’t expected her at all, or because he hadn’t got any tea ready.

‘If you’re busy…’ She hesitated at the door.

‘My schedule’s open this afternoon.’ He stood up, arms open, smile warm but cautious. ‘Welcome back. Would you -’

‘Yes,’ she said, trying and failing to smother a smile. ‘You can absolutely put on some tea.’

Now he smiled, and it was a broader smile than those of the polite counsellor. This was a friend happy to do something to make someone else’s day a little nicer, and she sat down and let him fuss with his trays and little cups.

‘If the rumour-mill is to be trusted,’ he said as he pottered about, ‘something very exciting happened. Is that true?’

‘Something happened,’ she allowed. ‘I don’t know if it’s exciting. I didn’t come here to talk about it, but to see if we could sort out those hiking plans.’

‘Of course,’ said Carraway, as if people sat down for a cup of tea for a conversation that could have been held by PADD. He brought the tray over, setting it on the low table, and eased into the chair opposite. ‘Whatever you had to go away for, do you feel better for it being done?’

It was such a simple question, and yet she’d been so caught up on guilt and survival that the idea of her own satisfaction – happiness – had felt deeply irrelevant. Despite herself, Dathan gave a tight smile. ‘I do,’ she said at last. ‘It was… difficult. But I’ve put some things to rest.’

‘You look better. Like a burden’s been lifted.’

‘I suppose it has been.’ She bit her lip, apprehensive. ‘I still – there are still things I can’t talk about.’

‘I understand.’ He tilted his head. ‘Are you ready to feel like you belong here, yet?’

That made her almost flinch. ‘What…’

‘Your past, whatever it is. You’ve clearly stayed tethered to it, personally and professionally. It’s kept you with one foot out the door. Has that door shut?’

Definitely. She reached for the tea so she had something to do other than be shocked at his insight. ‘If the door’s shut, then I suppose I have to belong here, don’t I?’

‘If not here, then where?’ He smiled. ‘But you have a choice, of course. You always have a choice.’

Normally she would have scoffed, if only internally. Dathan Tahla had never had choices, only a series of tactical negotiations towards lesser evils. She’d told herself that she’d shot Kowalski out of opportunity and instinct, and it was true that it hadn’t been premeditated. But it had been a choice, even if her agency was like a stranger to her. And that one choice had given her more.

Instead, she gave a wry smirk. ‘Are you trying to get me to admit that I stayed here, even though I could have moved back to a staff role, to something more prestigious, out of nothing but sentimentality?’

‘What some people call sentimentality, I call trying to be happy. It’s an underrated ambition. And it’s a lifelong path.’ He met her gaze, the kindly smile still there. ‘You are allowed to be happy, Tahla. And to try to be happy.’

She sighed and looked away, out the window, though her smirk didn’t die. ‘One step at a time.’ But his words twisted in her, and unlike the snaking apprehension of before, they were warming, reassuring, and she gave him a look even she would admit was a little bashful. ‘Can I be deeply rude and send a quick message?’

‘Of course.’

It was a simple thing to pull out her PADD, bring up the message from Rhade, and send nothing more than an affirmation and a time. And still it felt like something new had wrenched in her, uncomfortable and enticing all at once, and she kept her expression schooled for much more personal reasons when she looked back at Carraway.

‘Speaking of paths,’ she said, and her tone went lighter, more casual. ‘We should make a real trip out of that Appalachian Trail program, if we can get the holodeck time…’

In a space as cosy as the Safe House, the low music from the holographic jazz quartet on the stage was like another blanket around everyone, keeping the dim-lit atmosphere close, intimate. A couple of hours after the alpha shift, Endeavour’s main lounge had opened its arms to bring everyone together in a warm embrace to unwind.

But none of that sleepy comfort reached the booth Ensign Beckett sat in with Commander Cortez, enthralled by the content, discussion, and excitement of the notes and holographic displays of PADDs around them.

‘The environmental control systems were different to anywhere else, even Abnia,’ Cortez was explaining as she gestured to the two separate reports on Tkon outposts, one from Starfleet Research, the other from Endeavour’s own expedition to Ephrath. ‘So that’s one paper.’

‘How mercenary of you, Commander,’ Beckett drawled, and still went to jot it down on his journal.

‘Pragmatic. Inter-disciplinary publications are all the rage. My expert assessment of the technology with your comparative study, and we’ve got a hit on our hands,’ said Cortez with all the self-awareness of how little academic publishing became a hit.

‘Are we about to argue over whose name goes first? Is this an engineering paper with archaeological flavouring, or am I doing an archaeological study and consulting you for detail?’ asked Beckett with a wicked grin.

Cortez smirked. ‘One fight at a time. Speaking of fights – the security restrictions.’ She glanced up at the door, her gaze brightening. ‘And perfect timing.’

‘What?’ Beckett turned in his chair to see Commander Valance approaching, and with an oath he shut his journal, tucked a pen inside his jacket, and began gathering his things. ‘Sorry, Commander; I grabbed Cortez for a consult -’

‘You’re fine, Nate,’ insisted Cortez, sliding along the bench to make room for Valance. ‘If anyone can guide us through what we can and can’t submit for publication, it’s Karana.’

Valance arched an eyebrow as she sat down. ‘I knew this meeting would overrun,’ she chided Cortez gently.

Cortez waved a dismissive hand. ‘I figure that so long as we avoid any mention of the Vanishing Point network, we’re not going to fall foul of security issues?’

‘I – that’s a rather simplistic assumption; I don’t want to make promises I can’t…’

‘I say we press on,’ Cortez said to Beckett chirpily. ‘Do you have any decent Starfleet Research contacts who can back us up?’

He winced. ‘Yeah, from my long career of publication. No, my contacts are all civilian; I didn’t exactly shower myself with glory at the Academy to have old instructors who can be of any use.’ He didn’t mention that he’d rather not ask his father, and hoped the socially-astute Cortez wouldn’t ask.

‘Okay, okay. We’ll use my contacts from the SCE side. Might work out better for you to piggy-back off some of my cred in the first article, then you can run free from there.’ Cortez looked at him packing away. ‘Were we done?’

Beckett gestured haplessly between her and Valance. ‘The commander obviously came down…’

‘She can wait,’ said Cortez with an impish grin.

‘Thank you, Ensign.’ Valance leaned forward. ‘Someone here appreciates your discretion.’

‘Is it the holograms?’ said Cortez. ‘I was enjoying the chat.’

He stacked his PADDs and journal. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Enjoy your evening, Commanders. There’s someone I need to catch up with anyway.’

Cortez was protesting as he left, confirming for Beckett he didn’t want to be a tool in the teasing flirtation between senior officers. That was a great way to get a crap assignment off a vengeful Valance. He hadn’t been lying about other people needing his attention, either, heading for a distinctive figure sat at the bar.

Only to be intercepted halfway, Tar’lek Arys sliding out from a knot of pilots. ‘Beckett; I got that gym booking. 1700 tomorrow; I’ll bring the Ushaan-tors.’

‘You better, or it’ll be real embarrassing if I’m being beaten down unarmed.’ Not that Beckett fancied his chances against an Andorian with their own cultural blade anyway, but that was the point of training. Rhade had suggested all members of the Hazard Team find weapons with which they were comfortable, melee and ranged. Standard issue Starfleet phasers were fine by Beckett, but knives were different. As a social creature, he had thus enlisted Arys’s help for melee training.

Still Arys had the gall to nod very seriously and say, ‘You’ll get there.’

That was the problem, Beckett thought as he pressed on for the bar, of being friends with nice people. They never did him the decency of joining in when he was being self-effacing. So it was just as well his target was who it was, as he slid onto the bar-stool next to Rosara Thawn and told the bartender, ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’

‘What – oh, Beckett.’ Thawn turned on her stool and sighed. ‘What do you want? I’m having drinks with Elsa.’

He made a show of looking around. ‘Unless she’s turned invisible, she’s not here yet, so I’m not interrupting anything, am I.’

‘My calm?’

‘We both know you never had any.’ He pulled out his journal and leaned forward. ‘Can you keep a secret?’

She gave a slow blink. ‘Why are you asking me the sorts of questions friends ask each other? Do you want me to braid your hair next?’

‘Yes. Definitely. But that’s not why I’m here.’ His next glance about their surroundings was more conspiratorial. But sometimes a crowded place was the best environment to not be overheard, everyone too lost in their own business to listen or care about someone else’s conversation. ‘I need your help, and you’re the best person to ask, because this plays completely to your strengths: we might need to tattle on someone.’

Her eyes flashed, and she grabbed her drink. ‘Good night, Beckett.’

‘Wait, wait!’ He lifted his hands. ‘It’s about T’Sann. I think he’s not on the level.’

That caught her attention, but her gaze remained guarded. ‘Why are you bringing this to me, and not…’

‘Kharth, who’s close to him? Graelin, who if I’m wrong, might use this against him anyway? I need to know more before I escalate.’ He took her silence as curiosity, and ploughed on, flipping his journal open. ‘I was suspicious that he didn’t seem to care about the classifying of the Koderex, so long as he still had access to the archives. I think he’s looking for something specific in there. It might be nothing – but what if it’s something?’

‘Something,’ she echoed dubiously.

But she didn’t leave, and he smirked as he knew he had her. ‘Telling the galaxy you want to unite the disparate Romulan people is a great way to legitimise what might be your personal treasure hunt, huh? And let’s not pretend we didn’t pick him up under really suspicious circumstances – what happened to the rest of his research team, anyway? The Rebirth murdered them, but that’s like yesterday’s news to him.’

‘This is all very vague.’

‘That’s why I’m investigating, not accusing.’ He leafed through a few journal pages. ‘I’ve observed his work on the Koderex archive lately, and he’s been focusing on the restoration of a specific cluster of files. They’re not the closest to being completed, there’s no indication they’re anything specifically valuable. But he’s focusing on piecing them together. Why?’

‘Do you know what they’re about?’

He made a face. ‘So far as I can tell, they’re categorised the same way the Koderex has categorised historical research files.’

‘Surely historical research stored in the Koderex’s archives was conducted on Vulcan? Why couldn’t he find that elsewhere?’

‘Why indeed,’ said Beckett, like this was a clue and not the objection she was suggesting. ‘Now, T’Sann’s a skilled archaeologist, but he’s not a computer science wiz. So I thought if I identified what fragments he’s trying to restore, could you discreetly beat him to the punch?’

‘You’re asking me to access a restricted archive to do restoration work, but not reveal that restoration work to the science team?’

Beckett winced. ‘This is an archaeological project – it’s my science team. If Graelin asks, I can bullshit him about compartmentalising information.’

‘Mm. You’re good at that,’ she mused, but her gaze flickered down. ‘I have one question.’

‘Just one? How rare for you.’

‘Why are you using pen and paper like a pre-warp weirdo?’

He straightened, indignant. ‘It helps my reflexive process. And nobody can steal it.’

‘I see,’ she said, then snatched it out of his hands.

‘Hey -’

‘I don’t care about all your deepest thoughts, or how the Koderex makes you feel, Beckett,’ she sneered. ‘I’m making a point.’

‘Yeah,’ he grumbled, grabbing his journal back. ‘Heaven forfend you miss an opportunity. Are you in?’

She pursed her lips. ‘If Graelin asks, then I’m simply consulting on the ongoing work. I’m not going to be party to your little conspiracy.’

‘You are, or you wouldn’t be helping,’ he pointed out. ‘But if you don’t want to stand by your word, who am I to stop you hedging your bets and inevitably stealing the credit?’ He slipped his journal back in his jacket. ‘I’ll send you the file references and set up a restricted server for us to work on away from T’Sann. Anyway, why don’t you like Graelin?’

Thawn tilted her chin up. ‘Who says I don’t like him?’

‘Your pathological need for the approval of your superiors. If you liked him, you’d never go behind his back.’ Realisation struck, and he leaned in. ‘Holy shit, you think he and Elsa’s a real bad idea, too?’

‘I don’t -’ She flapped the flap of a betrayer, voice dropping to a hiss more urgent than when they were plotting to undermine a whole archaeological project. ‘I’m not sure his intentions are honourable.’

Beckett smothered a laugh, though he saw her watch him do so, saw her eyes narrow at him. ‘That’s the most you way of saying he’s a sleazeball. Alright, if we find T’Sann’s up to no good, we’ll go around him to the captain, take the credit, and make him look bad. Deal?’

‘Fine.’

‘Good. Anyway, how’s it going with Captain Federation?’

‘Stop calling him that; he’s your team leader.’ Thawn straightened indignantly. ‘And we’ve established we’re not friends, Beckett; we don’t share like that.’

‘A slew of tepid dates here in the Safe House is about as exciting as it looks, huh?’ Thawn’s eyes flashed again, but then Lindgren arrived at the bar, and Beckett suspected her arrival was saving him from a mauling.

Lindgren looked between them. ‘Are you two ever going to play nice together?’

‘I only play nice,’ Beckett protested. ‘I was just shaking Thawn down for gossip.’

‘That’s a really bad lie,’ Thawn pointed out. ‘I don’t know gossip about anyone.’

‘I was going to say,’ Lindgren drawled, pulling up the stool on her other side. ‘If you’re just trawling for attention, Nate, we’ll catch up later; now scoot so we can talk about you.’

He hopped to his feet and swept around to lean in between them both, smirking. ‘So you do talk about me?’

‘Yes,’ said Thawn flatly. ‘Like we’d complain about the weather, or bugs.’

His smirk turned on Lindgren. ‘Give her tips on how to spice up her love life. Pretty girl like her shouldn’t be taken out for dates where it looks like he’s pontificating on what kind of wine pairs best with the food. Rhade’s a good guy, but I’m starting to suspect he’s bone-crunchingly boring -’

Lindgren laughed and looked guilty, but Thawn planted a hand on his shoulder to push him away. ‘Good night, Beckett.’

So, laughing, he left them to it and let the intimate blanket of the Safe House draw him away. Perhaps to the cluster of pilots where he’d left Arys; perhaps the seats nearer the band where the junior officers of the Hazard Team had gathered. But the night could be his, any conspiracies left to wait for the morning shadows, where they belonged.

Although Greg Carraway wasn’t a small man, the CIC desk was tall enough that he could kick his feet idly as he perched on it, hands wrapped around the steaming mug of tea. ‘Seeing as we’re done with the Marbuto Pass,’ he mused, ‘did you want to pick the next?’

Dathan was frowning at the Neutral Zone map, and had to blink to bring her attention back. ‘Sorry – the next what?’

His smile was kind. ‘It doesn’t have to be another hiking route. We could do something different.’

‘Hiking is fine,’ she said quickly. ‘And I’m happy for you to choose the trail.’

‘You sure? You’re not taking the path of least resistance? What did you do with your holodeck time before you came aboard?’

Tried to catch up on hundreds of years of history and culture, she didn’t say. ‘Reading, mostly. Nothing much good for group activities.’

‘I’d wonder if you were appeasing me,’ he sighed, ‘but I hear you turned down Chief Lann’s invitation to the prayer group.’

She pursed her lips. That had been awkward, with Chief Lann coming up like he was doing her a favour; all warm, welcoming kindness. But holes in her spiritual education would not be easy to explain away, and it was much simpler to appear a misanthrope than a bad Bajoran. ‘My faith never found much solace in communities.’

‘You don’t find much solace in communities,’ Carraway said gently, nudging her with his foot.

She turned to him, knowing he’d be like a dog with a bone if she didn’t pivot. ‘Let’s do that long one you keep talking about. The ship’s going to be surveying these trade lanes for a week or two; we’ve got the time.’

‘The Appalachian Trail?’ His eyes lit up. ‘That’s best done with at least one overnight. We can rough it. And still step off the holodeck for a shower.’ He hopped to his feet and drained his teacup. ‘I’ll go book the time now. Before Saeihr thinks to slot in a thousand more security drills.’

‘Good luck,’ Dathan said dryly as he left, fighting a smile despite herself. The CIC felt warmer even when he was gone, Carraway’s gentle good cheer a heartier light than the glow of the holographic displays.

With Endeavour seeing to quite simple affairs on behalf of the relief programmes already venturing into the NZ, buoying up ongoing measures with the resources a starship could bring to bear, her work was indeed none-too-pressing. Checking new reports, identifying key information, updating the maps accordingly; it could be tended to at a leisurely pace, so when there was a chirrup notifying her of an incoming personal message, she felt she could leave one task half-finished to read.

She never did finish it.

Tahla,

Long time, no see, huh? I still thought you could help me, for old time’s sake. I’m staying on Theta Curry IV for now, coordinates enclosed. It’s best discussed face-to-face.

Heorot

A simple message. It had to be, now; one thing that had died with the old Endeavour was her level of access to the ship’s computer. She’d boarded as a member of Admiral Beckett’s staff and used her clearance to slip in a series of back-door access points. But the Obena was brand-new, and she wasn’t a member of staff for the Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence any more, and she couldn’t brazenly contact or be contacted by enemies of the Federation. So it had come to this: innocuous messages with the codes her handlers had set before sending her on this deep cover mission.

And now it was coming to an end. Because these were extraction orders.

She did not wait long. She didn’t linger, staring at the words in the hope they’d change, or wallow in her own thoughts to see if she could approach this situation any differently. She was trained to obey, and her orders as an officer of Terran Imperial Intelligence were thus to be followed without question. She thought only as long as was necessary to come up with the right lie, and then she left for the captain’s ready room.

He was decorating only slowly. This Matt Rourke was not a man comfortable in expressing his true self, she suspected, and an office as luxurious as his rooms aboard Endeavour invited a captain to make a mark. The one painting he’d inherited from Leo MacCallister had survived to the new office, but he’d finally started to decorate further.

She found him now stood before a new picture, and tilted her head. ‘A centimetre clockwise,’ she suggested, and nodded as he evened it. ‘Turner?’

‘The Fighting Temeraire,’ Rourke confirmed, not looking back as he set his hands on his hips, still with an air of dissatisfaction. ‘Didn’t think you’d recognise it.’

One area of culture on which she had not needed to brush up was pre-21st century Earth history, especially Western. And some tastes persisted across Matt Rourkes. Dathan shrugged as he returned to his desk. ‘I did study on Earth, sir.’

‘Of course. What can I do for you?’

The best lies had a shred of truth in them, and her truth included a lot of anxiety. Letting some of that sneak out only made her more convincing. ‘Sir, I have to ask you for a favour and not too many questions.’

‘That’s never a promising start,’ he said, but he gestured to the seat across from her. ‘What’s wrong?’

It was difficult to feel reassured by this man, even when he was doing everything right. ‘I’ve received a message from an old contact of mine, from back when I worked in Intelligence. He’s been a bit cagey about his circumstances, but I know he’s asking for help. He’s not enormously far away, so if I could requisition a shuttle for a few days…’

Rourke scratched his beard. ‘You think he’s in trouble?’

‘I don’t think he’d reach out if he weren’t.’

‘Who is this contact?’

She made a face. ‘That’s asking questions, sir,’ she chided, but knew she’d have to give him more. ‘A contact. Fed us information out of the Rebirth.’ Complete fabrications, but they were the sort of answers Rourke would both expect and want to hear; so long as he blamed what happened to Endeavour on the Rebirth, he’d seize chance to strike a blow against them.

‘Why do you think he’s not giving you the full details? You think he’s being watched?’

‘Sir -’

‘If he’s being watched,’ Rourke pressed on, gentler, ‘then that suggests going after him might be dangerous.’

Dathan drew a slow breath. ‘You know I can handle myself, sir.’

The captain leaned back, frowning. ‘If someone who’s been feeding information on the Rebirth wants help, then of course I want to help. Why do you think he’s not reached out to his handlers in SFI?’

‘I doubt he has handlers any more,’ was the easiest lie.

Rourke grunted, his disapproval of Starfleet Intelligence plain enough and very useful to her. ‘Then he must be desperate to go to you direct. Alright. Take the Uther Pendragon.’

She frowned. That was one of their Orion-class runabouts, one of the bigger craft aboard. ‘I can take a shuttle -’

‘I want you better armed if you’re flying into trouble to pick someone up. And you’re not going alone.’

Dathan’s heart sank, but she didn’t linger on that frustration; nor did she linger on this fight she couldn’t win. It was time to move to damage mitigation. ‘After the reports of the Teros mission, I’d rather you didn’t send Lieutenant Kharth,’ was her first move. Kharth was too suspicious by half, the only one of the senior staff who knew the real taste of desperation. It made her dangerous to keep close.

Rourke grunted with faint amusement. ‘Juarez, then.’

Only then did it dawn on her that she was probably going to have to kill whoever she brought with her. She had to be long gone before Endeavour knew anything was wrong. Disappearing meant maybe a day’s wait before a slow investigation and proclaiming them missing, possibly abducted, if they found nothing. Juarez rushing back with the Uther Pendragon to say she’d gone rogue was another issue entirely.

Dathan swallowed. ‘Alright. Juarez.’ He was a nice guy. That would make it easier to betray him.

Rourke’s shoulders sagged. ‘Dathan, if this is some old trouble come back to haunt you, you know we can help, right?’

She forced herself to meet his eyes, those eyes she was used to being cold and pitiless – even petty in their malice. His were brighter, though, kinder. ‘I know, sir,’ she said, and then chose to not part on a lie. ‘But you’ve done all you can now.’

Because this was formally a quick, short-range mission taking her away for all of a matter of days, organisation moved fast. With Rourke’s orders, the deck crew immediately started to prep the Uther Pendragon for departure, and she left him to explain the situation to Juarez while she packed.

All she was supposed to bring was an overnight bag, with the runabout equipped for trouble. Instead Dathan found herself stood in her quarters, staring at the small, deferential gestures to decorating she’d made despite herself. The bulk of it had followed her from Starbase Bravo across two ships; knick-knacks to give the illusion of a life she’d lived in. Here and there was the debris left behind by the real Dathan Tahla, the quiet analyst of this universe who had been abducted, interrogated, and replaced with this impostor.

She was probably dead. Knowing for sure hadn’t been Dathan’s place, and when she’d started this assignment, she’d had no thought of sticking her nose where it didn’t belong on matters like that. It wouldn’t help.

A few more odds and ends had slid into her life almost unknowingly. A picture from the end-of-year celebration in the Round Table only a week ago. The potted plant Carraway had given her to christen her new quarters. A bottle of Betazoid emerald Rhade had given at some festive occasion of his culture that she’d not got round to cracking open.

Her hand lingered near the picture. With just a quick swipe she could knock it in the bag. But why? Why would Lieutenant Dathan bring that picture on a routine away mission? Why would Agent Dathan take that with her when she returned home? Her superiors would only ask questions first, and destroy it second.

She was smiling in that picture. Carraway had said something folksy and she’d grinned despite herself, and Cortez had been snapping shots for the occasion and sent the record of her stood between him and a mid-headshake Kharth. Dathan didn’t smile much, and even less often like that – without any hint of self-consciousness, or wryness.

Her hand drew back from the picture, but she didn’t turn away without one last, lingering look at the last figure in the frame.

Her feet carried her almost against her will out of her quarters for the last time, but they took her in the wrong direction, took her to press the door-chime at Carraway’s quarters. He answered a moment later, out of uniform and back in one of his casual sweaters, amiably confused.

‘You have a bag.’

‘I have an away mission,’ she said, sounding flummoxed and apologetic as befit a last-minute commitment.

‘Oh.’ He frowned. ‘Nothing serious?’

‘No,’ she said, and she thought her veneer of indifference was better than usual under Carraway’s armour-piercing kindness. Then she hesitated, because this was the last time she’d ever see him, and there was absolutely nothing she could say to make these appropriate parting words. ‘So I’m sorry,’ she pressed on, only missing half a beat, ‘but I’ll have to take a rain-check on the Appalachian Trail.’

The furrow in his brow softened, and he shrugged. ‘No trouble. It’ll be waiting for us when you get back.’

‘Yes.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of days. Water my plant?’

‘Of course.’ He returned and magnified the smile. ‘Take care.’

It was worse, Dathan thought as she left, that she had clearly been successful. Had he thought something was amiss, he might have made sure to leave on some lingering point, give some final gesture of kindness or reassurance. But she couldn’t afford to be off by so much as an inch, and so she left Greg Carraway forever on nothing more than casual niceties.

This time, when her feet turned contemplatively towards the quarters of Adamant Rhade, she stopped them. She could justify a farewell to Carraway when they’d just made plans they’d have to cancel. She had no such grounds to say goodbye to Rhade for nothing more than a forty-eight-hour round trip.

It was harder to know what she’d say, anyway.

Endeavour’s single shuttlebay was always a space of frantic, buzzing activity. Dathan often thought the ship would benefit from multiple bays for better mission prioritising, but instead she had to thump through a crowd towards the swarming deck crew around the Uther Pendragon.

‘Chief!’ She lifted a hand as she approached Koya. ‘Is the runabout ready to depart?’

Chief Koya straightened, dripping with all the disapproval Dathan expected of a deck boss expected to get a ship ready with all of two hours’ notice for no apparently good reason. ‘She’s fine,’ Koya grunted. ‘The lieutenant’s aboard now, running the pre-flight checks. Hope it’s important.’

It occurred to Dathan to sincerely thank Koya for her work and for them to part on a good note, but she would never have done that normally. She left her there and clambered up the hatch to board. An Orion-class had two bunkrooms in the back, and she tossed her bag into one before heading to the cockpit to join Juarez. Except it was not the dark-haired tactical officer sat in the pilot’s chair.

‘What are you doing?’ Dathan asked, with more shock than the situation warranted.

Adamant Rhade turned from the flight controls with an apologetic look. ‘The captain told Juarez of the assignment when I was on the bridge. I offered to go in his stead. Is that a problem?’

Yes, Dathan screamed inside. She took the co-pilot’s chair. ‘Aren’t you elbow-deep in Hazard Team training?’

‘Everything we’re doing now, Chief Kowalski can continue in my absence,’ said Rhade, stopping his work to face her. His expression folded into that serious, thoughtful frown which let her know he was taking everything she said with the utmost sincerity. It was deeply frustrating. ‘If this mission is potentially dangerous, I thought I was a better choice to accompany you.’

‘Lieutenant Juarez is the assistant chief of security,’ she pointed out. ‘He’s perfectly well-trained.’

Rhade pursed his lips. ‘The captain did not tell me much – only that we would be helping a former contact of yours from the Rebirth who reached out to you, not Starfleet Intelligence. I deign to presume this is someone you knew personally.’

Lying to Adamant Rhade wasn’t exactly difficult, but it took the right tactic. Dathan drew a slow breath. ‘This isn’t an assignment where I want or need personal support, Adamant,’ she said carefully. ‘This is someone who’s been left out in the cold by Starfleet Intelligence and who needs my help. The backstory isn’t relevant.’

‘But you feel a burden of responsibility where others don’t.’ He saw her jaw tighten and lifted his hands. ‘I will ask no questions. You owe me no explanations. I’m here as your colleague and your friend, yes. The former is more important. The latter is only important if you want it to be.’

She tried to not clasp her hands together. ‘As I have said, there are parts of my past I don’t wish to discuss. That hasn’t changed.’

‘And I do not expect it to. But I don’t need the full story, or any more of the story than I have, to watch your back. Will you let me?’

He had been like an arrival from the storybooks when he’d burst into her prison cell on Tagrador; like all those chosen figures of the Prophets empowered by the Celestial Temple to bring salvation and reckoning. She’d stopped believing in such things when she was a child, when the Terran Empire had killed her parents and brought her into slavery. There was no salvation, no higher power; nothing that could save her except herself. And yet here he was, golden and sincere.

‘Alright,’ she said reluctantly, because she didn’t know how to lie to get him off the ship without raising more suspicion. ‘Let’s get underway.’

It was only when they’d launched, drifting away from Endeavour and into the inky blackness of space, that the fullest consequences of her weakness occurred to her. Because if she’d planned on murdering Eli Juarez to cover her escape, she absolutely had to murder the more-astute, more-skilled Adamant Rhade if she was to have a hope of slipping away.

That night, for the first time in a long time, she dreamed of home.

In Dathan’s universe, Bajor had never known the oppression of the Cardassian people. Instead it had been the Terrans, their empire’s borders swelling to dominate the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, who had landed their troops and built their garrisons and set the Bajoran people to labour unto death. From what she had read of the Cardassian Occupation, the only notable difference had been which species held the whip.

As a girl, she had learnt how to keep her head down and how, when that wouldn’t work, to say the right thing. She’d been picked out as a capable and loyal worker, which was why she’d been elevated to personally attend on the Prefect governing the planet. He’d moved off-world when she was nineteen, taken her with him, and she had not looked back.

The dream was of a Bajor she’d never seen; of rolling fields and achingly high snow-capped mountains. Even asleep, she knew this was a lie born of her imagination and the images she’d seen of this universe’s Bajor, liberated from occupation thirty years ago and thriving ever since. Even as she dreamed, she knew this was her home in a way she’d never see it, could never see it. She dragged her gaze from the gentle slopes to the peerless blue skies, and saw the dark dots of warships hovering overhead like vultures. Then she woke up.

The Uther Pendragon had two cabins, so at least she was alone. Waking up was the most dangerous time as a slave and as a spy alike, the time her wits were dullest, her subconscious rising to the forefront, and still often she had to put on the mask. But here, alone, Dathan lay in the darkened cabin, staring at the ceiling, and told herself this was the last morning she’d have to wake up an impostor. Within hours they’d be at Theta Curry IV, and this would be over.

She splashed water on her face at the sink, and did not look her reflection in the eye. MacCallister wants you back. He needs you back.

The thought reinforced her a little. Leonidas MacCallister – her Leonidas MacCallister – had plucked her from drudgery, elevated her to his right hand, and given her opportunities and comforts she’d never have known otherwise. She had worked hard and he, in turn, had rewarded her for her loyalty, and now he needed her to return to his side. It didn’t have to be more complicated than that.

Then she entered the main corridor to see Adamant Rhade sat in the cockpit, remembered the most sensible thing to do would be to kill him before she fled, and the reinforcement faded.

He found her in the crew space at the aft of the runabout twenty minutes later, sat at the table with a cup of coffee. Hovering in the doorway, Rhade folded his arms across his chest and frowned. ‘Have I offended you?’

Dathan blinked and looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

He nodded at the table. ‘You’re welcome to sit up front with your drink.’ She didn’t know how to answer that – how to possibly lie around the truth that this would be easier if she kept her distance from him for the next hours – but to her relief, if his telepathy picked up anything, it was a simple apprehension. He grimaced more. ‘I’m not here to be an intrusion.’

‘And yet,’ she pointed out lightly, ‘you came back here.’

‘I’ll ask nothing of this mission,’ he said again. ‘And I’ll have your back. So there’s no need to start warding me off. We’re still friends, Tahla.’

No, Dathan thought. That’s a lie I told you from the start. Only she hadn’t told it from the start; she’d thought to keep their relationship professional and he, with his kindness and decency, had continued to stand by her and build a rapport such that it would have been more suspicious for her to pull away. Like she was pulling away now, when she needed him most compliant.

If you don’t want to kill him, then make sure he lets you off this runabout without any questions, and doesn’t follow. You can be long gone before he knows any better.

Dathan swallowed and got to her feet. ‘You’re right,’ she said, and met his gaze. ‘This away mission’s getting to me, but that’s not on you.’

He gave a small smile. ‘Then I’ll get another drink.’

She followed him to the cockpit and eased into the co-pilot’s seat, hands still wrapped around the mug. Was this the last time she’d drink Starfleet replicated fare? Far better than anything she’d be allowed at home, unless MacCallister was in a benevolent mood, had leftovers, and nobody was around to look down on him for favouring a slave.

A glance at the display told her they were four hours out, and her heartbeat started to feel like the ticking of a countdown. No more Lieutenant Dathan, trusted colleague, respected analyst. No more of this uniform, this symbol of peace and hope. No more afternoon tea with Greg, training with the Hazard Team, drinks with Kharth.

Lies, all of them. You’ll be well-rid of them.

No more of Adamant Rhade’s easy smiles, and the way he could look at anyone as if they were the most important person in the universe, and convince them it was so. Like he was doing now. Like he was making her feel now.

‘I know we have a location,’ he said quietly. ‘I know you have a meeting. What do you need me to do? Stay in orbit and keep a transporter lock on you?’

She shook her head. ‘We’ll set down a few kilometres from the meeting location. Records suggest it’s an abandoned old relief shelter from the days of the Federation refugee evacuation. I want you to wait.’

‘Are you expecting trouble?’

‘My contact wouldn’t have reached out otherwise.’ Dathan hesitated, considering extraction protocols and the best way to stop Rhade from falling foul of them. ‘Keep sensors checking ships coming into the system. Look for ones of a Romulan military design. I’ll comm if I meet opposition.’

‘Do you know if you’re bringing your contact back aboard?’

‘That’s the hope. Which means I might be out there a while if I have to convince him. I earned his trust a long time ago.’ She frowned. ‘If you can wait, even for a whole day, it would help. I know that’s a lot to ask, but this is why I didn’t want to drag someone else…’

‘Stay put for a day. Scan the system for any possible troublemakers. Alert you if someone catches my eye.’ Rhade nodded.

‘Alert me only if you’re really sure. My contact might get spooked if he thinks he’s being watched.’

‘Is there any way for us to keep a comm-line open that he won’t know?’

Dathan shook her head quickly. ‘He’s come to me, and not Starfleet Intelligence, for a reason. I want him to be able to talk freely.’

‘You’re right,’ Rhade sighed. ‘This is a lot to ask. I’ll do it, but please understand my reluctance here is born from concern. I’ve no right to your secrets.’

You wouldn’t be so kind if you had even half a clue. ‘Thank you,’ she said instead.

Then he smiled again. ‘So you’re going hiking with Greg when this is over.’

That made her heart twist in an unexpected way, and she thought she saw his expression give the faintest flicker at her feelings. That wouldn’t do. ‘We’d invite you,’ she said coyly, ‘but you keep spending time with Thawn.’

Nothing distracted a man more than letting him talk about himself. Even if Rhade now looked uncomfortable, he sighed. ‘She hardly demands all of my time.’

‘How’s that going? If you’ll forgive me, an arranged marriage feels awfully… formal. I understand the logic of making a match of two people you think are well-suited, but it must have been decided when you were very young.’ She did not say what she thought, what she’d always thought: that neurotic, highly-strung Rosara Thawn would either be calmed by Adamant Rhade’s thoughtful patience, or irritated when she pushed and he didn’t push back. For her money it would be the latter, and she could not see an end that was not disastrous. But now she would see no end of it at all.

‘It was. But of course it’s not binding.’

Dathan hesitated. Then she remembered she was about to never see him again. ‘Is it what you want?’

‘I see no reason to not…’

‘That’s different.’ What someone wants is irrelevant, she reminded herself, but then a treacherous voice rumbled, Not in this universe. ‘I’m sure it’s sensible, and non-binding, and you trust your family. But do you want her?’

He watched her for a moment, head tilting, dark eyes piercing. ‘This mission has you very rattled.’

She faltered. ‘We’re not talking about that.’

‘I agree. And yet, you’re pressing me on my affairs as if you need to keep me at bay; distract me or make me irritated with the conversation.’

‘No,’ she said, and found a surprising dose of honesty in her voice. ‘It’s just something I never asked before.’

He watched her for another moment, and she felt his question: then why do you feel you have to ask it now? But he sighed. ‘I could grow to want it.’

‘It. The match. Grow to want her?’ He gave a small, guilty nod. ‘What if you don’t?’

‘Then I’ll find out, but it is my responsibility to find out. Not walk away simply because she is… pleasant, and intelligent, and driven, and has many attributes that I respect immediately, and yet she…’ For one of the first times in her memory, Rhade looked at a loss for words. He gave a faint, awkward gesture. ‘And yet I’m not sure I feel it.’

‘It,’ Dathan echoed again.

He met her gaze. ‘That spark at the thought of her. That exciting tension when she enters a room. Or even that warmth in her company, as if I could sit with her until time loses meaning and be perfectly content, even in silence.’

Dathan said nothing for a long moment, sipping her coffee and contemplating this. ‘I hope you find it,’ she said at last, terribly sadder than she’d expected.

Rhade’s expression fell to a thoughtful, distant frown. ‘Have you?’

‘Ever?’ Dathan thought of the people who’d drifted in and out of her periphery, of how a physical connection could never stretch to an emotional one in her world, where her life could not afford something so fundamental to true feelings as trust. It was her turn to look away, and she felt his eyes back on her. ‘No.’

When she met his gaze, his smile was soft, but sad. ‘There’s always time. And until then – we have our duty. We have a fine ship, with a fine crew. We have our friends.’

Dathan swallowed. ‘Yes.’ Then she said, without even thinking, ‘We should do something when we’re back. You and I.’

‘We’re doing something now,’ Rhade pointed out dryly.

‘I mean – it’s been a while since we had a drink together, but something more. Sparring? Training?’ She didn’t know why she was saying this, making plans she’d never see, but there was something intoxicating about building a future she didn’t have to make good on. Unburdened from apprehension, guilt, or betrayal, she could plan anything with him. ‘No,’ she said at last, brightening despite herself. ‘Dinners. You keep talking about cuisine I’ve never had.’

Rhade lifted his head, smiling faintly. ‘Is this a ploy to make me cook?’

‘You have room to cook on the new Endeavour,’ Dathan pointed out. ‘You might not be ready to start cooking for Thawn, but you can cook for me. For me, that has no subtext. There wasn’t much fine dining on Bajor while I was growing up. You can catch me up on what I’ve missed.’

Now his smile was wider, whiter, and he nodded. ‘That would be delightful, Tahla.’

They’d never do it, and still the thought made her warm inside as they sank into a comfortable silence to watch their instruments and wait out the journey. It was much easier, Dathan thought, to spend time with someone when you didn’t have to follow through on anything you said.

Yet still their ETA loomed on her console, and still her heart kept thudding like a ticking clock running out of time. The hours somehow stretched to an eternity and raced past in the blink of an eye, like she was sitting with Rhade forever and yet like the journey took no time at all.

But however many eternities they sat there, it was still too soon when an alert went off at the pilot’s controls and Rhade said, ‘Coming up on Theta Curry IV now. Dropping out of warp.’

Her throat tightened as the stars stopped streaming and the dull, barely-habitable rock that was their destination raced up to fill the canopy. The world was a failed home for a refugee hub, the inhabitants fleeing as soon as they could from this unwelcoming, rugged, grey landscape and leaving nothing but a ghost town behind. Mining ships passed through, giving them enough cover to arrive discreetly, but it was a well-selected location for both Dathan’s real and false purpose. Isolated enough to do what she needed to do, busy enough to provide a little shelter.

She swallowed a lump in her throat as she regarded the dull, grey planet ahead, where her life was about to come to an end. ‘There it is,’ she breathed. ‘Bring us in.’

And let’s end this.

‘If you roll your eyes every time you see me,’ Beckett said as Thawn opened her door, ‘you’re going to do yourself serious damage.’

‘Not before I do you serious damage,’ she countered, but let him into her quarters. ‘Remind me why we’re doing this here?’

‘Because T’Sann or Graelin might spot us down in the lab and Athaka might actually explode if you showed up at our place.’ He sauntered in, a box under his arm, and made a bee-line for the comfy seating.

She eyed the box dubiously. ‘You brought more physical records?’

‘Nope. Snacks.’ He set it on the coffee table and cracked it open to bring out a packet of potato chips. ‘Essential for long and boring data analysis.’

‘I do have a replicator here, you know.’

‘And yet, you’d judge me for using your replicator to make my snacks.’ He cracked the packet open and extended it towards her. ‘Crisp?’

Successfully manoeuvred away from another dig at him, Thawn shook her head and took the other armchair. ‘You’ve set up the secure server for us?’

‘And copied the files across. I thought you’d want to start from scratch with your own restoration process instead of whatever protocols T’Sann’s using.’ He smirked at her dubious expression. ‘Just figure you’re the kind of perfectionist where a non-expert’s work isn’t good enough.’

She tilted her nose up. ‘Well. You’re right. Archaeologists are only social scientists, anyway. I can’t expect too much of you.’

He crunched on a chip. ‘Sure, if you ignore all my training for dating techniques, artifact studies, or site-work. No hard science went into Ephrath, only feelings.’

‘Then I suppose you can do this yourself.’

‘Nope.’ He leaned back on the sofa, swinging his legs over the armrest. ‘Digital archive work is one of my weak spots. Professionally. Personally, it’s leggy blondes.’

Thawn visibly stopped herself from rolling her eyes as she set down a PADD and brought up its holographic interface to access the secured file copies. ‘Is that why you throw yourself at Elsa and strike out all the time?’

‘You misunderstand mine and Elsa’s dynamic. We flirt for fun, not because it’ll go anywhere.’

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ Thawn mused in a flat voice as she skimmed files, ‘right until Elsa says, “Your place or mine?” and then all of a sudden you’ll be serious as a heart attack.’ As his eyes narrowed, she expanded her PADD’s projected screen. ‘I’ll need access – read-only will do – to the ongoing file restoration. I can learn a lot from what’s already been done, and I might need to copy other fragments if your assessment of what T’Sann’s drawing from is wrong.’

‘You want me to do that so your fingerprints aren’t all over the server records, I assume,’ he drawled.

‘If someone takes a glance and sees your name making edits and copies and access alterations, nobody will bat an eyelid unless they look deeper. If the Chief Operations Officer is giving herself access to Science Department files? That might make Graelin at least ask,’ she pointed out.

Beckett shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Easily done.’ He put down the chip bag and hopped to his feet, meandering about her quarters as he tapped on his PADD. ‘I didn’t think your place would look like this.’

She tensed. ‘Like what?’

‘Modern art,’ he said, nodding at a piece on the wall. ‘Never would have pegged you as a Torkarey fan. He’s too… what’s the word. Fun?’

‘Sorry for not having walls covered in classical paintings; I live to reaffirm your worldview’ Thawn muttered, not looking up from her work. Then she paused. ‘I don’t like Torkarey for being fun. I like the blurred edges, the hint of movement, the way they work sometimes even beyond the canvas, the hint of…’

‘Freedom?’ He smirked at her. ‘Guessing you had Commander Eltaron at the Academy too, huh.’

She’d stiffened at his suggestion of agreement. ‘Only first year. Then I moved on to real work.’ A notification flashed up on her screen. ‘That’s the access I need. This is going to take a while and if you’re not that good with data restoration, I’m not sure why you’ll stick around.’

Beckett frowned, still wandering about her quarters. ‘Because I pulled you in to help me, so the least I can do is keep you company instead of ditching this work on you? Besides, HT training this week got rescheduled with Rhade away.’

‘Ah. Yes. The away mission.’

He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. ‘What’s it even about? Him leaving last-minute to go help Dathan with something must be pretty important.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘He didn’t tell you?’

She pursed her lips, not looking at him. ‘Does it matter?’

‘I guess if my boyfriend left for three or four nights with about five seconds’ notice, I’d at least like an explanation. Tar’lek said he volunteered for it.’ That made her freeze, and Beckett stared. ‘You didn’t know that?’

‘I’m not talking about this with you.’

But Beckett kept talking, thoughts racing as he added things up. ‘Three months ago, Rhade stays in the brig by choice until he’s needed to bust the captain out of a Romulan prison – fair enough. Except that was also to rescue Lieutenant Dathan. For whom he’s now gone on a mysterious away mission with no notice. Spicy.’

‘They work together. They’re friends,’ said Thawn, jaw tight. ‘This is hardly a scandal of the century.’

‘And yet, he didn’t explain to -’

‘Do you have a point, Beckett?’ At last she rounded on him, eyes flashing. ‘Or did you stick around to poke holes in my life for nothing but your petty satisfaction?’

He froze, eyebrows raising. Then he lifted his hands. ‘You’re right, senior officers going off on away missions unexpectedly isn’t a scandal. I was gossiping and, yes, teasing; I apologise.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said transparently, and turned back to her screen. ‘Let’s just work.’

Cautious, he padded back to the sofa. ‘I swear I’m not trying to dig,’ he said slowly. ‘But I figured you two were spending lots of time together lately.’

‘This isn’t digging?’ Thawn muttered, before sighing. ‘We’re – I suppose we’re dating. Which is a complicated prospect with someone you’re arranged to marry anyway. Where we’re only at the point of talking about our day over dinner, and not at the point of discussing how much his various friendships impact his major decisions.’

‘But unlike if you were really casually dating, it feels relevant and like you’re entitled to know if he busted himself out of prison for someone who’s not you? Life and death aside.’

‘I’m not going to be indignant if Lieutenant Dathan matters to him enough to influence his choices about Tagrador. Or for him to drop everything to go on a mission with her. These are normal things for colleagues and friends to do.’

‘But you’re indignant,’ Beckett said cautiously, ‘that you don’t really know what he’s thinking.’ In her silence, he pushed the potato chips across the coffee table.

She was still watching her screen, not him, but she did take a chip. ‘I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to know who and what’s important to your betrothed.’

‘Sure. Does he know who and what’s important to you?’

‘I don’t have that many people on board anyway,’ she said, seemingly without thinking.

‘Really? It’s just Elsa?’

Now she looked defensive, realising her gaffe. ‘The other people I spent time with aboard have left. Or died.’

Beckett scratched his cheek, and considered why Thawn had been able to free up a slew of nights after long shifts to help him with a project that had absolutely nothing to do with her. Even before Rhade’s departure. He took back the packet of chips. ‘How’s the work looking?’

‘I’ve been at it for all of ten minutes.’

‘I mean as a project. It’s weird he’s looking at these files, right, and not any others?’

‘It is,’ Thawn allowed with a sigh. ‘There are files much less degraded. Or ones which, at a glance, it would be easier to restore. So I agree that he’s probably chosen these for a reason.’

‘Do you have any idea what they’re about?’ At her look, he leaned forward. ‘Even in the state they’re in, he had to identify them somehow if he’s looking for something specific. Which means he’s either been able to discern something from the files alone, or he has some sort of familiarity with the categorisations or meta-data from another source.’

‘Which suggests,’ Thawn said, ‘that you should look for where he might have learnt such a thing. Instead of watching me work.’

‘That’s a really good idea.’ He’d brightened for a moment, then froze and slumped. ‘Unless he studied Romulan archives lost with the supernova.’

‘Maybe he did, but don’t borrow trouble,’ she chided, eyes back on her screen.

‘Okay. There’s some overlap with historic Vulcan archival methods, of course, so that might give me something…’ Beckett sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘So before I dive into historiographic research records – more snacks.’

‘You’ve still got a box,’ she pointed out as he got to his feet.

‘That’s for me. You can’t steal my crisps.’

‘I didn’t say I wanted them.’

‘Then what do you want?’ he demanded, stood at the replicator. ‘Crappy junk food only.’

‘Is that essential to your process? That we both eat junk?’

‘Yes. And after Captain Federation demanding gourmet cooking from a goddamn replicator, because he’s too bloody fancy to take you out for a burger, I think you need it, too.’

‘I don’t think I would ever want to be taken out for a burger.’

‘And it shows. That might be fun,’ said Nathaniel Beckett, scion of a respected bloodline of Starfleet officers who could secure a booking at the fanciest restaurants in the two quadrants with no notice, and thus hardly a champion of slumming it himself.

‘Fine. Chocolate-covered menju nuts.’

‘My, that’s practically bar-food. Now we’re talking.’ He replicated a bowl and set on the table between them, before throwing himself back down on the sofa with a new packet of chips and his PADD to begin his own work.

For long moments, nothing but the chirrup of their devices could be heard as they worked, until Thawn popped a nut into her mouth, swallowed, and said, ‘Dai bao.’ As he lowered the PADD, gaze quizzical, she shrugged. ‘Preferably pork. Better than a burger. There were some great places to get them -’

‘Near campus,’ he finished with an approving nod. ‘You ever told Rhade you’d prefer something more like Chinatown street food every once in a while?’

Her smile was tight, guarded but not unamused. ‘Of course not,’ said Thawn, returning her focus to her work. ‘He’s too fancy for that.’

Theta Curry IV was a dull rock of a world. They set down on sea of grey scree deep in a valley that had once sheltered a refugee settlement from the elements. High winds buffeted the Uther Pendragon on the descent, promising vicious chill if one climbed the cliffs, and even Dathan Tahla had to wonder why this world had been chosen as a home for the most desperate in the galaxy.

But all great powers had those they didn’t care about. Even the vaunted United Federation of Planets.

‘Keep sensors focusing on ships coming into the system,’ she reminded Rhade as she slung on her gear before the lowered landing ramp. ‘The coast seems clear, but we don’t want company that might be the Rebirth.’

He nodded, frowning. ‘And don’t contact you unless I’m certain we have trouble.’

‘I don’t want to spook him.’ She tightened the last strap, looked up at him, and hesitated. ‘Like I said, it might be difficult to convince him to come back with me. Give me a day before you start to worry.’

‘I’m afraid I must disappoint you there; I’m already worrying. But you have a day until I act on it.’

Dathan’s throat tightened at not just the concern, but the simplicity with which he admitted to it. Soon she would be in a world where bonds were a vulnerability, and if they were expressed at all, they were couched in codes and subtext. Here, all she felt were his dark eyes locked on her with open unease.

The kindest way to repay him, a quiet voice reminded her, is to make sure he stays far away.

‘I’ll make contact if anything goes wrong,’ she said, trying to sound firm, but confident. If she made him feel his concerns were being addressed without promising anything concrete, he would wait. If he waited he would live, and that meant she’d never see him again.

As with Carraway, she knew if she said anything else, it would disrupt the delicate balance. Anything worthy of an eternal parting would risk being too heartfelt, which risked making him suspicious, risked making him pay closer attention to the meeting than she could afford, and that meant she’d have to kill him.

But Carraway hadn’t known there was anything odd about her mission, while Rhade at least knew there was some danger. Or that was what she told herself when she stepped forward and reached to clasp his arm before she could stop herself, gaze locked on him. ‘Thank you.’ For everything.

The corners of his eyes creased as he watched her. ‘Be careful.’

It was not enough, and yet it would have to do. Even another heartbeat of looking at him would be too much, and still it felt like something wrenched in her as Dathan turned away from him and disembarked from the Uther Pendragon.

Those were her last words as Lieutenant Dathan; this was her last act under the guise of the Starfleet officer, the colleague, the friend. As her footsteps crunched across the rocky surface, every step took her further and further away from the mask, from the lie, until finally she moved through the jagged wasteland and the runabout, and Rhade, were both out of sight.

It was over. She was her again. And yet the weight on her shoulders had not lifted.

Once you’re underway, it’ll be different. You still need to get off-world without drawing suspicion. Without having to put him down.

She had picked a landing site close enough to the meeting coordinates she could travel on foot, but far enough that Rhade could not easily catch up if he got it into his mind to follow. So she travelled for an hour, supply pack slung over her shoulder, rugged away team gear keeping her warm against the occasional gusts of chill wind that slipped through the valley’s protection to buffet her.

After a decade and a half, there was not much left of the refugee shelter the Federation had built and then abandoned. The settlement had collapsed over years, Romulan refugees taking anything of any value with them, usually to buy transit off-world. From a distance, the camp at least bore the silhouette of a settlement, offered the shadows of rooftops and shelter. But soon she walked through a ghost town, through nothing but the husks of prefab buildings stripped of walls and roofs for metal, or battered and broken by the elements.

The wind whistled more down here, in this open stretch of the valley big enough for the shelters, and Dathan repressed a shiver. No wonder the refugees had left once the support stopped. Teros had been unwelcoming, but it had been bigger and more self-sustaining, and for all its inhospitability as an environment, it had not felt like a graveyard of a world.

Amid the shadows of a shelter that had brought no succour, Dathan drew her tricorder, consulted it for the lone life-sign within a hundred metres, and made for what transpired to be one unremarkable, run-down prefab building among scores.

The sun on Theta Curry IV was a weak, anaemic thing, already tired by a long day and so in no state to pierce the shadows of her target’s shelter. Detritus crunched under her boot as she stepped through the doorway, phaser already in hand, eyes sweeping the collapsed remains of what had once been a home for the desperate.

One shadow moved, or so she thought, but it was from the opposite side of the room that a figure stepped out of darkness. ‘If you call me Heorot,’ a low voice rumbled, ‘do I call you Beowulf or Grendel?’

Dathan’s jaw tightened at the familiarity, but instead she said, ‘This is a terrible code. They do have Beowulf in this universe, you know. Of course I’m not going to call myself Grendel if I’m on your side. And I thought Heorot was a place, not a person, Kowalski?’

She’d last seen Tom Kowalski three days ago, down in Endeavour’s gym. The big master-at-arms had always been dedicated to his fitness, but that commitment had increased tenfold as he’d recovered from the back injury he’d taken at Jhorkesh. While the figure before her shared his build, his square jaw, his craggy features, this was not him.

Her universe’s Tom Kowalski levelled his phaser at her. ‘We’ve never met.’

‘And yet your counterpart is on the USS Endeavour. Apparently parallel universes have a sense of humour. Or destiny.’ She did not lift her weapon, and not just because he had her at a disadvantage. ‘Agent Dathan, reporting for extraction, sir.’

Kowalski didn’t move. ‘You’re MacCallister’s creature, reports say. What painting’s on the wall in his office?’

‘Vercingetorix Throws Down his Arms at the Feet of Julius Caesar, by Royer.’

‘It’s by Motte.’

She made sure to not snort. ‘That’s Vercingetorix before Caesar. Different painting. His is Royer. Have you ever been in MacCallister’s office, or did a superior give you that to test me?’

Kowalski lowered his phaser, expression not particularly changing. ‘They said you always had a wilful streak. The Federation made you uppity.’

‘I’m the most successful infiltration agent Endeavour’s ever had. I’m the only one who lasted more than three months before getting my cover blown, or being forced out before that could happen. Being good made me uppity.’

‘Yeah. Seems you’ve done alright for your kind,’ he grunted, and turned away to where a bag was nestled in the corner. ‘Assume you came alone?’

A tension settled in her throat. ‘It’s just me here. Why has this happened now?’

Kowalski hefted his bag and frowned at her. ‘I thought you’d be happy to get out of deep cover.’

‘My happiness is irrelevant. I’m well-embedded. I have the trust of the crew and their Rourke. I don’t understand why I’m being pulled when I’m still more use as an agent on the USS Endeavour than on the ISS Endeavour.’ Doing whatever my role will become there. She’d been deemed a specialist by MacCallister some years ago, an analyst and adviser unbiased, in his judgement, by the political filters of most imperial officers. These were not qualities anyone else appreciated, and she knew she’d made enemies of officers whose plans, proposals, and analyses she’d recommended against. Or even ones she’d approved of but MacCallister had opposed; she knew that, by his design or otherwise, his subordinates made her an easy scapegoat when he made decisions they disagreed with.

‘You’re leaving because orders say so,’ Kowalski grunted. ‘You don’t get to debate it.’

‘So you don’t know.’

He met her eyes, gaze warning. ‘My job is to bring you back. I know you like questioning orders, seeing as you messed with Commander Rourke’s plan to blow your whole wretched ship up.’

‘Prefect MacCallister didn’t order that operation. I was protecting my mission,’ she said, letting her voice fade to a dull report.

‘MacCallister didn’t override him, though, did he,’ Kowalski sneered. ‘You’re not an operations leader. You’re not an officer. You’re MacCallister’s little pet who just happened to have a doppelganger we could replace with you. Skill and talent didn’t get you where you are, and they didn’t give you the right to question the judgement of your betters. You have forgotten your place, haven’t you, Bajoran?’

When the ISS Endeavour found itself trapped in this universe, they had done all they could to learn of their counterparts. It had been essential to know which among their crew could move freely as they sought the resources and means of returning home. She had not been sorry to see Erik Halvard leave on the Wild Hunt mission, incapable of acting freely when his counterpart was dead. But she had never dreamt of the opportunity that came when MacCallister said they’d identified her doppelganger, a lowly intelligence analyst she could easily replace.

It hadn’t felt like freedom to leave her Endeavour and enter a world where the slightest mistake would mean, she’d assumed, death. She’d ached for the reliability of her old life, where she knew what she was supposed to say and what she was supposed to do; where the sneering racism was part of the fabric of the everyday, sliding off her skin like silk. But after so long away, Kowalski’s words itched.

Dathan took a slow breath and reached deep within herself, where old habits and masks lay, as simple and familiar as breathing. ‘No, sir. Sorry, sir,’ she said with a meekness she didn’t feel.

Even when you’re among your own people, you’re lying.

The thought almost stole the breath from her, the air rushing in her ears. Kowalski said something she didn’t process, then reached into his bag and pulled out a tricorder. Something in her screamed to stop him, to distract him, but when she stepped forward, the ground felt unsteady underfoot.

Then he read his tricorder, looked up at her with a frown, and the world came rushing in as he said, ‘That’s your ship a few klicks out? There’s someone aboard. I thought you said you came alone?’

‘I don’t…’

Kowalski flew across the distance, his grip iron-right as he grabbed her shoulders. ‘You stupid bitch, you brought someone with you?’

‘Starfleet protocol – the captain wouldn’t let me -’

‘Then why didn’t you fucking say?’ Kowalski pushed her back roughly, then ran a hand through his hair with a hissing breath. ‘Who is it?’

Words were acid on her tongue. ‘Adamant Rhade. Hazard Team leader.’

‘So what passes for a fighter in softie Starfleet,’ Kowalski sneered. ‘Right. Call him. Tell him to come out here, and we’ll kill him before we go.’

‘He’s at least an hour out,’ Dathan scrabbled. ‘I’ve told him I could be gone as long as a day; we can get to your ship and be far away before he even suspects.’

He stared at her. ‘What kind of rookie op have you been running, Dathan? If he comes looking in a day and you’re gone, he raises the alarm. But your ship won’t be expecting you for, what, thirty-six hours? Then assume they won’t instantly panic, and have to get here, so that’s at least another day before anyone arrives looking for us. Putting aside if he doesn’t sit tight, or he notices our ship leaving and gets suspicious. Someone follows us, that endangers the entire ship.’ Then he rolled his eyes. ‘Screw it. We’ll head out there, kill him, and you can make sure the shuttle sensors don’t even pick up us leaving. Leave no trail.’

Dathan straightened as his words thudded into her. ‘You’re right,’ she said at last. ‘If you take up position nearby, I can lure him into the open and you can get the drop on him. Then when he thinks I’m not the threat, I’ll take him out.’

Kowalski gave his first real smirk, gave the first softening of his scowl. ‘You had me worried for a moment, Dathan. I read your record before coming here – you supervised the Talipol Purge, you executed prisoners on the prelate’s behalf, you hunted down the dissident on Trill. And here you were making me think you weren’t still a born killer, that you’d gone soft. Good plan; let’s move.’

He reached into his bag and pulled out a rifle, which he slung over his shoulder before he turned away and tossed the bag down. And the window of opportunity made the decision for her.

She did not simply raise her phaser in one smooth move and open fire. Because first she thumbed the power setting up as high as it would go. Kowalski didn’t have time to so much as scream, likely knew nothing but instant oblivion as the phaser blast hit his back, killing him at once and vaporising the body a split second later.

‘You’re right.’ Her hushed voice hummed off the walls, lingering more than the hiss of phaser fire. ‘I’m still a killer.’

And in the silence that followed, filled only by her own shaking breath, she did nothing but stand and stare, because she knew she hadn’t just killed Tom Kowalski, but Dathan Tahla, too.