Valance had been stood in the vaulted halls of the Centauri Museum of Interstellar History for some hours now, and the tightness of her collar was growing increasingly uncomfortable. She’d needed her dress uniform at the Great Opera House of Rencaris, and noted its poor fit then, but the dramatic events of that evening long months ago had made alterations slip from her focus. Now, she could think of little else.

It was preferable to focusing on the discussions.

‘…the House of Koloth has only renewed its pacts with the Federation,’ Ambassador Hale was saying in a clear, pleasant voice; the kind of tone Valance knew meant she thought she was stating something obvious and was quietly irritated it needed repeating. ‘And they are not alone.’

‘Not alone,’ mused Fleet Captain Faust into her flute of champagne, ‘but at odds with Qo’noS.’

No, Valance thought despite herself. The discussions, she could focus on. Worse was the crowd; not just Hale and Faust and Commodore Rourke and other dignitaries, but, just at the periphery, Cortez. She was not in dress uniform but a dress in gold that gave a clear view of its dip across her bare back when she tilted away from the discussion to exchange low words with her companion, a pretty guest Valance didn’t recognise.

She forced her attention to snap back to Hale, who had given Faust a challenging look. ‘Qo’noS have not yet brought them to heel. Nor any of the other houses keeping an open hand extended to the Federation.’

‘Are you saying, Ambassador, we should ignore the stated policy of the Chancellor of the Klingon Empire when considering our policy and relations? Toral has no love for us. He would invade us on the slightest excuse.’

‘Chancellor Toral has every excuse he needs; he is the chancellor. But we have heard nothing from him. Not even sabre-rattling.’

The celebrations for the liberation of Alpha Centauri were days away, and yet this knot of command officers, stood amidst the thrumming crowds of dignitaries, tourists, honoured guests, and heroes of the Vaadwaur conflict, had come to the party with one eye on the future.

Valance had braced herself when Admiral Beckett had joined the crowd, though he had stood in silence for some minutes, politely listening to his subordinates and the ambassador. At this, however, his lips curled with an imperious twist, one eyebrow raising as he said, ‘Chancellor Toral has been focused, as has every leader of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, on recovery from the Vaadwaur invasion. It is premature to presume what he will do next.’

Across the room, Valance watched crowds ebb and flow. Airex had abandoned her to speak with an official from one of Alpha Centauri’s science institutes. Beckett and Thawn looked like Thawn’s great-aunt was holding them captive on the balustrade.

Hale did not bat an eyelid at the intervention of the Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence. Her chin tilted up an inch at the challenge, but as a server approached to refresh their drinks, took the time to politely extend her glass, wait, and give the sort of charming smile of thanks that could make anyone’s day before she turned back. ‘And while Chancellor Toral has worked to rebuild the core worlds of the Empire, major and frontier houses have secured their footing as they stand alone. And many of them are our friends.’

Faust’s eyes narrowed. ‘You think we’re to see a civil war?’

‘I think this would not be the first time the empire has been ruled by a weak Qo’noS, and the houses were left more or less to their own devices.’ Hale’s eyes landed on Valance, but it took the captain a beat to realise she was being addressed. ‘Would you agree with that possibility, Captain?’

Valance blinked, her attention snapping back slower than she would have liked. A heartbeat before Hale had addressed her, Cortez had murmured something low to her companion that elicited a smile. Now all eyes were on Valance, and she straightened. ‘I think that occasions where the Empire has been so… volatile are heavily influenced by the strong personalities of the chancellor and house leaders. It is difficult to identify a pattern.’ She drained her glass. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

With a polite incline of the head, she slid into the crowd, heading towards the open doors leading to the balustrade.

And nearly walked into Olivia Rivera.

She wore a dark dress that brushed just above her knees before darting up across her thigh, subtle hues that only emphasised the rich tones of her skin, the red gems of her earrings, the shade of her lipstick. And she was, still, understated and inconspicuous in a gathering as ostentatious as the guests of such a ceremony.

Valance had to reach out to steady her, thumb brushing bare skin. ‘Olivia! I didn’t know you’d be here.’

Rivera’s eyes danced in that knowing way she’d learnt to not ask too many questions about. ‘You didn’t ask,’ she said lightly, ‘and I didn’t volunteer. Besides, aren’t you working?’

Valance frowned. Inside, the crowd had been a muffling presence; out here, the night air was not cold, but crept in at her collar, tugged at her hair, infiltrating, exposing. ‘It’s a party. My duty is to make an appearance.’

‘Which you’re doing out here, I see.’

‘I…’ Valance swallowed. ‘I needed some air.’

Rivera gave a light laugh. ‘I wasn’t snooping into that discussion with the bigwigs. I could have wandered over there and listened real easily. I was just… asking.’

Actually, you were implying. ‘Internal squadron politics,’ Valance said instead. ‘Please don’t – this isn’t something I can discuss.’

Something flickered across Rivera’s gaze. Then her smile returned. ‘Don’t worry. I came here to work, which is why I didn’t mention this to you. I knew you’d want to keep it all… off the record.’

Valance swallowed. ‘It was a discussion about the next steps in Federation-Klingon Empire relations. Nothing policy-establishing. This is just a conversation over canapés at a party.’

‘And we all know nothing important happens there,’ Rivera drawled, and before Valance could summon a sufficient response, she went to walk past her, heading to the doors. Shoulder-to-shoulder, Rivera reached out, fingertips brushing across Valance’s forearm. ‘I’ll see you later? You can tell me… well, nothing about it?’

‘Later,’ Valance agreed, her smile strained. Whether Rivera noticed or not, cared or not, she left her there, out in the quieter terrace, in the chilling evening air.

Off the record, she mused. Has anything about us ever been on the record?

She was saved from contemplating this, for lack of a better term, by the emergence through the double doors of Commodore Rourke, who headed for her so directly she knew she couldn’t get away if she wanted to. The man would hunt her down like a bloodhound.

‘What the hell was that, Karana?’ He pushed a fresh glass of champagne into her hand, his voice low, and smiled as he spoke so onlookers would assume this a friendly exchange between former comrades.

‘Sir?’ She couldn’t imagine he had spotted the exchange with Rivera, let alone presumed something inappropriate had happened.

‘You get an open invite in a conversation between a major ambassador and the Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence, and you punt it and walk off?’

Her brow furrowed. ‘I have spoken many times with Ambassador Hale -’

‘Not so much since you because captain of Endeavour.’ Rourke had a swig of his drink, expression still a careful mask. He had grown into his flag uniform, she thought, over the last year. She was not convinced it suited him.

‘What was I supposed to say?’

His gaze at last turned exasperated. ‘Nobody – not Beckett, not Sophia – has a better read on the geopolitics of the Klingon Empire right now than you.’

‘Ambassador Hale is an expert on the Klingon Empire; Admiral Beckett is, as you say, the director of -’

‘Okay.’ Rourke gave a frustrated harrumph. ‘You’re not just an XO any more. Or the CO of a small science ship. Endeavour’s a jewel in Starfleet’s crown, and you’re her captain. Even if you don’t want to weigh in on Klingon politics… your influence isn’t just the reach of your ship’s sensors. You belong in that discussion we had just there. Your voice is valuable in that discussion.’

‘At a party,’ Valance mused, eyebrows raised. ‘Rather than at the briefing table.’

There was another flicker of frustration, but all Rourke did was put a hand on her shoulder and say, ‘At both,’ before turning and walking away.

The champagne went down too quickly. It wasn’t that Valance wanted more alcohol, but she did need something to deal with her dry throat. The bar was back inside, a crescent of polished obsidian brought into the main hall just for this occasion. Valance reached it in long, purposeful strides, avoiding any interception, and let the crowd’s chatter fade behind her.

She signalled to the bartender, but a beat too late, a beat behind the woman to her left, already mid-order. Valance halted politely – and looked up to see Cortez.

‘Karana. Fancy meeting you here. At, uh, the same party.’ Cortez looked casual, leaning against the bar, still in that gold dress that oozed warmth and charm, but there was a widening to her eyes that suggested she’d been just as wrong-footed. Next to her was the same woman as before, her dress even more elegant and poised, her gaze intelligent and curious.

Cortez cleared her throat. ‘Tava, this is Captain Valance – Karana Valance. Karana, this is Doctor Tava Jor, of the Asterion Initiative.’

Tava Jor extended a hand with that slight tilt where Valance was never sure if she was meant to shake or just gently accept it. ‘A pleasure, Captain.’

‘The Asterion Initiative’s been doing civil engineering work around AC,’ Cortez said, speaking a beat too fast. ‘So we were exchanging notes.’

Tava’s eyebrows raised, mild and amused. ‘Oh, is that what tonight is about? Architectural equations?’

‘No, no, I just mean…’

‘I’m sure there’s been a lot of overlap in your work,’ Valance interrupted. Not to save Cortez, but so she didn’t have to listen to them explain their date.

‘Yeah, uh, we’ve been bouncing between panels all week,’ Cortez carried on. ‘Then it’s ceremonial stuff. Like for everyone.’

Whether or not Tava noticed Cortez’s babbling, her eyes fixed on Valance, and she straightened. ‘I thought you were a refreshing voice in that exchange earlier, Captain. With the ambassador and Admiral Beckett.’

‘I didn’t say much.’

‘No, but they were having a sparring match about who was more politically accurate. I wondered if you had, well. Actual insights into the Empire.’

Halfway through her drink, Cortez sputtered and put her glass down. ‘Oh, no – Karana won’t…’ Her voice trailed off, and her eyes met Valance’s. Valance kept quiet, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral, unaccusing. Cortez swallowed and straightened, then turned to Tava and inclined her head. ‘You won’t get anywhere trying to wriggle a political assessment from a Starfleet captain if she wouldn’t give it to an admiral.’

‘It’s true,’ said Valance, swallowing down the humming in her veins. ‘I keep my professional appraisals for the briefing room.’ Her glass of water was set down on the bar, and she took it with a polite nod. ‘I’ll stop intruding on your evening.’

‘Not at all,’ said Tava, her gaze courteous. ‘I was just curious.’

‘I meant to say,’ Cortez pressed on quickly, ‘you don’t gossip at parties…’

You meant to say I keep my nose out of Klingon affairs. Personal affairs. Personal feelings.

‘I don’t,’ Valance said neutrally. ‘Have a nice evening, Commander. Doctor Jor.’

She was gone before either of them could stop her, and already checking the clocks on the walls, counting down the minutes before she could leave the crowd and escape the entire sorry night.

Perhaps with an entirely off-the-record reunion with Rivera at the end, so she didn’t have to think.