Sparks flew from the control panel, and Chief Engineer Carrick, flat on her back underneath as she rifled around its innards, gave a loud oath that bounced around the Ranger’s bridge. ‘Blasted – damn – fuck -’

Ensign Vhalis popped his head down to check in on her. He’d been hovering near his console since she started to work on it. ‘Did you just de-censor yourself, Gwen?’

‘Yes, Vhalis, I’m fine, Vhalis,’ grumbled Ensign Carrick, and sucked singed fingertips. ‘Thanks for asking.’

‘How’s progress, Ensign?’ Across the bridge, Commander Octavian’s voice rang out, pointed at both the delay and the need for decorum.

‘Fine, Commander.’ Carrick’s teeth were gritted. ‘Vhalis, pass me the smaller hyperspanner. I’m going to need to replace this surge suppressor.’

‘I knew there was some harmonic resonance feedback from riding that subspace pocket,’ said Vhalis triumphantly, taking longer than he might to pass over the hyperspanner, so focused was he on being right.

‘Yes, you’re very clever…’

A chirrup from Tactical was almost missed in the back-and-forth, but Commander Xhakaza noticed it, twisting in his chair as Ensign Jeream read whatever had flashed across his console. The broad-shouldered young officer frowned.

‘Des?’ Xhakaza tilted his head at Jeream.

‘We’ve got a distress call coming in, sir. I was trying to verify it, but, uh…’ Des Jeream waved a vague hand at the state of their science console to encompass their general sensor issues. ‘Romulan Republic survey ship, calling themselves the Yoribu. Claiming they’re under attack from… Klingons?’

‘How far out?’ said Xhakaza, standing up.

‘Trying to narrow that down…’

‘Based on signal degradation,’ said Lieutenant Sovak in his usual clipped tones, ‘approximately point-seven of a light-year. Approximately seventeen minutes away at top speed.’

Vhalis had moved to the mission control station behind Xhakaza and Octavian, but still gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I can’t confirm anything until our lateral sensor array is back up and running.’

‘Working on it!’ came a muffled grunt from Carrick. ‘We’ve got the readings, they’re just not synchronising or integrating with the core for us to access them.’

‘If we have a vague heading, set us a course, Sovak,’ said Xhakaza. ‘Let’s go help these people. Gwen, you’ve got seventeen minutes to give us eyes.’

Octavian was on her feet beside him, dropping her voice so it wouldn’t carry over the low hum of the Ranger accelerating to warp under Sovak’s commands. ‘If Klingons are targeting a Romulan ship, we should assume they’re not afraid to take a swing at us, either, sir.’

Xhakaza’s brow furrowed. ‘You’re right,’ he said, and raised his voice. ‘Take us to red alert.’

Octavian’s shoulders relaxed an iota as the bridge descended into the gloom of battle stations. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I still don’t want or expect a fight. We’re going to have a better chance talking Klingons into standing down if we arrive with a show of strength. Anything less risks insulting them.’

‘And if we have to bloody their noses?’

Xhakaza gave her a sidelong look and offered his reassuring smile. ‘One step at a time, Commander.’

Twelve minutes later, Gwen Carrick pulled herself out from under the science console. ‘We should have eyes, Captain,’ she said, and again sucked on singed fingertips.

‘I got it,’ said Vhalis triumphantly, not yet returning to his post. ‘Oh, boy, that’s a whole backlog of sensor feeds -’

‘Scanning our destination,’ cut in Jeream, always a little more focused on the work. ‘No sign of any ships, Romulan or Klingon.’

‘These are both ships which could have cloaking devices,’ reminded Octavian. ‘We should begin sweeping for neutrino emissions.’

‘Right!’ said Vhalis, sweeping back over to the science console.

‘Except,’ said Sovak, ‘high levels of neutrino emissions have been persistent throughout the sector following the localised usage of Borg transwarp. Advise we filter for -’

‘It’s a long shot to assume we’ll pick up a device entirely designed to stay hidden,’ said Xhakaza. Vhalis was prone to bickering when he felt Sovak was stepping on his area. ‘Focus on the environs, make sure we’re even heading for the right place. Des, have there been any more messages?’

‘Not after the first. They may have gone to ground.’

‘They might have been blown up,’ pointed out Carrick.

‘Let’s have a little hope, everyone.’ Xhakaza raised his voice. ‘Not because it’s nice, but if we give up now, we don’t know what we’ll miss. Who we won’t save.’

They had been out on the edges of the Midgard Sector, the far-flung reaches where former Star Empire and current Republic territory started to meet regions nobody had ever claimed, mapping out the edges and impacts of the Borg transwarp catastrophe that had ravaged regional subspace. A Klingon ship wasn’t as far out from the Empire here. They were truly on one of the more unknown frontiers of the quadrant.

But that meant Thabo Xhakaza wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. So when Sovak reported they were only a minute out, he sat back down in the Ranger’s command chair, leaning on the armrest. ‘Etol, anything?’

Vhalis shook his head moments later. ‘We can see, alright. But there’s nothing there.’

‘We are exiting warp now,’ called Sovak.

‘On screen.’ Xhakaza sat forward, and for a moment, he could see nothing but the cosmos stretching before him and his ship. Then a star winked out for just a moment, and another, and he realised what he was seeing.

‘I’m picking up debris,’ reported Jeream. ‘It matches the profile of a Republic survey ship. It looks like it’s been completely destroyed.’

‘Scan the wreckage,’ ordered Octavian. ‘See if you can determine what caused this.’

‘Detecting traces of highly-charged plasma on the hull panels,’ said Vhalis after a beat. ‘Significant levels of lingering antiprotons.’

‘It could be Klingon weapons,’ Jeream agreed.

Sovak turned in his chair. ‘These reports merely align with damage that would be inflicted by disruptor fire.’

‘Agreed,’ said Xhakaza, drumming his fingers on the armrest. ‘It could be Romulan weaponry. It could be an accident. Keep scanning our environs for any sign of someone out there, Etol. Des, see if you can pick out any systems components that might have survived – see if there’s computer records or… something.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jeream. ‘Shall I stand us down to yellow alert?’

‘No,’ said Octavian before Xhakaza could speak. She flashed him an apologetic glance but did not stand down. ‘If this was an attack, whoever did it might be nearby and cloaked. Let’s not make ourselves an ambush target.’

Xhakaza was reading the sensor scans on his armrest’s display and accepted this with an unhappy nod. ‘Agreed. After all, there’s no indication of any life-signs, any survivors. This isn’t a rescue mission. This is an investigation.’

Vhalis blew out his cheeks, still focusing on his work. ‘Why would Klingons just blow up a Republic survey ship?’

Carrick scoffed. ‘Do Klingons need a reason?’

‘Easy, Ensign. The Empire are our allies and friends,’ Xhakaza reminded gently.

‘Sure,’ said the surly engineer with a shrug. ‘But so are the Republic. So I guess it comes down to: do the Klingons like us more than they hate Romulans? I don’t expect so.’

‘I’d like to think,’ said Xhakaza, ‘decades of standing side-by-side through peace and war has won us a little regard. It’s worked for us so far.’

He still exchanged a small glance with the guarded Octavian as the bridge settled into quiet work, studying the final resting site of this ill-fated Romulan ship, and knew she was thinking the same thing he was, an unusual development between the optimistic captain and his cynical XO.

So far. But how far does that stretch?

Alfheim, the third planet in the Midgard System and the beating heart of Federation settlement in the sector, still boasted vast stretches of untouched wilderness. They had hiked through thick woodlands with towering redwoods for two days, and only reached the mountain yesterday. Now, Valance reached down to help Airex up as they clambered to this latest ledge and, chests heaving, they turned to see the world spill out before them.

It had not taken long to reach higher than the trees. An emerald sea of woodland stretched out before them, rippled with light and shadow, bustling with pockets of life and expanses of serenity. But it was, all of it, far away. The whole world, far away.

‘Feel better?’ Airex asked, and had a swig of water from his metal canteen.

Valance closed her eyes for a beat and felt the metal bulkheads close in around her. When she opened them, there was nothing but the blue horizon. ‘Much.’

‘Much? Positively glowing progress.’

I’m done trying to fix you. The memory of Cortez’s parting words roiled in her chest. Valance didn’t know if they made her want to clamp down, banish all feeling so it might not hurt so much, or express herself out of sheer spite, as if Cortez would know she was being emotionally open and would come running back.

Valance had a swig of water to buy time. ‘It’s been a long few months. Not just the trip home. Frontier Day. The Lost Fleet.’

‘It has. I thought you could do with getting away for a bit.’

‘Maybe we’re both going soft,’ she scoffed.

But Airex’s smile was tighter, sadder. ‘I’m trying.’

She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’ve been on this journey, reconciling with your past host, and I have… not been here.’

‘For most of the time, you’ve literally not been here,’ he pointed out with a shrug. ‘You’re not responsible for me.’

‘Aren’t friends supposed to be?’ He didn’t answer, and she fidgeted with her bottle cap. The sun continued to shine down, bright and searing this time of day, blazing in a bright blue sky. ‘Kharth is moving on.’

‘She should have done that years ago.’ He didn’t meet her eye as he stowed his water bottle.

Valance met that with a mixture of guilt for prying and relief at the signal that their conversation was at an end. She turned to the next cliff face. ‘So should we.’

‘Gateway Station to Captain Valance.’

She exchanged a frustrated glance with Airex at the chirrup from her combadge, and reached inside her jacket to pull it out. ‘Valance here.’

‘You should have buried that at the bottom of your bag,’ Airex muttered.

‘Sorry for interrupting your leave, Captain.’ Rhade sounded sincere, but then, he was always polite. ‘Commodore Rourke needs you back aboard immediately.’

Airex reached over to snatch the combadge from her fingertips. ‘Rourke knows that Greg mandated this break -’

‘All shore leave for the crew of Endeavour has been revoked. I’m sorry, Captain. He needs to see you. Stand by for transport.’

‘That better include me,’ muttered Airex. ‘I’m not hiking back alone.’

But Valance was scowling. ‘We’ve been trekking back through broken Romulan territory for weeks. People need a break. This better be important.’

The fact Rourke was waiting before the transporter pad when they rematerialised aboard Gateway was enough to stem her frustration with concern. That he at once turned to Airex and said, ‘Excuse us, Commander,’ before leading Valance away only made this more worrisome. They had been beamed to the pad adjacent to station Ops, which was also a bad sign, and Rourke led her without another word up to his office.

‘I’ll get straight to it, Karana,’ Rourke said, voice that low rumble which meant he had a lot on his mind. ‘Chancellor Martok’s disappeared.’

‘Disappeared.’ She hadn’t known what to expect. This wasn’t it. Although her mind at once flooded with possibilities and apprehensions, though, that still didn’t explain her sudden recall.

‘His ship was heading to Boreth. It never arrived.’ Rourke had wasted no time going to his low table by the office window, pulling out two cut glass tumblers and pouring them both a stiff drink without asking. ‘Imperial investigations have so far shown up nothing.’

Her fingertips tingled with a hint of numbness when she accepted the glass off him. ‘Is there suspicion of foul play?’

‘For certain.’

‘Mo’Kai?’

‘Could be.’ Rourke had a swig of whisky. ‘Councillor Koloth has reached out to the Federation. He’s long been one of the more reasonable members on the High Council.’

‘You mean pro-Federation.’

Rourke hesitated. ‘Yes. Koloth has asked for a new diplomatic delegation from the Federation. He wants us to stay involved, be a neutral party, maybe assist with the investigation. The Diplomatic Corps has decided to send Ambassador Hale.’

Clarity was not as welcome as Valance had thought it might be when her shore leave was threatened. ‘You want to send her on Endeavour.’ She winced. ‘Respectfully, sir, why not Redemption?’

He made a face. ‘We’re behind closed doors, Karana. You can say, “Matt, why the hell are you making a bone-headed choice like this instead of sending Daragon and letting my people rest?”’

‘I’m not sure I’d say that to anyone regardless of rank,’ the even-headed Valance pointed out.

‘First, it does have to be a capital ship. They need to be able to defend themselves, and they need to fly the flag. I’m not sending in Swiftsure or Ranger, or hopping over on the Tempest. Second, whoever stays here needs to be fully operational; we’re not done on Teros by far, or tracing the Rebirth, or rooting out this cult. Which Redemption has been taking point on, so it doesn’t make much sense to swap mission leads there. Third, this could be sticky. This is going to be complicated Klingon politics, maybe some Mo’Kai trickery, and competing Houses; I want a crew I know can handle it when things get weird. God love Daragon, but he might be a little bit too shiny Starfleet for this.’

Valance’s brow knotted. ‘Thank you,’ she said with just a hint of sarcasm.

Rourke ignored that. ‘Finally, Ambassador Hale asked for you.’

Her grip on her drink tightened. She had a sip so she could take a moment to steel her expression. ‘For my sterling service as a commander?’

‘Karana -’

‘Or because I’m a member of the House of A’trok?’

‘And you’ve served in the KDF on an exchange program,’ Rourke pointed out. ‘You’re a Starfleet officer with a good reputation in the Empire, and you have ties to political figures, which is something I can’t offer any more.’

She had to swallow a flash of anger, the argument that it wasn’t her fault Rourke had destroyed his relationships with the House of K’Var. But she was accustomed to eating her anger; had done so for decades, expected to do so if she was to be seen as just a good officer instead of The Klingon Officer. Until Klingons became the business of the day. Then that was what she had to be.

She drained her glass and set it down on Rourke’s desk none-too-gently. ‘My crew needs a break. They’ve been pushed to the brink between Frontier Day, the Borg, and the last two months of journeying back from the edge of the old empire. I can’t even guarantee a full senior staff; not everyone stayed in Midgard for shore leave.’

‘Your objection,’ said Rourke gently, ‘is noted. Perhaps I am being selfish, asking you to keep digging in deep, because maybe there will always be something else. Another insurmountable task you can’t turn away from. But for the last twenty-five years, the Klingon Empire has been held either in one piece or at bay from the rest of the galaxy by Martok’s will alone. In the upper echelons of Command, admirals have talked for years about what comes next. Will the Empire turn on itself? Will it turn on us?’ His gaze turned entreating. ‘I don’t know what we can do. But if there’s some way Starfleet can help, I know I want the crew who can survive the crucible with me.’

The flattering sense of need was almost enough for her to miss the other implication of Rourke’s words. Almost. ‘With you?’

Again, he winced. ‘I intend to have my flag on Endeavour for this mission. Ambassador Hale can represent the Federation, but someone with authority needs to speak on behalf of Starfleet.’ He opened his hands. ‘At best, Karana, the crew get to be bus drivers with very little to do. At worst, if we hit crunch time, everyone will be glad it’s this crew in the crunch.’

‘When this is over,’ said Valance, stepping away from his desk, ‘they get leave. Proper leave.’

Rourke gave a sad, crooked smile. ‘You really are settling into the big chair. Advocating for them.’

‘I advocated for them as XO.’

‘And now, as Captain, you have to look at the mission as well.’ He glanced her up and down. ‘How’re you doing?’

Valance swallowed. ‘It was a long few months. I wish everyone stopped acting like I’ve been through some personal hardship.’

‘I could sort of read between the lines on Cortez jumping with the SCE Team immediately to Teros.’

There was another flash of anger with him, this time more irrational. If it hadn’t been for him, and his politics, and his power-plays with Command, then Jericho would never have been sent to assume command of the squadron, and would never have separated her and Isa.

But he had. And she’d made enough choices of her own to ruin that relationship without blaming someone else. Perhaps a galactic catastrophe would be a better way to clear her head than climbing a mountain with Airex.

Valance shook her head. ‘I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to go manage my crew. They were promised shore leave. I don’t like breaking that promise.’

‘Tell them to blame me,’ Rourke said as she turned away.

‘I can, but respectfully, sir…’ She glanced over her shoulder as she stood in the doorway. ‘You’re not their captain any more. I am. The buck stops with me, now.’

‘…can Shep fill in?’

Valance winced as she looked up at Kharth across the stacks of PADDs littering her ready room desk. ‘We’ve lost Shepherd.’

‘Lost – we just got her.’ Kharth’s scowl had been perpetual since she’d been told of the new mission. Now it descended to further depths.

‘Rourke wants her running the Tempest on local operations.’

‘That makes sense.’ Kharth sounded bitter at that admission. ‘But if he’s taking her, can he give us an engineer? Lend us Riggs? Even Far?’

‘Apparently not.’ Valance double-checked another PADD. ‘Lindgren already left to see her family, but she’s about-facing.’

‘Will she be back in time?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll have to put Fox on standby to fill in.’

‘At least Fox has experience,’ grumbled Kharth. That would once have been an outrageous thing to say about an ensign, with Fox less than a year out from graduation. But she had piloted the Nighthawk during the Lost Fleet campaign, and, in this day and age of Starfleet, that made her a veteran. ‘That just leaves one gap. Athaka? Is Beckett certified?’

‘I’d rather not open that door,’ said Valance with a sigh, then there was a chirp of the door chime. ‘Let’s see how this conversation goes. Enter!’

Lieutenant Thawn stepped in, oozing with the apprehension that she’d done something wrong that always hung off her if she’d been called in for an unexpected meeting with her superior officers. She assumed a crisp position of attention before the desk, bracing like she was about to be dressed down. ‘You asked to see me, Captain?’

Even for Valance, this was a bit much. ‘Take a seat, Lieutenant. I’m sorry we had to cut your shore leave short. You were headed for Betazed, yes?’

‘It’s quite alright, Captain,’ said Thawn with a flicker of relief. Valance remembered that she had yet to deal with her family after abandoning her arranged marriage to Commander Rhade. Anything delaying such a return to Betazed was likely welcome in its way. ‘I understand that our mission is important.’

‘We haven’t said what we’re doing yet,’ drawled Kharth, never impressed by Thawn’s obsequiousness.

‘I’m sure Commodore Rourke wouldn’t have revoked shore leave if it weren’t important, though.’

Valance gave Kharth a faint shake of the head, and her XO grumpily subsided. She looked back at Thawn. ‘You’re right. It is important. And we’re in a difficult situation with staffing. Some of the crew left Gateway almost the moment we arrived and won’t be able to make it back before we depart. So we have a few significant gaps.’

Thawn’s brow furrowed as she thought. ‘Lieutenant Forrester is fairly competent.’

Kharth blinked. ‘What?’

‘Forrester. It’s Commander Perrek we’re missing, isn’t it? We’d barely finished docking procedures before he was hopping on a transport with his family. I can work with Lieutenant Forrester to run Engineering in his absence -’

‘I’m not asking you to assist Forrester.’ Tes Forrester was a promising officer, and in the modern, personnel-bereft Starfleet, could have been found an engine room to lead. But she was also only two years out of the Academy, and Valance didn’t think she had the necessary experience to run an engineering team on a ship as sophisticated as Endeavour.

‘Well, then, whoever we bring -’

‘Keep up, Thawn,’ sighed the impatient Kharth. ‘We want you to jump the fence to Engineering.’

Thawn stared at her. ‘Me?’

‘Yes,’ said Valance, better at biting down on her frustrations than her XO. ‘I know your expertise is much more in computer systems, but you have all the appropriate engineering qualifications; you know this ship’s systems inside and out, and you’ve run your own department for over four years. You’re eminently more qualified to step in as acting CEO than Forrester.’

‘Moving to engineering never occurred to me.’ Thawn still looked like she’d been hit about the head.

‘Don’t act like this is a big commitment. It’s for one mission. It’s not marriage.’ Kharth looked like an inappropriate sarcastic comment about Thawn not committing to that, either, had occurred to her, but she stopped herself.

Seeing Thawn’s cheeks flush as she, too, made the connection, Valance pressed on. ‘My experience of Operations officers is that at some point, the decision has to be made if your career future is in Command or Engineering. I think this is a good opportunity for you to try a path.’ It was also a case of sheer necessity, but if she could couch it as a learning experience, it both got Thawn off her back and meant she was doing her job.

Thawn bit her lip. ‘Athaka is more than capable of running Ops.’

‘We agree,’ said Kharth. ‘Glad you’re stepping up, Thawn.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ The young Betazoid beamed like she’d been given a promotion as a reward, not a lateral move out of necessity. It was still a chance for her to prove herself, a role with less oversight and more responsibility.

Valance grabbed a PADD off a stack and handed it to her. ‘First job: double-check our stock needs. We’ll talk to Athaka, then you liaise with him on resupply.’

Thawn still looked bright as she left, which was more frustrating than Valance had expected. She sighed, slumping back in her chair, and rubbed her temples once they were alone again. ‘I need you to make sure she doesn’t micromanage Athaka and Engineering.’

‘Great,’ grumbled Kharth. ‘Because Athaka will roll over the moment she so much as alludes to a thought. He still thinks the sun shines out of her ass. Which is crazy; have you met Thawn?’

‘She’s good at what she does.’

‘She is, but that also includes being really annoying.’

The door chime sounded again before Valance was forced to defend the deeply annoying Rosara Thawn. She suppressed a groan, and sat up to a more captainly pose as she called, ‘Come in!’

Ambassador Hale seemed to share Thawn’s trepidation, but it was a considerably more courteous and confident entry as she stepped into the ready room. ‘Captain. I apologise for stopping by unannounced; I understand you have a lot to get ready before we’re underway. Do you have a moment?’

Valance glanced at Kharth. ‘Go break the good news to Athaka.’

‘I’ll try to find him a new spine while I’m at it,’ muttered Kharth, nodding as she stood. ‘Good day, Ambassador.’

There was no polite, titled farewell for Valance, the captain noted ruefully as her XO left. She extended a hand to the newly vacated chair. ‘Please have a seat. Can I get you anything, Ambassador?’

‘Oh, no.’ Hale waved her down as she went to stand. ‘I’m being enough of a burden. You don’t need to fetch and carry. I wanted to apologise for press-ganging you and your crew into all this, after what you’ve been through.’

‘It’s quite alright -’

‘It’s not, though, is it?’ Hale’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t insincere, but it was clear she knew the niceties didn’t make the ugliness of this situation go away. ‘It’s a profound demand upon a crew who have been through so much in the last months alone.’

Valance planted her hand firmly on her desk so she didn’t fidget. ‘If Martok has gone missing, that could change everything. The Great Houses have hardly been in agreement on the Empire’s foreign policy, but he holds so much respect that they’ve stayed in line. What happens now?’

‘Exactly,’ said Hale to the rhetorical question. ‘And I know Koloth wouldn’t have asked for me if this weren’t an absolute crisis. It’s caused something of a stir for us diplomatically that he’s asked for me rather than turned to the current delegation.’

Valance frowned. ‘Why did he ask for you?’

‘My father was Ambassador to Qo’noS for a time. They were friends. Koloth may be a friend to the Federation, but he wants somebody there that he can trust, not merely a diplomatic envoy. But he’s a practical man; it makes me all the more concerned that I was his request.’

‘And me?’ Valance asked before she could stop herself. ‘Was I asked for, or did you simply want a Klingon beside you?’

‘You were asked for. By me,’ said Hale without apology. ‘I am aware – Commodore Rourke made me aware – of your desire to not be seen as a “Klingon officer.” But if you forgive me, Captain, it’s not very clear why. You spent your teenage years with your Klingon family, then quite some time on the officer exchange programme until only five years ago. I understand that the exchange programme was not your first career choice, but you seem on perfectly good professional terms with the Empire.’

Valance hesitated. She had an answer for everything Hale was saying but wasn’t sure how much of an explanation she wanted to give. At length, she said, ‘There is more to my career and my capabilities as a commander than my Klingon heritage.’

‘There is – but you call it “heritage,” I call it expertise,’ said Hale coolly. ‘You’ve served on Klingon ships, lived on Klingon worlds, and your father is a member of a minor house. That’s knowledge I can use.’

‘Then why aren’t you asking Gov’taj?’ Her half-brother was still the KDF’s liaison to Gateway Station, representing the Empire’s interests in the Midgard Sector.

‘I did have this conversation with him. He’s leaving, at my request, for the House of A’trok. I need first-hand reports on what’s happening in Imperial territories outside of Qo’noS’s sphere of influence.’

‘I don’t know what A’trok is going to say about this,’ said Valance, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know if my grandfather is about to declare Martok an undying chancellor eternal, or go to war with the Federation.’

‘Which is why I asked Gov’taj to assist me on that. When we arrive at Qo’noS, I will be seen as an outsider at best, an interloper at worst. Invited by a pro-Federation voice to insert my nose in Klingon matters. If I am to both get to the bottom of what happened to Martok and try to make sure the Empire doesn’t tear itself apart without him, I need every shred of credibility I can get.’

Valance’s brow furrowed. ‘And you think I give you credibility?’

‘I think a Starfleet captain who is a proven Klingon warrior standing beside me helps, yes.’ Hale’s gaze raked over her for a moment. ‘It would help more if you didn’t seem apologetic for being a Klingon.’

‘I’m a Starfleet officer -’

‘Who also – forgive me – who also won battles against the Hunters of the D’Ghor in the Archanis Campaign, against the House of K’Var in the Agarath system, against the Dominion alongside the House of Lorkoth at Farpoint. And that’s only in the last two years.’

‘You make it sound like you want me to walk in with singers acclaiming my deeds.’

‘If that will make people on Qo’noS see you as a Klingon warrior they should listen to? Fetch me a composition book,’ said Hale briskly. ‘You don’t need to prove to anyone you’re a Starfleet officer, Captain. You’re in the uniform. You’ll be at the side of a Federation Ambassador and a Starfleet commodore. That’ll do enough on Qo’noS. But you can do a lot to make us more welcome. Less unwelcome.’

‘I’m not sure my personal deeds are going to make a great deal of difference,’ said Valance, aware the debate was getting away from her.

‘You are sure,’ said Hale, tolerating none of her prevarication. ‘In the Klingon Empire, the personal is the political. Your deeds are worthy of respect as a warrior – if you demand that respect. I need you to do that. I need you to be both. Klingon and Starfleet.’

Valance hesitated. At length, she said, ‘I didn’t do a great deal during the Battle of Agarath.’

‘And yet, I think you should find a songwriter,’ said Hale, not entirely sincere, as she got to her feet. ‘I hate to be blunt when I’m asking so much of you in the first place, Captain. I appreciate that you want to be respected on your merits as an officer; please understand that this is exactly why I respect you. Your background opened these paths to you, but you still walked them.’

Valance stood, too, a little unsure why she should. After a moment, she said, ‘I didn’t realise you could be this… efficient, Ambassador.’

‘You mean cut-throat. You mean, “you didn’t realise I’d play the Klingon card to get ahead.” I’m sorry, Captain. I’ll play every card if it means peace in the Beta Quadrant, stability for the Empire. And if you’re refusing to be in my deck – I can’t force you. But if so, you might as well give your crew shore leave. Because I’m not asking for Endeavour to come to Qo’noS so you can sit on your bridge in orbit.’

‘You realise,’ said Valance after a beat, ‘that you’re offering me what I want, there, Ambassador: to not have to indulge the pageantry of the Empire, and to not have to force my crew into another crucible.’

‘I know,’ said Hale. ‘But I also know what you are regardless of whether you’re Klingon or Starfleet: a woman of duty.’ She glanced down at the PADDs still littering the desk. ‘I’ll let you get back to managing your ship, Captain. I’ll see you when we depart.’

After a long shift, the Round Table always gently buzzed with activity. This was where senior officers could go to blow off steam, complain about their workload or subordinates, escape from the wider ship without anyone coming to bother them.

Which meant Ed Winters felt distinctly guilty that he was coming here to bother someone. There had been a lot of steam that needed blowing off in recent weeks. There would only be more to come. Although he was allowed here as a senior officer, although he was fulfilling his duty as the chief medical officer, he was also invading the sanctity of the officers’ mess. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

Worse, his target was nestled in the comfortable chairs by the far viewports, stars flashing past the window as Endeavour advanced at high warp. They had only hours ago crossed the border into Klingon territory and only hours ago had a chance to breathe as their mad dash approached its end. Curled up with a steaming mug of tea, out of uniform for once in a comfy knitted jumper, Rosara Thawn looked like she was actually approaching something resembling unwinding, laughing gently as Nate Beckett, sat across from her, regaled her with some likely-farcical story.

To Winters’s relief, Beckett gave him a welcoming wave as he approached. ‘Ed! Grab a drink and pull up a pew.’

For a moment, Winters considered prevaricating. Then he tapped his fingertips anxiously on the PADD in his hand, drew a deep breath and said, ‘Nate, could you give me and Lieutenant Thawn a moment?’

Beckett glanced between them. Thawn looked no more illuminated than him. He shrugged and stood. ‘I’ll get you a drink, then. Tea?’

‘Please. Moroccan mint.’ That made the easy part easy, at least. Not wanting to look too much like an intruder, Winters pulled up another stool rather than take Beckett’s vacated chair. He gave Thawn an anxious smile. ‘How are you, Lieutenant?’

‘I’m confused, Doctor.’

Normally, he found Thawn’s standoffishness uncomfortable to deal with. He was friends with Beckett and Lindgren, on first-name terms with both of them. But he and Thawn had never made the transition from professionalism; she was too cold, and he was too awkward. Even off-duty, surrounded by friends, they stayed formal. Today, that was a blessing because he wasn’t here to be friendly.

‘You missed your check-up in Sickbay,’ he said, trying to invoke his light bedside manner, knowing that this wouldn’t work on her.

Thawn frowned. ‘We cancelled that when we were given shore leave.

‘Not exactly,’ said Winters carefully. ‘I wanted you to have a check-up with a doctor on Betazed.’

‘Which I would have done, were I on Betazed. But it would have been with an expert in telepathic medicine. Which, forgive me, you’re not, Doctor.’

‘I’m not. But I’m still your doctor while you’re recovering from a serious mental strain after making telepathic contact with a being we still don’t understand.’

Thawn’s brow furrowed. ‘The trip to Betazed was long. It would have been another week before I had an appointment there. I’m not sure why you’re making a fuss about me missing a cancelled check-up with you.’

Winters decided to not press the point that he’d uncancelled the meeting in her schedule. He would not get dragged into arguing the bureaucracy. He let out a deep breath and said, politely, ‘The doctors’ appointment on Betazed would have been a week away, yes. A week where you’d have been on a comfortable transport, off-duty, under no stress. Instead, you’ve had leave unexpectedly cancelled and had your responsibilities significantly increased. That seems like a fine reason to keep on monitoring you.’

‘You’re not a counsellor.’

‘I’m not,’ said Winters patiently. ‘And I’m not going to ask you how you’re doing. I’m very glad to see you’re relaxing in the mess after a long shift. But if I run more scans of your synaptic resonance patterns and find there’s any indication of disruption, then we might have to go to the captain.’

‘The headaches stopped weeks ago,’ Thawn said defensively. ‘I’ve been working long shifts and they haven’t come back.’

What about the nightmares? Winters thought. But he was not, as she’d said, a counsellor. He had to pick his battles. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ he said. ‘I’m going to book a check-up for you tomorrow, Lieutenant. I look forward to seeing you there.’

She gave a gentle, impatient harrumph, but nodded. ‘Alright.’ Her gaze flickered past him. ‘You can stop trying to eavesdrop, Nate.’

‘I was trying to not eavesdrop,’ said Beckett apologetically, returning to his seat. A steaming glass teacup was set in front of Winters on the table. The doctor considered beating a polite withdrawal, but his friend carried on. ‘Ed’s right; you should be careful.’

‘I have an appointment,’ Thawn said, a little frosty now this professional conversation had turned personal. ‘And if you think that running Endeavour’s engineering during a time of massive political upheaval is more stressful than a visit to Betazed, you haven’t met my family.’

‘You’re right,’ said Beckett, his expression flickering. ‘I haven’t.’

Winters sipped his tea and tried to evaporate. It didn’t work.

Thawn sighed, looking sheepish. ‘You don’t want to meet them. That would be premature.’

‘No, but aren’t you still technically engaged to Rhade until your Houses agree to dissolve the agreement?’ There was a definite edge to Beckett’s voice, a hint of accusation. The two had run away together months ago, now. Thawn was divorced from Rhade by Federation law, but Winters knew Betazoid traditions were more complicated than that.

‘They can’t force me to do anything,’ said Thawn.

‘That’s what I tell my father all the time,’ mused Beckett, ‘and yet, his grubby pawprints are all over my career.’

‘Yes, it must be very hard to have someone making sure you get choice assignments and recognition for all your achievements.’

Winters had known Beckett and Thawn long enough to know they would bicker at the drop of a hat – that had taken him approximately ten minutes of acquaintance – but there were edges here that he didn’t want to see cut. Not here and now, not when they had bigger fish to fry. If they’d gotten like this in front of him the last few weeks, he’d normally had Lindgren with him, and she was much more experienced and subtle at derailing the tension. But Lindgren wasn’t here, hadn’t made it back to the ship in time for their departure. He was stranded.

He cleared his throat. ‘Do we expect to see much actual work on this mission? Surely we’re playing courier for Ambassador Hale and Commodore Rourke, and the rest of our job is to look like a Constitution III class?’

It worked as a topic change. Thawn sipped her tea and frowned again. ‘That sounds like it depends on the Klingons.’

Winters glanced at Beckett, knowing the ship’s Chief Intelligence Officer rarely resisted showing off any special knowledge he was permitted to share. On cue, Beckett leaned forwards, eyes lighting up.

‘There’s already reports of trouble inside the borders. The House of D’Chok reigniting their old rivalry with their neighbours, the House of Noggra. That’s at least down on the rimward border, though; we shouldn’t be going anywhere near them. But who’s to say what other houses aren’t turning on each other in Martok’s absence?’

‘Is that how we think this will go?’ Winters’s brow furrowed with concern. ‘The Houses will turn on each other because Martok’s not there to hold things together?’

Beckett shrugged. ‘For all they know – for all we know – Martok’s ship’s crashed somewhere and he’ll be found at any moment. What better time to take chunks out of your old enemy? While the rest of the Empire is fretting about the chancellorship?’

‘Do you think we are about to find him crashed somewhere?’

Beckett paused as the topic became slightly less of an intellectual exercise, or a consideration of far-off conflicts that wouldn’t affect them. ‘I don’t know. We’ve not seen any of the reports about his ship’s movements for ourselves.’

‘I can’t imagine the Empire failed to competently investigate the disappearance of their leader,’ said Thawn, shaking her head.

‘I can’t imagine the leader of the Klingon Empire disappearing without a trace,’ pointed out Beckett. ‘Mark my words, something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.’

That felt like a fatuous and obvious comment to Winters, but Beckett said it with a tone of calm portentiousness that made it feel rude to point that out, and he suspected Thawn didn’t get the reference and wouldn’t admit to ignorance. Winters sighed. ‘It’s scary. The Klingons are our oldest allies. Now they’re about to collapse into civil war if we can’t help find Martok or maybe shed light onto what happened? I bet there’s a tonne of finger-pointing going on on Qo’noS.

‘Hopefully we can help them get to the bottom of this,’ said Thawn with quiet agreement. ‘Before they tear themselves apart.’

There was a scoff from over Winters’s shoulder, and he looked over with abashed surprise to see Commander Kharth stand from a nearby chair, the back of which had shrouded her from sight. She had a PADD in her hand and the doctor suspected she’d probably been minding her own business after her shift until the conversation behind her had broken out.

That was more likely than Kharth giving a shit about the chattering of junior officers, anyway.

‘Why are you so worried that the Empire tearing itself apart is the bad result?’ Kharth challenged, eyebrows arched.

Thawn was immediately cowed in the face of Kharth, and Beckett looked like he didn’t want a fight, so Winters knew he was being thrown out the airlock on this one. He fidgeted. ‘Like I said, they’re our oldest allies. They helped us in the Dominion War.’

‘And ever since, they’ve been ripping themselves apart faction by faction. Do you know why?’ Kharth watched them as they stayed silent. ‘Because the Empire’s a violent, expansionist power by its very nature, and Martok sat on that for twenty-five years. Make no mistake, this was always coming.’

‘You think that a Klingon civil war is the inevitable aftermath of Martok’s reign?’ ventured Beckett, looking like he was prepared to brave the political debate.

‘I think violence is the inevitable aftermath of Martok’s reign. Because it’s what enough Klingons want. Look at the Sovereignty, the Mo’Kai, the D’Ghor.’

‘All renegade factions,’ said Thawn faintly.

‘All incredibly successful factions with significant followings,’ pointed out Kharth. ‘Because they offered what Klingons want: glory through battle. Nobody could call Martok a coward for keeping the peace because he’d won the Dominion War for them. But the Empire can’t farm those past glories forever. They’ll want new ones. Better for the great battles of the next generation to be against each other.’

Winters’s brow knotted. ‘The Empire won’t attack the Federation. That would be madness. We’ve got too many economic links, political links, security links…’

‘First, find me Klingon warriors who care about the realpolitik when there’s glory to be won,’ scoffed Kharth. ‘Second, who said anything about them attacking the Federation?’

Winters looked at the Romulan XO, and knew she wasn’t talking out of concern for the Klingon Empire’s Gorn neighbours. He fidgeted with his sleeve. ‘I’m not really okay with rooting for a Klingon civil war, Commander.’

‘That’s very cute of you, Doctor.’ Kharth picked up her mug to drain what was left of it, and set it back down on her table, turning to go. ‘While you’re grilling Thawn on her responsibilities, ask her what it was like to fight Klingons at Archanis. And hope that everyone’s grown a little more spine over the last two years.’

Kharth would have left with a flourish, then, Winters was sure, her parting words enough to make Thawn visibly flinch in a way that made it clear they would not get war stories out of her in the XO’s wake. But she hadn’t taken another step before the lights shifted and the alert klaxon went, and the controlled release of tension of the Safe House evaporated when Captain Valance’s voice filled the room over the comms.

‘Red alert. All hands to battle stations.’

‘Reports are saying there are major movements from some of the Great Houses. Korath have withdrawn most of their fleets to their home territories.’ Rourke drummed his fingers on the side of his coffee mug as he sat across from Valance in the captain’s ready room.

They’d moved to the comfortable seating by the window without saying a word, neither of them ready for the strangeness of Rourke not being the one behind the desk. She was still the one facing the door, the one who’d replicated the drinks, the one who’d welcomed him in. She could not even enjoy the discomfort as a distraction from the politics; it cut far too deep for that.

‘Has anything been heard of Drex?’ she said. Martok’s son did not have the strongest reputation, politically or militarily, but he still, she thought, had to be a key player in the response to his father’s disappearance.

‘He’s on Qo’noS, according to Ambassador Hale’s sources,’ said Rourke. ‘Some members of the High Council have gone to ground in their home territories, but the majority of the councillors are there.’

‘We have to arrive before they start considering succession. I can’t believe that this is just an accident.’

Rourke grimaced. ‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘To the head of the Empire, the only man who’s kept them in check for a quarter-century?’ Valance shook her head. ‘No. Too many people profit from him being gone. And vanishing in a way that breeds uncertainty and denies his legacy a final story.’

‘You mean,’ said Rourke carefully, ‘the Mo’Kai.’

‘I wish I only meant them.’ She sighed. ‘There have been plenty of warriors defying Martok. Hardly any of them faced serious consequences for the foray into the collapsing Star Empire last year.’ Rourke flinched at that, and she tilted her head. ‘Is the House of K’Var at Qo’noS?’

‘I don’t know. I hope not. We don’t need the distraction.’

You mean, you don’t want to face them. Rourke had spent long years on the Klingon border, working alongside the KDF. In this time he’d forged a tight bond with Torkath, son of K’Var, building a stalwart alliance that had stretched across borders and lasted a decade and a half. Until the Klingon raids on the Velorum Sector, where Rourke had been forced to kill Torkath’s brother, Dakor. On hearing the news, Torkath had disavowed him.

‘We could do with more Houses we know we can rely on as allies,’ was all she said.

‘I’d hope your brother could help with that.’ Frowning still, Rourke stood, looking like he wanted to go to the window as he might have done when he was captain. Instead he prowled like a trapped animal, eyes sweeping over the bulkheads.

Valance tried to not grimace. ‘I don’t know what the House of A’trok will do. My grandfather is something of an opportunist.’

‘And yet your brother has been close with the Federation. Your father…’ Rourke’s voice trailed off.

‘My father had a dalliance with a human,’ said Valance flatly. ‘And he felt a sense of obligation – I can’t guarantee kinship – with his half-breed daughter. That doesn’t say anything about his politics.’

Rourke was silent for a moment, and she wondered if he was trying to press the point in a more polite way. Then he dragged his eyes around the bulkheads and said, thoughtfully, ‘You should redecorate in here.’

She hesitated. ‘Is that a priority?’

‘This isn’t just your private meeting room. This represents you. Anyone who comes in should know not only that you’re the commander of the ship, but that this is your space. The captain and the ship are one.’

Valance gave a sharp shrug. ‘I left Captain MacCallister’s painting up.’

‘But nothing of yours -’

‘Sir, I don’t need you to tell me how to run this ship.’ She stood with more impetus than intended, which had him turn to her with sharp surprise.

Rourke worked his jaw. ‘Sorry. That was meant to be more… sorry.’

‘More what? More helpful?’

His shoulders sank. ‘You didn’t ask for my help. I overstepped.’

‘I know that if I were you, I’d turn that into a drinks cabinet.’ She pointed at the cabinet by the wall. ‘Captain MacCallister would keep a tea set in it. The Paris’s captain laid out pastries before every meeting. But I’m not the hostly type.’

‘You’ll figure out your way,’ Rourke said, softer.

Valance still scowled, her indignation fading and leaving in its wake the insecurity that had made her so quick to anger. ‘I know you sent us Shep because you thought Kharth and I needed softer edges.’

Rourke’s frown remained. ‘I sent you Shep for more front-line command experience. If I thought you and Kharth are too mean, then what am I?’

‘Much, much better at managing people.’

It looked like he might give that another rebuttal, but the comm system chirruped and Airex’s voice interrupted them. ‘Captain Valance to the bridge.’

It was always a tense summoning. She could be out the door in seconds, so there was no need for the officer of the watch to make a judgement call if something serious was happening. But, likewise, it could have been something innocuous.

‘Klingon ships decloaking off our bow, Captain,’ Airex was reporting, crisp and already surrendering the centre chair to assume his post at Science. ‘I think they’ve been trailing us for some time. Two Mat’Ha-class destroyers.’

Valance stalked to the centre chair, Rourke in her wake. ‘Hail them.’

‘There’s been no response, Captain,’ replied a fraught Kally at Comms.

‘They’ve raised shields and have weapons charged,’ said Logan at Tactical. ‘Captain, their transponders identify them as part of the Mo’Kai fleet.’

Valance stopped dead in the centre of the bridge, turning to the viewscreen. She tapped her combadge. ‘Red alert. All hands to battle stations.’

The klaxon went, the lights changed, and as she eased herself into the command chair, Rourke discreetly sat down to her left. She gave him the quickest of glances, but his expression was level, neutral. If he had any thoughts different to her own, he wasn’t sharing them.

‘Shields are raised and weapons charged, Captain,’ said Logan. ‘The raptors are maintaining position.’

‘Hail them again,’ Valance said, and grimaced at Kally’s gentle shake of the head. ‘Ensign Fox – plot us a route around them. Slow. Keep our dorsal hull facing them so we can bring phasers to bear if necessary. Keep your nerve, people. If they wanted to ambush us, they would have.’

Endeavour moved, twisting and gliding to come around the silent, stalwart raptors. The two Klingon ships pivoted to keep the Starfleet ship in their firing arc, but otherwise didn’t move.

Valance’s grimace remained. ‘And now we slip past them only to expose our aft.’ They weren’t defenceless at the rear. But they were less defensible. Behind her, the turbolift doors slid open and Kharth stormed out, taking in the scene with a few sharp looks. In her wake stepped Hale, more cautious, staying near the door.

The XO had barely sat down before Airex barked, ‘Captain, another ship decloaking ahead!’

‘On screen!’

Valance’s heart leapt to her throat as the space before them shimmered, and the hulking mass of a Bortasqu’-class dreadnought decloaked and came rippling into existence, glorious like a great predator bearing down on them.

‘Oh, shit,’ hissed Kharth. ‘That’s bigger than I thought.’

And there they were, trapped between them and a pair of raptors. Valance hesitated, and was only moderately reassured by how Rourke didn’t feel like he was biting back his own orders. He had no better clue than us.

But Kally spoke first. ‘Dreadnought is hailing us, Captain!’

‘Put them through,’ said Valance, getting to her feet and trying to smother any sign of apprehension. She couldn’t show it to her crew and she couldn’t show it to the Mo’Kai.

The viewscreen changed for the formidable bridge of the dreadnought. Valance recognised the Klingon woman stood before them, but they had never met. Her face had been plastered over news reports, intelligence reports, political reports, for the past ten years.

‘USS Endeavour, my name is Lady L’kor of the House of Mo’Kai.’ The most notorious woman in the Empire gave a smile that was all sweetness and all teeth. ‘You travel our space unaccompanied. That is perhaps unwise during these dangerous times for the Empire.’

Valance swallowed. ‘Lady L’kor. I’m Captain Valance.’ She could almost feel Hale’s eyes on her, and shifted her weight. ‘Daughter of Jodmang, of the -’

‘House of A’trok – I know who you are, Captain. Our reputations precede us both. I’ve read many reports on your feats against those some would call dissidents against the Empire.’

Some? Valance didn’t let her expression change. ‘We head for Qo’noS, under the invitation of Lord Koloth.’

‘I don’t know from where Lord Koloth draws the authority to invite Starfleet. He may fancy himself the right hand of Martok, but Martok is dead.’

Valance’s jaw twitched. ‘Dead? Is that confirmed?’

L’kor’s expression flickered with frustration. ‘Do you ask as a Starfleet officer who trusts nothing except what your sensors tell you? Or a stout warrior who would demand we complete the Sonchi ceremony even if our chancellor had been blasted into a thousand pieces in an accident?’

‘We’ve been invited to assist in exactly -’

But Valance was cut off by Hale stepping in, the ambassador’s glance apologetic. ‘We ask because we know better than to trust in mere rumour for something so important, Lady L’kor. I know you would not let any such report go unconfirmed before you trusted it.’ At L’kor’s sharp look, she inclined her head. ‘Ambassador Hale. Lord Koloth asked for me directly.’

‘Did he, now. He is very willing to have the Federation interfere in what ought be a private affair. There are many who would take offence.’ Valance braced as L’kor looked to one side, making a gesture to a bridge officer off-screen. Then she looked back. ‘We will escort you to Qo’noS, Endeavour. Make sure you do not travel unaccompanied.’

‘We are most grateful,’ said Hale, pressing her hands together.

‘Indeed, Lady L’kor,’ said Valance, trying to not speak through gritted teeth. ‘We have no desire for trouble.’

‘You are Starfleet. You don’t find trouble. You bring it. But I shan’t have any mishaps befalling you. After all.’ L’kor gave another sharp smile. ‘They would blame me. Follow in our wake.’

The viewscreen went dead, and Hale turned to Valance, dropping her voice. ‘I apologise for stepping in, Captain. I thought it best my presence as an ambassador not be a surprise.’

You stepped in because I wasn’t being Klingon enough. Valance didn’t know if she was bitter or not. ‘We made it through, Ambassador,’ she said, letting her tone imply she was past the issue. She turned to her bridge crew. ‘Stand down red alert. Bring us into formation with the Mo’Kai ships. Ensign Kallavasu?’

‘I’ll synchronise our -’

‘Yes, but not that.’ Valance raised a finger. ‘Send word to Command that we are approaching Qo’noS under escort from Lady L’kor.’

Kharth snorted. ‘I love a plan where our contingency is, “We’ll die, but at least we’ll snitch first.’”

‘If she wanted to ambush us, she would have.’ But L’kor and the Mo’Kai were still the number one suspect for any mishap that could have befallen Martok. Perhaps that was why L’kor was here; if she was innocent, then perhaps there was a different enemy abroad, and in bringing in Starfleet she could see her name cleared.

It was still impossible to know the way. To know for sure if L’kor was leading her to safety or a trap, or if there would even be safety on Qo’noS. She could still feel the lingering pressure from Hale’s pointed look when she had not stood Klingon enough on the bridge, still feel Kharth’s burning dissatisfaction at extending even an iota of trust. If there was a middle way, then surely it would please nobody – perhaps least of all her.

But the last person she wanted to look at, as Endeavour swung into business for their last leg to Qo’noS, was Commodore Rourke, and run the risk his eyes might show a disagreement with her choices she had no idea how to navigate.

The holographic map billowed above StratOps in a starry canopy, a kaleidoscope of not only the dots of each star, but the whirling maelstrom of colours of political territories, strategic priorities, emerging situations. For months – years – Rourke had seen this map display serene Federation control stretching far, hotspots either doused by the soothing blue or far from their borders. Or, at least, few in number.

‘Bloody Cardassians,’ he muttered.

‘Yeah,’ sighed Beckett. ‘They’ve got their work cut out for them on that border.’

‘But we’ve got our work cut out for us here.’ He was here to represent Starfleet, but he was still the squadron commander, still had regional responsibility over Midgard. A briefing with Nate Beckett, as Chief Intelligence Officer aboard Endeavour, theoretically helped keep him informed. It also gave him a headache.

Rourke rubbed his temples. ‘I think that’s enough of that situation. We have to make sure the Klingons come down from high alert. There’s no other real option.’

‘The last reports also came with some policy papers.’ Beckett looked apprehensive as he picked up another PADD. ‘Possible border defence plans.’

Rourke took the PADD warily, and rolled his eyes the moment he saw the names of the authors. ‘Here we go,’ he groaned, and shook his head at Beckett’s curious gaze. ‘Half of Command has spent the last twenty-five years planning for contingencies in case of Martok’s death. Now they think it’s time to deliver.’

‘These contingencies are all preparations for invasion.’

Rourke shrugged. ‘It’s the half of Command who think Martok is the only thing that’s stopped the Empire from turning on us once they recovered from the Dominion War.’

There was a pause as Beckett fidgeted with the StratOps controls. ‘Is he?’

‘Put aside the Mo’Kai, D’Ghor, Sovereignty for a moment,’ said Rourke in a softer voice. ‘We have decades of cooperation with the Empire under our belts. Shared resources, joint operations. Even the most aggressive political shift can’t disentangle us overnight. If they decide to come for us, it’ll cost them. If they decide to come for us, we’ll know it.’

Beckett shook his head. ‘I can’t believe Martok doesn’t seem to have a successor lined up.’

‘He’s not gone yet,’ Rourke pointed out. ‘Let’s not bury the man just because his ship’s transponder exploded or something.’ He wasn’t sure he believed it. But he also knew better than to borrow trouble before they knew just how bad it was.

They’d covered most of the salient briefing points, but Beckett was still looking uneasy. Rourke looked him up and down and said, ‘You’re settling into the job pretty good, Nate.’

A wince. ‘I never thought I’d end up here. Actively didn’t want to end up here.’

Rourke scoffed. ‘Don’t let your father’s job shut off opportunities for you. You’re sharp. You’re doing well. Hell, even Faust was singing your praises about the reports from Endeavour’s trip home.’

That didn’t seem to cheer him up. ‘I know I’ve got a lot to learn.’

‘And yet, you’re a million miles away from the fresh-faced ensign who came aboard Endeavour two years ago.’

A shrug. ‘It’s been a busy two years.’

That it has. Rourke put the report PADDs down. ‘Personally, as well as professionally. How’s Lieutenant Thawn?’

Beckett looked like he was considering rolling his eyes. ‘I don’t need a heart-to-heart, sir.’

‘You ran away with a girl on a mission of your dreams and you come back like the weight of the world’s on your shoulders? I reckon you do.’

‘Can’t it just be hard that the galaxy’s going to shit?’

‘Nah,’ said Rourke. ‘If you were happy, you’d be whistling through it.’

Beckett’s shoulders slumped with defeat. He took a moment to reply, running through shutting down the strategic map, locking down all of the StratOps system. Eventually, he said, ‘I want things to calm down so I know what normal is. With her. With – with us. Every crisis feels like a chance for her to kick big decisions down the road, and I know she’s good at that.’

‘Rosara Thawn never met an emotional problem she couldn’t procrastinate on. But she’s not alone in that,’ Rourke said gently. ‘Have you talked to her about this?’

‘Nothing to say, is there? She’s not done anything wrong. We’re still in a crisis.’

‘And when we’re not – and I swear, you get shore leave soon – what happens then?’ Beckett was silent, and Rourke tilted his head. ‘What do you want, then?’

This shrug was brusque, one-shouldered. ‘I don’t know,’ mumbled Beckett. ‘She’s the one who came running after me.’

‘Something you didn’t provoke or encourage at all.’ Rourke gave him a lopsided smirk. ‘I hear you. It’s hard to find your footing when things are changing. You can’t expect her to be sure when things are changing. So rather than being worried, take this time to figure out what you want. So when the time comes… you know what you’re asking of her.’

The grumpy expression didn’t fade. But Beckett did give a short, brusque nod. ‘Yeah. Okay. That makes sense. Thanks, sir.’

Lieutenant Athaka had fretted about living space when Rourke had first reported aboard, but it had only given him so much entertainment to draw the process out before he’d told him he could quarter with Ambassador Hale. That gave some small comfort to the experience of not returning to the captain’s quarters, but to the rooms Hale had lived in for a year. That gave some sense of normalcy.

She was in the VIP rooms when he walked in, sat at the coffee table with a slew of PADDs stretched out before her, stylus in hand. She glanced up with a wan, tired smile. ‘How was the briefing?’

‘Nothing fundamentally new,’ Rourke grumbled, unzipping his uniform jacket and going to join her at the sofa. ‘Just confirmation that the situation in the DMZ is so heavy that if it goes sideways here, we’re screwed.’

‘Nothing fundamentally new,’ Hale agreed. She put the PADD and stylus down and leaned back, reaching to run a fingertip along the jacket lapel. ‘You look tired. And restless. It’s a bad combination.’

He shrugged. ‘All I can do right now is wait.’

The ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. ‘You’re not enjoying being a flag officer who gets ferried around?’ But her voice was gentle, and her expression softened the moment the tease was done. ‘I imagine it’s very strange being back aboard.’

‘I don’t want to step on Valance’s toes. But she should have faced down those raptors from the start. Met strength with -’

‘You’re not in charge of this ship,’ she reminded him softly. ‘And you do trust her.’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t,’ he said defensively. ‘But I warned you of this. She second-guesses herself whenever she has to deal with Klingons.’

‘There are four warrants out for Daragon’s death since his days in the Kriosian resistance,’ Hale mused, ‘and you don’t trust Faust, and Xhakaza’s very young, and Valance is a daughter of a noble house. And you agreed to this. Don’t act like your own protege has been foisted on you.’

‘I have all the trust and respect for Karana Valance in the world. If you want an officer who’ll open doors to Klingon houses, it’s not her.’

‘Maybe. But it’s not you, either. Not any more.’ Hale bit her lip. ‘I need to ask something of you.’

His brow furrowed. ‘Anything.’

‘I need you to be ready to listen if I ask you to take a step back on Qo’noS.’

‘What?’

‘The House of K’Var are influential, and we don’t know how far Torkath’s blaming you for Dakor’s death goes, and if your presence is incendiary with the High Council, it might be best you stay out of the way.’

She’d spoken gently, but still Rourke was on his feet, indignant. ‘And what, play passenger for the entire rest of this mission?’

Hale didn’t rise to meet him, physically or in tone, staying leaning back on the sofa with a calm expression. ‘Matthew, when are we going to talk about you hating your job?’

Indignation was cut off by sheer confusion. ‘What?’

‘Alright, so hate might be a strong word,’ she accepted. ‘But you’ve been CO of Gateway for three months and every time something goes wrong, you’re miserable.’

‘Should I be happy when things go wrong?’

Now she stood, slow and with a hint of frustration that made it clear she thought he was being intractable. ‘Miserable, because you’re not in the thick of things. Because you have to sit at your desk and send people out to do the work, while you read reports and consider the big picture. You like getting your hands dirty.’

His shoulders slumped. ‘I’m a flag officer. That’s my job now.’

Her nose wrinkled as she tilted her head this way and that. ‘You’re a commodore. My father used to say that was just a captain with delusions of grandeur. In an era where Starfleet’s personnel situation is difficult at best. You’re not chained to your desk.’

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ But the hint of frustration remained around her, and Rourke realised he was being defensive. He exhaled, trying to banish tension with it. He wasn’t sure that was successful, but his discussion with Beckett rang forth in his head. It would be too easy to say that now was not a time to think about it. His shoulders sank as he winced. ‘It wasn’t your first choice to have me along, was it?’

It was her turn to wince. ‘I’d hoped,’ Hale said carefully, ‘that having Valance and Endeavour would be enough to convince you to stay behind – or rather, convince you that you weren’t necessary.’

‘I’m not here to make the mission difficult. But I do know Klingons.’ He took a step forward and reached for her hands. ‘I’ll do what I can to help. Whether that’s give you backup, or staying out of the way if you need to play nice with the K’Var.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Hale said softly. ‘Having you by my side as an officer who beat the absolute tar out of some of the last Klingons to pick a fight with Starfleet is absolutely an arrow in my quiver I’m prepared to call on.’

He grinned, unable to not be impressed, even charmed, at how good she was at recognising the assets of those around her, recognising how effective they could be at whatever task she had to achieve. She assessed and weighed people and decided where to apply them, and never dehumanised them in the process. ‘Would you know, I was coming down here being a bit pleased with myself for being all grown up and sensible, and you went and deflated that right away.’

‘Oh?’

He shook his head. ‘Just a chat with Nate. This young kid who doesn’t know what he’s got and doesn’t know what he wants. I came here all smug about how I’m not like that any more, only for you to put me soundly in my place.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘I like it. It reminds me what I actually have and want.’

Her expression flickered, and he gave her a moment, let her rally. They had taken their relationship slowly since coming to Gateway; made no secret of it but been sure to give each other their own space. That was for her benefit more than his, and every time he felt he was on the precipice of pushing too much, he did his best to leave doors open. Give her breathing room.

After a beat, she lifted her gaze back to meet his. ‘I was worried about you being here, because I know that if you have to deal with the House of K’Var – with Torkath – that’ll hurt. And I know it’ll hurt if you feel you’re benched because of that. I know you trust me. I know you’ll listen to me – even if you have a well-earned sulk about it first. I don’t enjoy the idea of hurting you to have to do my job. I didn’t enjoy it before, and I certainly like it less now.’

He had to smile. ‘We’ve not worked together like this for a while.’

‘Since Agarath.’

Rourke nodded. ‘A while ago. A lot’s changed since then.’ He glanced down at his jacket, at the commodore’s pips on the lapel. At the quarters around them, not his own, never his own, and yet, for now, his. At her, stood before him, always what he needed to make sense of a situation, a light leading the way he knew he still shouldn’t chase too hard. Not until she wanted to be fully caught.

He tightened his grip on her hands. Qo’noS would come soon, with all of its challenges. But for the moment, he had a breather. Rourke gave a small nod. ‘Good changes,’ he decided softly.

Qo’noS lay before them like a sleeping beast, a vast planet around which the viewscreen and sensor feeds showed a steady buzz of activity of ships, industry, and life. All at rest, the beating heart of the Empire thudded on, even, strong, and not stirring itself to action. Not yet.

‘We’re in steady orbit,’ Ensign Fox reported at Helm.

‘Lady L’kor’s ship has transmitted us coordinates for beaming down,’ called Kally, finger pressed to her earpiece. ‘Directly outside the Great Hall of the High Council. She says four people.’

‘I didn’t know she got to dictate who comes before the Council,’ mused Rourke, hands behind his back.

‘I’m going to trust,’ said Hale gently, ‘that she’s at least liaising with the High Council if she came to fetch us and this wasn’t a trap. Commodore, Captain, I would appreciate the company of both of you below.’ Perhaps the House of K’Var would be present, and take umbrage at Rourke’s arrival. But she could use that, too; decide whether she wanted to provoke them and keep him by her side, or decide if she could win an easy victory by placating them. Even if that was a victory she’d likely pay for personally, if only in guilt.

‘I’ll stay here,’ Kharth said in a wry voice. ‘And put a bag over my head if they hail us or something. But you need security.’ Her eyes flickered past them.

Commander Logan stood but didn’t move away from his post at Tactical. He looked to Hale. ‘You have your pick of the Security Department, Ambassador.’ It was a terribly polite way, she thought, to say he understood if she didn’t want to bring a former Borg drone as the group’s bodyguard, and Hale did hesitate.

‘You should bring Commander Logan,’ Kharth said before she could reply, and gave Valance a pointed look. ‘If the CO is disembarking, especially with dignitaries, there’s nobody I trust more than our chief of security.’

‘I can’t turn down such a recommendation,’ said Hale. ‘Thank you, Commander Logan. Your company will be welcome.’

‘We’ll beam down from transporter room 2,’ Valance said, and ushered them to a turbolift.

Once inside, Logan did shift his weight. ‘It’s kind of Commander Kharth to vouch for me,’ he said as the turbolift hummed through the belly of the ship. ‘But I understand if -’

‘This mission isn’t just about appeasing the Klingons,’ Hale said smoothly, before Valance or Rourke could prevaricate. ‘We have to maintain the bridge between them and us, which means being honest about who the modern Federation are. And anyway, sometimes in diplomacy you just have to stand your ground, which is even more the case with Klingons. Constant appeasement annoys them. We have to walk the line between not upsetting them too badly, and proving we have spines.’

‘Let’s hope they don’t try to find that out for themselves,’ muttered Rourke.

They beamed down directly, as promised, to an antechamber in what Hale recognised as the Great Hall, the centre of governance in the First City. It was like tumbling from light into darkness, as the shimmering of the transporters and the brightness of a Starfleet interior evaporated to cast them into muggy shadow, the air musty with the scent of Klingons, of sconces, of fur and meat and ancient stone.

She had not been here in long years; not since she was a girl, her father bringing her in on an occasion where he swore she’d been asked for. She’d clung to his arm, daunted by the shadows as much as the foreboding stone, as the tales of what Klingons did with friends and foes alike.

Only to have been welcomed by Chancellor K’mpec himself, who had always – she’d realised later in life – treated her father with a sort of disinterested disdain. But the great man had been impeccably kind in greeting a new ambassador’s young daughter, setting aside politics or even projections of strength to speak softly with her, show her the hall, explain with the solemnity only children truly appreciated the vast histories and heroes who gazed down on them from pictures and tapestries. He had done more than put a small child at ease, she’d understood when older. He’d made himself untouchable, so secure in his position and strength that he could be soft, even to the offspring of a rival. There was a power in demonstrating vulnerability, in appearing so fearless and confident that vulnerability itself was no weakness.

She did not think they would be as warmly received today.

The shadows moved, and Lady L’kor stepped from them. She must have beamed down and waited, Hale thought. ‘Will you tolerate being heralded by the House of Mo’Kai, Ambassador? Or will that pin Starfleet colours to the wrong mast?’

Power in vulnerability. Hale gave the enigmatic smile she knew frustrated. ‘I would be honoured if a councillor such as you could introduce us.’

L’kor did not wait as she advanced on the heavy double doors and shoved them open. They swung with a clatter, and while the heaving council chamber beyond had clearly been abuzz with words and tension, the arrival of the Mo’Kai and Starfleet alike was enough to shatter sound into silence.

The five advanced, Logan taking up the rear, Hale sure to be in the lead behind L’kor, with the eyes of over a dozen Klingon warriors, councillors, advisers fixed on them. Their footsteps rang out on the thick paving slabs, L’kor’s boots loudest, the Starfleet boots softer, Hale’s steps softest of all.

Martok’s seat, the seat of the Chancellor, stood empty in the middle. Carved of ancient wood, it loomed over the rest of the chamber, given a wide berth by most of the councillors, gave voice to the gaping chasm left in the wake of the great man himself. Only one figure had stood near it when they arrived, positioned directly to its right, and Hale’s chest eased when she saw the husky Klingon, beard shot through with grey, advance towards them.

‘Sophia!’

There was no way that Koloth, son of Koloth, was not making a calculated decision to approach her so cordially. He all but shoved past L’kor – blunting, Hale realised, her chance to brandish Starfleet as her toy – to reach her, pulling her to him in a broad hug.

‘Lift me off the ground and I’ll implement trade sanctions,’ she hissed in his ear, earning a quiet guffaw from the great warrior.

He pulled back, hands on her shoulders, beaming, before he turned to the rest of the High Council. ‘My brethren. I present Ambassador Sophia Hale, daughter of Michael – whom some of you may also recall for the years he stood alongside us.’

‘I have ensured,’ said L’kor quickly, ‘our Federation friends reached Qo’noS without interference. In the ambassador’s company is also Captain Karana Valance of the Endeavour, daughter of Jodmang of the House of A’trok, and Commodore Rourke – Commodore, are you not blood-bonded to the House of K’Var?’

Rourke hesitated, then a low, growl of a voice rang out. ‘He is not.’

Hale’s heart sank when a figure she recognised but had not met shouldered his way out of the crowd – a tall, wiry warrior who still had the presence to push others back with merely a step. This was Torkath, son of K’Var, brother of Dakor, whom Rourke had slain at Agarath.

‘Matthew Rourke broke those oaths to my family a year ago,’ snarled Torkath, advancing on the group, but then his eyes settled on Rourke himself. ‘That you have the audacity to show your face here -’

Rourke lifted his hands. ‘Torkath -’

‘I should run you through here –’

Koloth moved, but it was not his intervention that stopped Torkath, nor L’kor’s nor even Logan, who had reached for his phaser. Another Klingon strode from the crowd, planting heavy hands on Torkath’s shoulders to stop his advance.

‘Enough, Torkath. This is not the place.’ This warrior was not as tall as Torkath but had the same build of wiry strength and speed rather than raw strength. It was clearly influence, not power, that held Torkath back. ‘We have enough unknown foes to make new ones.’

Torkath stopped short, lip curling, eyes still on Rourke. ‘I did not make this foe.’

‘But he comes with Starfleet. Let them say their piece.’

Koloth looked at the other Klingon as Torkath spat on the floor and turned back to the crowd. ‘Thank you, Toral,’ he said quietly. ‘At this time, it is more important than ever that the High Council stands side by side, and the Empire stands side-by-side with its friends.’

Hale looked sharply at the man who had stopped Torkath. ‘Toral, son of Duras?’

He had grown up a dishonoured youth, his family torn down over thirty years prior for their role in the last Klingon Civil War and their collusion with the Romulan Star Empire. But in recent years it was he who had dealt the last blow to the D’Ghor, led warriors on one final hunt, and Martok had restored his family’s standing in recognition of these heroic deeds.

More than this, Hale knew there were many Klingons who were not so extreme to side with the Mo’Kai, but still found Toral to be an appealing voice in the call to the old ways.

Toral, son of Duras, planted a fist over his chest as he inclined his head. ‘Of the High Council, Ambassador. But perhaps you should not have brought an enemy of a councillor here.’

Before Hale could decide how to deflect this, L’kor gave an indignant hiss. ‘Have you finished your posturing with your pets, Toral? We have true business to attend to.’

L’kor thought the demonstration a performance, Hale realised, and now she had to wonder if she had a point. Toral had shown himself to both have empathy for those who hated Starfleet, and be able to control them, to recognise the realpolitik. Hale desperately wished she had read more of the briefing papers on the man.

‘We do have business,’ rumbled Koloth, and turned with a flourish towards the head of the cluster of councillors. L’kor and Toral had spat at each other to try to come on top of this situation, but Koloth had acted, and all eyes fell on him now. ‘My brethren, I requested the presence of the Federation, of Starfleet, for several reasons. Friends turn to friends during times of hardship. We still do not know the truth of what has befallen Martok. Starfleet have uncovered dark truths within our Empire before; I would have them here as a clear pair of eyes, both for our own sake, and so the galaxy can have no doubt that we step forward as an Empire, united and with no falsehoods.’

Toral watched him walk, and his lip curled. ‘Or it tells the galaxy that we can do nothing without Starfleet’s say-so. I do not deny there are liars and dogs among us, Koloth…’ His gaze flickered to L’kor at that. ‘But there are those of us here untarnished by the in-fighting, the factionalism.’

‘You mean you?’ said Koloth, reaching Martok’s chair, and turning to stand beside it as he faced Toral. ‘You think your hands cleaner than anyone else’s Toral? You defied Martok’s orders and joined the raids over the Romulan border last year.’

‘And you think yourself above reproach?’ sneered Toral. ‘You wear your loyalty to Martok like a shield – but many here were loyal to the warrior, not all he stood for. There are many of his decisions we would discuss, debate.’

‘And now,’ said L’kor, clearly aware of Toral’s acrimony but focusing on Koloth now, ‘you have us continuing to discuss, debate, go round in circles. I agree that we need to know more of Martok’s fate. That questions need answers. But this council has repeatedly demonstrated itself as baulking in the face of truth when the truth is hard.’

‘I see you, Koloth,’ pressed Toral, ‘positioning yourself as the man who would follow neatly in Martok’s footsteps without us skipping a beat. Without listening to the Council. The Council who did not ask for Starfleet to be here!’

A low hubbub covered the room, the councillors aggravated by L’kor’s words, stirred by Toral. It was easy, Hale thought, to become distrustful in times of uncertainty. And it was outsiders that were distrusted first.

She slid up beside Valance, leaning in as Koloth tried to call for control of the room, as Toral pressed his point.

‘Speak up,’ she muttered at Valance. ‘Speak up, and speak as a Klingon.’

‘I don’t -’

‘They won’t listen to me. The commodore is now here to annoy them when I want them annoyed. Speak up, daughter of Jodmang.’ The taller woman was given a none-too-gentle elbow in the side.

‘This is a Klingon affair,’ Toral was sneering at Koloth. Both men had flanked Martok’s chair, neither touching as they stared at each other over the carved, intricate woodwork. ‘But you have grown so soft that you would have our affairs answered by outsiders.’

‘You know as well as I,’ said Koloth, ‘that threats have come from within. Surely you suspect foul play has befallen our Chancellor, and surely that foul play is more likely to have stemmed from Klingons?’

L’kor was nearby, and fixed Koloth with a sickly sweet smile that was, again, all teeth. ‘Do you have something to say to me, Koloth?’

Koloth scowled, but Toral clenched his fist as he glared at both of them. ‘Do you need Starfleet, old man, to tell you the Mo’Kai have betrayed us for years?’

‘High Council!’ Valance’s voice rang out as she took a step forward, and Hale tried to not hold her breath. This would either work or would destroy any shred of respectability they had.

But it did, at least, silence everyone enough to look at the tall half-Klingon woman in a Starfleet uniform. Her boots thudded on the old stonework, a beat to her words.

‘I see a divided room at the heart of a divided Empire. There are many ways to move forward. Is Martok dead? Is he in need of aid? What happens if he is gone? And for years – years – this Empire has seen foes within who would rip the Klingon heart in two.’ There was, Hale thought, the faintest waver to Valance’s voice. A Starfleet audience would suspect bravado to cover up apprehension.

Would the Klingon audience notice? Would they respect the bravado regardless?

‘There is one thing that unites you,’ said Valance, and then said the worst word Hale could have imagined when she said, ‘Fear.’

‘Oh no,’ muttered Hale to Rourke. ‘Don’t call them cowards.’

‘Let her work,’ Rourke rumbled back.

‘Fear, because you have not been able to trust each other. The Sovereignty, the D’Ghor, the – the attacks at Khitomer in recent years.’ Valance only faintly faltered at the last, at the mention of crimes in which the Mo’Kai had been implicated.

‘Heinous attacks,’ L’kor agreed mildly.

‘You look at me as an outsider,’ said Valance, trying to hold her ground. ‘And in many ways I am. I was not born in the Empire. I wear a Starfleet uniform.’ She paused a beat. ‘How do you think the Federation views me? As one of theirs? Or do you think they look at me and see a Klingon?’

That did bring a rumble, which Hale read as both a hint of confusion on what Valance was driving at – a sentiment she shared – but they were, at least, caught on the hook of curiosity.

‘My heart still beats as a Klingon’s does. I have still lived among you. Fought alongside you. Fought your enemies with you. You do not know how to trust each other. You do not wish to trust your future – the Empire’s future – in the Federation.’ Valance opened her hands as she turned to take the council room in. ‘I am neither. I am Karana Valance, daughter of Jodmang, of the House of A’trok, captain of the Federation starship Endeavour. I ask not for you to trust me to the end of days. I ask you to trust me to uncover the truth of Martok’s fate. For I am not the dagger in the dark you fear, or the outsider who does not understand you who would dictate your fate.’

There was the briefest flash of apology from Valance to Hale, and the ambassador had to smother a smile.

‘She threw me out the airlock to cement her own position with them,’ Hale mumbled to Rourke. ‘I’m so proud.’

L’kor and Koloth looked at each other, two councillors whom Hale knew had to have hated each other for years. As one, they stepped to the centre.

‘We do not yet know Martok’s fate,’ said Koloth. ‘We should know if he lives or is dead, know if we mourn him and move on, if we rescue him, or if we unleash bloody vengeance.’

‘And I know you will not trust me,’ said L’kor, chin tilting up as she regarded the room. ‘But trust that I know my work well. Trust me when I say that discovering the fate of our Chancellor will take a subtler touch than many of you can bring to bear.’

Koloth turned to Valance, and nodded. ‘Karana, daughter of Jodmang. Find our Chancellor.’ He slammed his fist into his armoured breastplate with a resounding thud that first echoed, then was answered by the score of councillors in the room, a solid beat affirming their agreement.

But not of all. As the sound faded, the noise of Toral spitting on the floor rose above the echo. Near the door he lurked, a furious shadow, shaking his head as eyes turned to him.

‘This is nothing but a delay,’ he sneered. ‘Ignoring the Mo’Kai viper in our midst while Koloth tries to use his Federation friends to seize power. They will not find the truth you need, my friends; they will find the truth they want you to see.’

Koloth took a step forward. ‘This is the decision of this Council -’

‘That you do not lead,’ Toral said, shaking his head. ‘Wishing otherwise does not make it so, Koloth.’ He looked to the others. ‘You want truth? I will find your truth. I, a true Klingon, not a Starfleet dog, endorsed by the greatest snake in the Empire and the man who would sell our hearts to the Federation!’

He turned sharply on his heel, storming to the doors, leaving the High Council a buzzing rumble of discontent in his wake. Koloth spoke, voice rising over the hubbub, rallying them with sheer force of personality, and many subsided as the veteran councillor reminded them to focus, that they would find the truth of Martok, that they would then decide on their future.

But not all of them listened. None had walked out with Toral, but Hale’s eyes swept the crowd, saw those who looked after him, and those who did not look swayed by Koloth.

Chief among them Torkath, son of K’Var, brother of the slain Dakor, who had not moved from the crowd, and had not torn his blazing, betrayed gaze from the silent figure beside her of Matt Rourke.

Rourke kept his jaw tight as they followed Koloth through the halls to where the councillor kept his private chambers. Eyes followed the group the whole way, the suspicious gazes of Klingon councillors, warriors, and advisors set upon the Federation contingent as the interlopers they knew they were.

Only once they were in the small, tidy rooms Koloth kept in the Great Hall, the heavy wooden door shutting behind them to make the harsh stone walls a sanctum. Their footsteps softened on the targ-skin rugs underneath, and at the press of a button, Koloth brought the flames in the fireplace to roaring life to bring warmth, light, and, Rourke thought, a scent that reminded him of wet dog.

‘That,’ rumbled Koloth, ‘was not the reception I hoped for.’ He stalked to the heavy wooden chair at his desk, turning it to face the four visitors.

Hale opened her hands in a placating way. ‘We weren’t thrown out. Nobody’s shooting each other yet. I call that a win.’

Rourke’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. ‘Is the bar on our diplomacy really that low?’

‘You did well.’ Koloth’s eyes were on Valance. ‘You hooked them on your words without lying to them. Condescending them.’

‘I did lie a little,’ said Valance, expression rather flat. ‘I wanted to tell them all they were being ridiculous and tribal when they’re in an unprecedented crisis.’

‘They are,’ Koloth agreed. ‘The High Council cannot agree if we are trying to find out the truth, planning our foreign policy response, or discussing the succession. Nobody wants to be the first to ask what we do is Martok is dead…’

‘But they’re positioning themselves for it anyway,’ sighed Hale. Her eyes lingered on Koloth. ‘As are you.’

He grimaced. ‘In Martok’s absence, I am trying to ensure we hold to his vision. I would not have him return and find everything has been torn asunder.’

‘And if he doesn’t come back?’ said Rourke.

‘Then if I must step up, I will.’ He shrugged. ‘If not me, then who? L’kor?’

‘She is being surprisingly reasonable,’ mused Hale.

‘It’s a good move when you’re the main suspect,’ pointed out Rourke. ‘Regardless of whether she does have something to do with his disappearance.’

‘If she did it,’ said Valance, ‘then surely she would have taken us out on our way in. Because we’re the people most likely to uncover her involvement. We know she’s not afraid of bloodying Federation noses. Wouldn’t that suit her? Cast the Empire into chaos by taking out Martok, then also vanishing the Starfleet ship sent to investigate?’

Hale looked at Koloth. ‘Tell me about Toral.’

Koloth sighed again. ‘An angry terrier. He has won minor victories against ailing foes and used it to build his own legacy. But there are people who find Martok too passive, but are not rebellious or insidious enough for the Mo’Kai, who find him… appealing.’

‘Would he murder Martok?’

‘He is of the House of Duras,’ said Koloth.

‘That’s a bloodline. Not a motive.’ Valance’s voice was sharp. ‘What did happen to Martok? What do we know?’

Koloth sighed, resting his arm on the desk. For a moment he stared at the flames in the fireplace, contemplative. ‘Martok’s leadership has been difficult. At first, we rode the wave of support following the Dominion War. He was a hero, we had deep wounds. But as the wounds healed, the upstarts who craved battle for battle’s sake became angrier and angrier. You’ve seen how it manifested: the Sovereignty, the D’Ghor, the Mo’Kai. When one falls, another takes its place.’

‘What happened last year,’ said Rourke, ‘with the young warriors in the Star Empire. They weren’t very effective, but that defiance against Martok was worrying.’

‘And it worried him,’ Koloth confirmed. ‘He knows that if the upstarts had their way, they would cast the quadrant into a chaos we have not seen since the war. Set upon the Romulans and invite the whole galaxy to turn on us. I warned him to find something new, a fresh purpose, but at every turn he had to put down rivals, insurgents.’ His eyes came back to the Federation envoys. ‘He was making for Boreth on the Rotarran. He hoped the monks could provide insight on the future of the Klingon people. By all accounts, he simply never arrived.’

Hale tilted her head. ‘The monks are not above political interference. They’ve done it before with Imperial leadership – with Kahless.’

‘You suspect the monks of Boreth?’ Even Valance sounded like this was a little sacrilegeous.

Koloth raised his hands. ‘I had ships check the traffic buoys and warp signatures in the Boreth system, captains I trust implicitly. I truly believe the Rotarran never arrived.’

Rourke opened his mouth to speak, but Valance got there first. ‘I request all copies of such records, Councillor,’ she said smoothly. ‘As well as any data you have on the Rotarran, its crew, and its journey.’ She turned to Hale. ‘The best thing for Endeavour to do is to retrace Martok’s route. We have more sophisticated sensors than anything the Empire can bring to bear.’

Hale gave her quietly pleased smile. ‘I was hoping that would be the best way forward. If you take Endeavour into the field, we can continue to investigate here on Qo’noS.’

Koloth nodded. ‘I will find a ship to escort you -’

‘No,’ Valance said quickly. ‘My apologies, Councillor, but while we cannot disguise our accord, I would rather my investigation looks as independent as possible. I want to avoid accusations I was led to a conclusion by your house.’

Rourke turned to her. ‘Just because L’kor didn’t ambush you doesn’t mean nobody else will.’

‘If they do, Endeavour will be ready,’ said Valance with a faint tilt to her chin. ‘And if they do, that means someone’s shown their hand.’

‘Captain,’ said Logan tensely, ‘are you using the ship as bait?’

‘If it comes to it,’ she said. ‘But I’ll still need you to stay here, providing security for the commodore and ambassador. Between Lieutenant Qadir and Commander Kharth, we’ll be well manned for Tactical.’

Logan looked like he might complain, but Rourke piped up. ‘Don’t worry, Commander. I have work to do they definitely won’t let me go off on my own for, and I promise it won’t be babysitting.’ At their curious looks, he allowed himself a tight smile. ‘Torkath wasn’t the only friend I made in the Empire. I have other contacts. More dubious ones. Some I know are here on Qo’noS. I can reach out for some meetings, see if something rattles out of the underworld.’

Hale tilted her head at him. ‘You were enjoying keeping that card up your sleeve.’

‘I have uses other than being a red flag to wave at our rivals, or being a walking pair of pips,’ he agreed. He had deliberately not shared this information, knowing it would be harder to stop him the later he dropped it on them.

‘I cannot encourage lying down with such dogs,’ said Koloth. ‘They will be cheats and liars with no honour.’

‘I don’t need them to have honour to cooperate and give me answers.’

‘Koloth, where’s Drex?’ said Hale, clearly keen to cut this debate off. ‘The fate of his father has to concern him. I would have expected to see him with the High Council.’

‘Would you?’ said Koloth with obvious distaste. ‘I would expect to find him in the sort of holes Commodore Rourke intends to frequent.’

Rourke felt quietly pleased he was prompting a snobbish reaction from a Klingon dignitary. It was good to know his promotion hadn’t stopped him from getting under people’s skin.

‘We should find him,’ Hale pressed. ‘There are people who will listen to him just for being Martok’s son.’

‘He’s spent years in his father’s shadow -’

‘So have you,’ said Hale, not unkindly.

‘But he never did anything. I am not sure he will rise to the occasion.’ But Hale looked undaunted, and Koloth sighed. ‘We can find him. He is on Qo’noS.’

‘Then it’s settled,’ said Hale, clasping her hands together. ‘Captain Valance will take Endeavour to retrace Martok’s footsteps. Commodore Rourke will look under stones here and see what he finds. And I’ll try to secure us some more allies – or, at least, information sources.’

The market snaked between the buildings of rough-hewn stone and metal, canopies and canvas hangings blotting out the foreboding spikes and sculptures cresting the rooftops. Above was all the grandeur of Qo’noS, the heart of the Empire. Here, they wound their way through a dim-lit sea of stalls and shops, travellers from a hundred worlds, and the thick miasma of sweat, of bloodwine, of roasted meats. The lighting was low, the coloured canopies of the stalls blocking out much of the grey, overcast sky, and flickering torches cast jagged, jumping shadows, turning guards and diminutive traders alike into monstrous silhouettes out of the corners of their eyes.

They’d changed out of uniform, and Logan had found a poncho with a hood he could pull low enough to obscure his ocular implant unless anyone looked too closely. The security officer had baulked at the suggestion, but Rourke had been steadfast. He didn’t need to hide or lie. But they didn’t need to invite trouble.

‘I met Fowkan in ‘87,’ Rourke explained as he led the way through the crowd. ‘Most reliable informant on Klingon underworld I ever met.’

Logan took a beat to answer, clearly scanning their surroundings at every turn. ‘And how does a reliable informant stay one for a decade and a half without getting his ass caught?’

‘Few simple rules. Don’t piss where you sleep. That sort of thing.’ Rourke shrugged. ‘He wasn’t much use about smuggling. Was plenty of use when it came to movements about the Sovereignty, Mo’Kai, D’Ghor.’

‘I get it. Why would someone whose work relies on knowing who’s manning the border, how they run security, how can you bribe ‘em, have any fondness for extremists who want to disrupt things?’

‘Exactly. Some crooks are the most conservative people you’ll meet. They love the status quo because they know how to exploit it. This way.’ Rourke took the next turn down a more narrow street. The area had changed since last he was here, but his sense of direction and a quick check of local maps after getting the message from Fowkan steered him right. Gleaming lights from a doorway ahead confirmed their destination. ‘In here.’

They ducked out of the labyrinthine market into the dim-lit gambling hall. Logan stepped up even closer, blocking anyone in the crowd from slipping between them as Rourke headed for the bar. He hadn’t been here in some years, but the routine was unlikely to have changed. Ask for the right people. Get directed to the right back room.

While there were a good number of Klingons in here, the establishment was favoured more by travellers. It meant nobody stood out, and off-worlders could catch some respite from the intensity of Qo’noS to gather around gambling tables, get drinks, and unwind or have decent cover to talk business.

‘Anything I should know or do?’ asked Logan as they reached the door to the private room Rourke was eventually directed to.

‘Look tough, but not too tough,’ said Rourke with a shrug. ‘They know who I am, so they know we’re Starfleet. Just follow my lead. This shouldn’t be a problem.’

It was a problem.

It was a problem the moment the door to the private room slid shut behind them, and Rourke realised the Klingon sat on the seating set against the curved far wall wasn’t Fowkan. It was a problem when a pair of other Klingons emerged from either side of the door and grabbed Logan, in an instant pinning him against the wall even as he struggled.

Rourke could have stepped back to help. Disrupted the element of surprise. But his gaze was set on the seated Klingon before him, and his stomach was winding itself into knots, and he did not move.

‘Torkath.’

Torkath, son of K’Var, brother of the warrior Dakor whom Rourke had killed at Agarath, rose to his feet and nodded past Rourke. ‘Matthew. Tell your man to stop struggling. He doesn’t have to be a part of this.’

Rourke at last looked back. Logan had already dealt a vicious blow to the solar plexus of one of Torkath’s guards and was facing off against the other, and Rourke raised a sharp hand. ‘Commander. Stand down.’

Logan did not lower his clenched fists, eyes sweeping between the two assailants. ‘Some informant meeting,’ he growled.

‘Yeah,’ said Rourke, and looked back at Torkath. ‘Where’s Fowkan?’

‘Not here,’ said Torkath simply. ‘You left the borderlands years ago, Matthew. I worked with Fowkan all the while since. He told me when you reached out to him.’

Rourke swallowed. ‘Yeah,’ he said again. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I bet you’re not here to tell me what you know about Martok’s disappearance.’

‘What I know is that he’s gone. And the Empire has to move forwards.’ Torkath shook his head. ‘No, Matthew. This is about us.’

‘Dakor gave me no choice at Agarath -’

‘We swore oaths,’ Torkath snarled, and lifted his hand, palm outward. ‘You swore an oath.’

‘To you. Not to -’

‘An oath to me is an oath to my family; don’t be naive.’

‘So should I have let Dakor slaughter the people of Agarath? My own crew? The people I was responsible for?’

‘There was truly no other way?’ Despite the anger and hurt in his eyes and voice, Torkath looked, Rourke thought, tired. Horrified.

Rather than meet that anger, Rourke made himself smaller. Softer. A rock for his old friend’s anger to crash not against, but over. Quieter, he said, ‘Not without breaking another oath.’

This did not seem to appease Torkath in any way, the warrior’s fists clenching by his side now. ‘Then you had a choice.’

‘Torkath, what was I supposed to -’

‘Like I had a choice when Dakor and his ship attacked mine to stop me from saving your people at T’lhab Station years ago,’ Torkath snarled, shoulders hunching. ‘I could have withdrawn. I could have let him contain me. I fought. Against my own brother’s ship.’

‘And I -’

‘Warriors died that day, Matthew!’ Torkath thundered. ‘Warriors sworn to the House of K’Var, on my ship, on Dakor’s ship, however misguided he was! But I had promised to protect your people, so I set aside my responsibility to those warriors and acted on my responsibility to you!’

Torkath was in his face now, crossing the distance, close enough that Rourke had to tilt his neck back to look him in the eye.

‘I had a responsibility at Agarath,’ Rourke said as levelly as he could. ‘To protect those worlds, those people. I put that first.’

The blow took him across the face, a backhanded strike that was enough to stagger him but not drop him. He knew Torkath had pulled his blow, and still, in many ways, it stung more than a serious attempt to wound could have.

‘You broke your oath,’ Torkath rumbled, ‘and you slew my brother. You must answer for that. Answer to me.’

Logan had jerked forward, but Torkath’s two guards grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him back against the wall. Rourke again waved a hand at him to stay put, to not fight, even as he rubbed his cheek and tried to stop his head from spinning.

Unsteady, he looked up at Torkath. ‘I’m not going to fight you.’

‘Not here!’ Torkath spat. ‘Not in this pathetic back alley. In the Great Hall. My blade against yours. You may answer for your crimes against my House, or you may defend them.’

Groaning, Rourke straightened and shook his head. ‘I’m under no obligation to meet your challenge.’

Torkath’s nostrils flared. ‘You came here for diplomacy, Matthew. You would stain yourself, the ranking Starfleet representative, as a coward?’

‘A coward for rejecting the premise of your challenge? If I stand in front of the High Council and tell them how Dakor and those who followed him defied Martok’s orders, attacked the Star Empire against the wishes of High Command, attacked Starfleet and Romulans alike while they fought each other in an underhanded ambush, and was killed because he held a Federation diplomat – not a Starfleet officer, a non-combatant – as a body shield of a hostage to cover his escape, then what will they say?’ Torkath said nothing, and Rourke took his own step back forward to close the distance. ‘They’ll brand your brother a coward and a traitor. My oaths to you did not stop me from killing him, Torkath. They did stop me from letting his name, your name, your family’s name fall to dishonour by reporting to the Empire exactly how he died.’

For a moment, Torkath faltered. Rourke thought he had him, then, sharply, he shook his head. ‘Then here,’ he said in a rush. ‘We settle this here.’

‘Torkath, this isn’t about your honour or about oaths,’ Rourke said in a rush, raising his hands placatingly – defensively. ‘This is about you and me.’

‘You’re right,’ said Torkath, and hit him again.

This one wasn’t a backhand, wasn’t a blow intended as more of a statement than an attack. This was a solid punch to the jaw that sent Rourke flying, and even as he hit the floor, he heard the sound of Logan again struggling against Torkath’s guards.

Rourke rolled to his hands and knees, groaning. When he spat on the floor, blood came out, and he was in no rush to rise.

Torkath was stood over him, fist clenched, quivering with anger. ‘If this is about you and me, Matthew, then fight me.’

‘No,’ Rourke groaned, looking up.

The next blow was a kick to the ribs. Rourke felt something crunch as he was knocked back down.

‘Martok’s gone!’ Torkath roared, still over him. ‘How long do you think peace with the Empire will last without him? You’ll have to face me on the battlefield sooner or later!’

‘Then I choose later.’ Rourke pushed himself up to a kneeling position, and still did not stand. His side throbbed. There was likely a broken rib, and spots danced in front of his eyes. ‘I’m not fighting you here, Torkath.’

Heavy hands grabbed him by the front of his jacket, hauled him up before slamming him down on the table in the meeting room. ‘You were my brother,’ Torkath snarled, the two of them nose to nose. ‘And for that I won’t cut you down when you’re defenceless. Fight me.’

‘It’s not out of honour that you won’t cut me down,’ said Rourke through gritted teeth. ‘You just need this to be a fight so you can forget everything we went through -’

‘You’re the one who forgot! You’re the one who broke your word!’

‘…because you’re not here for your family, you’re not here for oaths,’ Rourke tried to continue, his ribs feeling like they were on fire. ‘You’re here because I didn’t put you first, like you put me first, and you’ve got to really hate me before you can bring yourself to murder me.’ His grip on Torkath’s forearm tightened, but it became a clasp, not a struggle, as he looked him in the eye. ‘And I’m sorry, Torkath. I’m sorry about Dakor. I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry I failed you.’

Torkath’s grip tightened. For a moment, Rourke thought he’d horribly miscalculated. Then the Klingon hauled him up before throwing him down on the floor, and the furious roar that came from his throat sounded torn, ruptured. Rourke’s head spun as he fell again, and he didn’t even try to get up. Still, Torkath stood over him, chest heaving.

‘Before this is over, you’ll fight me, Matthew. Before this is over, I will burn your heart and give you no choice but to take up your blade. Before this is over, we will fight and rip the stars asunder with flame and fury.’ Torkath’s voice was ragged, his breathing ragged, but he gave Rourke not another look as he turned away, uttered a quick command to his guards for them to release Logan, and all three of them left.

Rourke rolled onto his back, groaning, and shut his eyes as black spots again sparked over them.

‘Sir!’ Logan was on one knee beside him in an instant. His lip was bloodied, his cheek cut, and there would likely be bruises soon. ‘You alright?’

‘I can walk.’ Rourke sat up only gingerly and still whimpered. ‘I don’t reckon Fowkan is gonna be here with intel.’

‘I don’t think so either, sir. We should get back to Lord Koloth’s residence.’ Logan helped him up with surprising care, and Rourke’s breath almost caught as he realised just how strong the former Borg was. The two warriors had certainly needed to take him by surprise to keep him on the sidelines. ‘And, sir?’

‘Yes, Commander?’

‘Please tell me there ain’t no more old friends of yours coming to help this situation? Only Commander Kharth will skin me if I screw up this bodyguarding.’

The laugh hurt inside as well as outside. ‘No, Commander,’ said Rourke ruefully. ‘No, I think I’m all out of friends on this side of the border.’

‘We’ve picked up what we’re confident is the warp trail of the Rotarran,’ said Airex, reading off a PADD as he reported to Valance in her ready room. ‘So far, the route hasn’t deviated either from the registered flight plan or what the investigations the High Command issued turned up.’

‘All that means,’ mused Valance, sat behind her desk, ‘is that we haven’t yet found where something went wrong. I assume you’ve analysed the warp trail.’

‘Thawn and I have been over it. There’s nothing about our readings which suggest there was anything unusual about the Rotarran. But that gives us insights into their warp engines, at best, and the trail is quite degraded by now. I’d be surprised, at this point, if we found anything the Klingons didn’t.’

‘Assuming they were looking very closely,’ Valance pointed out. ‘Thank you, Commander.’

He nodded, but didn’t leave, pausing for a moment to drum his fingers on the edge of the PADD. ‘Thawn seems to be settling in well in engineering. I think she’ll thrive in a position with less direct oversight. And I think it’ll be good for her.’

‘This is only temporary,’ Valance reminded him. ‘The next time Endeavour is deployed, Perrek will be back. And I admit, I have concerns about that lack of oversight. For all of Lieutenant Thawn’s strengths, initiative isn’t one of them.’

‘Then perhaps this is a chance for her to learn.’

I know that, Valance thought with uncharitable irritation which she bit back. Airex didn’t deserve that from her. ‘You’ve shown more interest lately in the development of our younger senior staff.’

He looked a little bashful. ‘It’s something I neglected in the past. And it’s all the more important as the senior science officer when it comes to our officers with a less… assertive career path.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘You think Kharth and I neglect the likes of Thawn?’

‘I think that I have insights into different ways of being an officer,’ Airex said diplomatically. ‘Just as the two of you have different ideas to each other.’

Valance sighed and rubbed her temple with a long finger. ‘Who the hell on this ship is going to be the fluffy one.’

It was Airex’s turn to frown. ‘Did we ever have a fluffy one?’

‘Captain – Commodore Rourke -’

‘Is brash. Bold. Affable, but not approachable.’ Still frowning, Airex shook his head. ‘Rourke’s geniality is all surface-level. He’s an excellent manager of people, but it’s exactly that – he manages them. Just because he can have a beer with his subordinates doesn’t mean he’s one of them. And it’s not just because of rank. You’ve seen how he changes masks more often than he changes socks. Those masks help him handle his crew, but they don’t forge sincere and close bonds.’

‘The crew all liked and respected him -’

‘I’m not saying they didn’t. But they didn’t bear their souls to him. Bring personal problems to him. Get much direct mentoring from him. Don’t misunderstand me, Karana, I’m not criticising the man. But you seem to have put him on a pedestal somewhere along the way.’

‘Rourke? On a pedestal?’ Valance made a face, looking out the window. Stars streaked past on their endless hunt to a prize she wasn’t sure they’d find, or a truth she wasn’t sure they’d want. ‘Or perhaps I’m throwing myself in the ditch so when I look up, I see him.’

‘The crew like and respect you. I know you think of yourself as distant, emotionally detached. I know you worry if you can connect with your crew. Perhaps you do have fewer superficial socialisations with them than Rourke did. But if you have a connection with one of them, it has something Rourke often lacks: sincerity.’ Airex shrugged. ‘It’s not better or worse. It’s different. You need to give yourself a little grace.’

She didn’t have an argument, but did give an apprehensive grimace when she looked back at him. ‘I worry who there is in the command staff they can turn to. It’s not like Kharth is any warmer than me.’

‘First, you should give your crew a little more credit. They’re more observant than you think. I think you both do, yes, intimidate them a bit. But I think they all know that you’re committed to them. That you might seem detached, but you’ll put everything on the line for them. That Kharth might seem bitter, but she’s fiercely loyal.’ He shook his head. ‘The chain of command won’t break down just because the CO or XO doesn’t have a beer with the crew. Besides, you have Logan for that.’

Valance winced. ‘The ex-Borg.’

‘A year ago, I’d have worried about that, too. Right now? Half of them are ex-Borg.’

‘It’s different.’

‘It is,’ Airex allowed. ‘But it’s similar enough.’

‘We’ll see.’ She glanced away, and he looked like he knew this was her ending the conversation without having to win or concede the argument. ‘This is all something we can worry about in the future, anyway. In the meantime, we need to get back to the hunt.’

The hunt dragged on for days more. Valance found herself teetering on the edge of tension as Airex insisted that a thorough enough scan to pick up anything in Martok’s warp trail the Empire wouldn’t have detected necessitated a slower pace. Thawn, in turn, argued that the longer they waited, the more the warp trail would dissipate. It was unusual for Thawn to be the one to urge haste, but Valance knew this came not from a sudden forthrightness on her behalf, but a much more common pessimism.

And still, as Airex pulled long shifts and dragged Turak into the stellar sciences labs for analysis on top of analysis, as every inch of the ship’s mighty scientific facilities were brought to bear to solve a mystery that might change the motion of the galaxy, they found nothing.

At length, stood at his post on the bridge, Airex sagged against the console, sighed, and said, ‘We’re reaching the end of the detectable warp trail, Captain. This matches up with the Empire’s records on where the Rotarran was last sighted.’

Valance, sat in the command chair, looked back at him. ‘Has the trail degraded beyond detection? Or does it just stop?’

‘A rapid degradation,’ said Airex. ‘Which matches up with a sudden deceleration. The subspace disruptions are much weaker at a lower warp speed.’

‘So the Rotarran could have dropped to Warp 4,’ said Valance, ‘and effectively vanished.’

‘Or cloaked,’ said Kharth, jaw tight. ‘We’re dealing with a ship literally designed to disappear.’

Valance rubbed her temples. ‘Why would they slow down? Or cloak.’

‘Could be any reason -’

‘I’m running through options, Commander,’ she told Kharth, sharper than she meant to. ‘Not being fatalistic. You’re heading to your destination. It’s not time-sensitive. Suddenly, you slow down. Why would that happen?’

Kharth looked rather irate at being snapped at on the bridge, but huffed and thought. ‘Again, to cloak. You cloak to not be detected. Perhaps they spotted a threat.’

‘You’d slow down to change heading,’ Airex offered.

‘We can’t possibly know if Martok had plans besides going to Boreth. The monks have insisted they know nothing – let’s not press them unless we have to. So let’s assume for the moment that something changed. They detected something that made them investigate or try to shroud themselves.’

‘The route has been picked over extensively by the Empire,’ said Airex, ‘and there’s been no sign of any combat engagement. It wouldn’t take our sensors to pick something like that up.’

‘So if they detected a threat and tried to avoid it,’ said Valance, ‘then they didn’t get caught. Something else happened. Or, again, they detected something else of interest. What’s nearby, Airex?’

‘Nearby is going to have to do some generous work,’ the science officer mused as he studied his sensors. ‘No stellar phenomena, nothing you’d want to use to lose a tail. But there is a star system a few light-years out. Uninhabited.’

‘That’s not exactly close enough to run to,’ said Kharth.

‘But cloaking and hiding in the gravity well of a moon is still a valid tactic. Or, again, maybe something caught their attention,’ said Valance. ‘Let’s take a look.’

Even Endeavour took some hours to cross the distance, and it felt even longer before they eased out of warp at the periphery of the gravitic pull of a class G star and its seven planets of varying composition but consistent degrees of lifelessness.

‘The Empire did investigate this system,’ said Airex, ‘but this is also the exact circumstances where our superior sensors may come into play.’

Valance turned to Kharth, knowing she needed to mollify her first officer a little. ‘Let’s assume the tactical scenario. You’re commanding a cloaked ship. You’re trying to lose a tail, or wait for a threat to pass, and you come to this system. Where do you go?’

Kharth took a moment, studying the scans as they came in, examining the composition of the system. At length, she tapped on her armrest display the dot of the fourth planet. ‘That gas giant. An atmosphere to hide in, a strong gravity to disrupt sensors, a lot of moons to play hide-and-seek in.’

‘Agreed,’ said Valance. ‘Take us in, Ensign Fox.’

‘I’m comparing our findings to the Klingon scans of the system as we go,’ said Airex, the deck humming underneath as Endeavour manoeuvred through the greater gravitic pull of the nearby sun instead of the smoothness of deep space. ‘It’s not giving us any clues, but there is a plethora of unrelated readings we’re picking up that they didn’t.’

Kharth frowned at him. ‘We’re not here to marvel at the scientific delights of this system, Commander.’

‘No,’ said Airex, gentler than Valance would have been, ‘but now I know what we’re seeing that the Empire didn’t. This gives us a much better estimation of the limitations of their records.’

Valance sighed, leaning back in the command chair. ‘We have extensive records about the Rotarran and her construction. We should be able to calibrate our sensors to detect the tritanium or duranium alloys or the polymers in the hull?’

‘If it’s there to be found.’

They settled in orbit of the gas giant, and still, hours passed with little to show for their efforts. Valance was about to give up when Kharth sat up.

‘We’re still looking for signs that the Rotarran’s here,’ she said. ‘Not for signs she came this way. What about plasma trails from the engines? Energy emissions from their coolant systems?’

Airex grimaced. ‘We’d need a very focused sweep to even hope to detect that.’

‘So we need to know where to start. We’re already wondering where they would hide.’ Kharth stabbed a command on the armrest controls, and the viewscreen’s display of the system map zoomed in beyond just the orbit of the gas giant, and towards one specific moon. ‘Moon 6. Atmosphere of primarily ionised hydrogen and helium that scatters and absorbs sensor signals. Particularly reduces the effectiveness of the sort of long-range sensors we know the Klingons aren’t as good at building as us. Not just the sort of place a search party might miss a clue in – a good place to hide from Klingon ships in.’

Airex was already at work, and at his instruction, Fox brought Endeavour closer to the moon. Valance was settled down to wait another while as he studied the area, but a mere ten minutes had passed before there was a promising chirrup from his sensors. ‘Hello…’

‘Commander?’

‘I’m picking up a very faint localised energy field in the moon’s atmosphere that shouldn’t be there. It would match the interaction of Klingon manoeuvring thrusters with the ionised gases. But…’ Airex winced. ‘It’s incredibly faint. I don’t just mean degraded, I mean that I’m not convinced this is from the engines of a bird-of-prey.’

‘Follow the trail anyway,’ said Valance.

‘On it. It’s a downward trajectory… Captain, this looks like something landed on the surface of the moon. Or crashed. I’m not convinced it’s the Rotarran.’

‘A shuttle?’

‘Could be.’ He looked up. ‘Recommend we take the Excalibur down to find out.’

Valance nodded. ‘Take point, Airex. Fox, you’re flying.’ She considered sending Kharth, then considered how depleted her bridge crew was, and remained unsure who she could even send along with Airex. ‘Do you want an engineer?’ she asked him.

She watched his eyes flicker to Ops, consider and then reject taking Athaka, the last person on Endeavour’s bridge who could work magic with their sensors if they needed to. She knew he was considering asking for Thawn, and was surprised when he said, ‘I’ll take Seeley.’ At her look, he shrugged. ‘She knows hardware.’

‘Take Jain with you,’ Kharth said, clearly torn on her remaining on the bridge. ‘Just in case you find a shuttle full of pissed-off Klingons.’

We’ll have Yeoman Nestari pitching in on an away team at this rate, Valance thought, but nodded and let them work.

Excalibur was reported underway by Ensign Shiera, the Vulcan pilot who’d taken over helm from Fox, by the time Kharth shifted in her chair towards Valance and said, ‘You know we’re running on a lot of supposition here,’ in a low voice.

‘If this digs up nothing,’ Valance murmured in reply, ‘we’ll tear this system apart if we have to.’

‘We have literally no reason to suspect that the Rotarran came here except that it’s nearby.’

‘Nearby, and the sort of area where if there’s anything to be found, the Empire might not find it and we might.’ Valance still looked at her XO with a more permissive expression. ‘I know we’re out on a limb. But we have to find the truth.’

‘No,’ said Kharth. ‘We have to find Martok. Anything short of that, and we should be preparing for war.’

Valance didn’t know how to answer that, and didn’t try.

It took a while before she was granted a reprieve when Kally patched comms from the Excalibur through to the bridge.

‘We’ve found something, Captain,’ came Airex’s slightly excitable voice. ‘An escape pod hit the surface. It’s from the Rotarran.’

Valance sat up. ‘Life signs?’

‘None. Nor any indication of bodies aboard. We’re running scans from here and Seeley’s disembarked to take a look at the systems, extract anything from its records she can. Then we’re going to tractor it up. It’s utterly inhospitable here, Captain; she’s in an EV suit and anyone landing here wouldn’t have been better off than in space. Worse, with this atmospheric pressure.’

‘That sounds to me,’ mused Kharth, ‘like a decoy. Why else launch an empty escape pod?’

Valance wasn’t sure she disagreed, but the evidence that the Rotarran had been here, that Martok had been here, was enough to set her hearts thudding so fast she had to stay silent. They had to progress one step at a time now they had a solid lead. The time for intuition and experimentation was over.

It was another twenty minutes before the Excalibur reported back in. ‘We’re returning now, Captain,’ came Airex’s voice. ‘We’ll tractor the pod up with us. Nothing striking on the initial data, but we’re transmitting it to you now, and we can go over it when back aboard.’

‘Understood, Commander. Good work. See you in five.’

Still, Valance stood and could not help but pace as she waited, as she watched the greyish hues of the thick atmosphere of the moon on the viewscreen. Even when the tiny dot of the Excalibur appeared and grew, even when she could see the shine of the tractor beam as it hauled its finding up, she could not relax.

‘It seems your theory has a good chance of bring right,’ she told Kharth at length, just to have something to say. ‘Maybe they ran here, tried to hide here, dumped a decoy.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Kharth, now considerably more conservative. ‘We’ll have to see. I don’t-’

There was a sharp blat from Tactical, and Lieutenant Qadir sat up. ‘Captain!’ His voice was urgent. ‘Klingon bird-of-prey decloaking off our port side!’

For one irrational second, Valance thought it might be the Rotarran. That Martok might hail them, pop up on their screen and say, ‘you found me, well done.’ That they’d won. That all was well.

Then the viewscreen was filled with the streak of torpedoes thundering towards Endeavour, and the disruptor cannons taking the unshielded Excalibur in the side.

Commander Logan had looked like he’d spit acid when Hale said where she wanted to go, but Koloth had promised some of his own guards, and reminded them that there was no way their target would end up in the truly seedy parts of the capital. Nevertheless, the former Borg officer kept close to Hale as the procession headed through the leisure district, which for Qo’noS meant less of neon lights and nightclubs, and more of bars with revelry spilling into the street, fighting arenas, and eateries on balconies overlooking the boisterous hustle and bustle of the district.

‘Don’t worry, Commander,’ Hale said to Logan in a light, reassuring tone. ‘This isn’t where the fringers of society come for trouble. This is where the people who work in and around the Great Hall come to unwind. We’re not on the Freecloud of Qo’noS. This is the Paris’s Bastille district of Qo’noS. If we were on Earth, this would be staff from the Palais schmoozing with journalists.’

Forty feet away, there was a loud shout as two Klingons threw a third out of a bar and into the street. Logan squinted at them. ‘It all seems kinda… contained.’ He nodded at the ejected warrior, who was scrambling drunkenly to his feet. ‘That guy’s armour could buy a whole street in the market the commodore took me to.’

‘Rich and powerful Klingons are still Klingons. But this is also a performance.’ She looked him up and down. ‘I’m sorry, Commander. Either your job’s made very hard by one of us taking you somewhere truly dangerous, or you’re only babysitting. I know you’d rather be with your ship.’

‘I’d rather be where I can help, ma’am.’

There was a tension to his shoulders she couldn’t place. She hadn’t granted herself more than the faintest quirk of the eyebrow when she’d seen Captain Valance request this former Borg intelligence officer be assigned to her ship. But she didn’t involve herself in such affairs. ‘You know,’ Hale said carefully, ‘you won’t be scapegoated for Commodore Rourke getting himself outwitted by an enemy and ambushed.’

‘Kind of you to say, ma’am.’ Logan’s voice was crisp, polite. ‘But if things go wrong here, the Federation’s gotta explain how they lost an ambassador and flag officer in the heart of the Empire. If they don’t want to blame the Empire, I reckon I’m front and centre of the firing line.’

She wanted to argue. Insist things were changing. Insist that Starfleet’s relationship with former drones was changing now that those former drones were everyone’s offspring, siblings. But it wasn’t as simple as that, and none of them bore implants on their face to remind people every day of what they had been, and what had happened to them.

It would be, she thought grimly, very Federation to forget about what was no longer in front of them, and to resent any reminder of it.

Instead she said nothing, and within moments they were at the bar she’d been directed to. Braziers blazed beside the main doors, and when she stepped in, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Grey and overcast as it was outside, with drizzle staining her hood and mantle, inside, the only light came from flames of fireplaces and sconces. Long wooden tables stretched the length of the bar, crowded with warriors. Targh skins draped the walls, tapestries depicted the heroism of bygone ages, and while there was staff and a bar and coin being exchanged for drinks and food, the bar wanted for all the world to be the great hall of a great house.

It was successfully spring such a thing, at least. The central table, the biggest, had a huge chair at the head of it, wooden and broad and with a husky warrior seated there, features highlighted by the flames nearby. Hale recognised him at once and advanced, trusting her Klingon guards to read how welcome and safe this was, trusting Logan to stay close.

Their arrival wasn’t unnoticed, setting a rumble through the crowd. By the time they approached the head of the table, eyes were fixed on them, including the warrior seated there, who clasped his tankard of bloodwine firmly and waited.

Hale pulled her hood back. ‘Drex, son of Martok. I’m Ambassador Hale. I’d like for us to speak.’

The crowd did a poor job of pretending they weren’t waiting, weren’t tense. Drex looked like Martok might have a quarter-century ago if he were less battle-hardened, less worn. There was a softness to his hands, a roundness to his face. Hale knew he’d spent long years here on Qo’noS, circling the periphery of politics, not entrenched in the hardships of the Empire. But with his father gone, she could not ignore his importance.

There was a beat. Then Drex uttered a harsh instruction at a warrior seated at the table, and they abandoned their spot. Drex extended a hand. ‘Sit, Ambassador.’ As she did so, he looked up at Logan. He’d pulled his hood low, enough to hide his implant, and remained a step beside Hale. ‘Does this one sit? Talk? Or is he your dog?’

‘Commander Logan is fine.’ The last thing she needed was to derail this discussion with Logan’s identity. ‘Thank you for making time for me.’

‘Time.’ Drex grunted and shook his head. ‘Barkeep! More bloodwine for the ambassador! And her dog!’

‘There’s no need for that, Lord Drex,’ said Hale with polite amiability.

‘Pah. There’s always a need for more bloodwine.’

‘I meant being rude to my officer.’

Drex’s lip curled, and his palm slapped down on the table. He leaned forward. ‘What do you want, Ambassador?’

He was already, she realised, exceedingly drunk. She kept her smile intact. ‘Your father is missing.’

‘My father is dead,’ drawled Drex.

‘Do you know this? Or merely believe it?’

Drex rolled his eyes. ‘For all my father has given this Empire, nothing short of the gates of Sto-Vo-Kor would keep him from his duty.’ There was another faint curl of the lip there. ‘Why, you think he abandoned us?’

‘If he is dead, then how? Accident? Foul play?’

Drex shrugged. ‘The High Council can tie themselves in knots about it. I move forward.’

I can see that. Hale smothered the thought as the tray of tankards came out, one placed before Drex, one before her, and one at the edge of the table.

‘I move forward,’ Drex repeated, ‘as should you, Ambassador. The old ways are gone. Let us toast my father, and the future!’ He hefted his tankard. She hesitated before grabbing hers, and Drex looked coldly towards Logan. ‘You won’t toast my father, Commander?’

A beat. Hale gave Logan the faintest nod, and he reached for the tankard.

Drex beamed. ‘To my father. May he feast well in Sto-Vo-Kor.’ He drank. And drank. And drank.

Hale knew she was being challenged, and she knew it would be ridiculous to even attempt to meet it. She settled for a genteel sip of the fortified wine, knowing that more than a few gulps would be enough to dull her senses, and still as she lowered the tankard, there was a hum of a jeer from the gathered, onlooking Klingons, unimpressed at her restraint.

After downing over half the tankard, Drex lowered his with a satisfied grin – then looked past her, and frowned. Seconds later, Logan leaned forward, flipped his drained tankard upside down, and set it heavily on the table before them.

‘That were pretty good,’ the commander drawled. ‘S’got a kick. Better ‘n what I found on the fringes these few years.’

Hale tried to not hold her breath. In the wrong mood, Drex would want to be dissatisfied either way – angry she’d not drunk, angry Logan had outdrunk him. She tended to tackle such games by refusing to play them, rejecting the standards others tried to make her meet and doing so with grace. If this worked, it would make her life easier. If.

Then Drex kicked out another stool across from Hale and laughed. ‘Sit, Commander! I had not known the Federation brought such doubty companions.’ At the faintest nod from Hale, Logan did so, keeping his hood up, and Drex turned back to her. ‘I don’t know what you want, Ambassador. But I have no special knowledge of my father’s fate.’

‘There were many accusations in the Great Hall when we arrived,’ said Hale, leaning in. ‘Spoken and unspoken. Suggesting there was foul play, suggesting he was murdered. Do you have any insights on that?’

‘The Mo’Kai have spent years trying to kill him,’ said Drex with a shrug. ‘Look to L’kor.’

‘L’kor has only been helpful. I know this could be trickery, but aside from her reputation, nothing points at her.’

Drex shrugged again. Then he paused, picked up Hale’s tankard, and set it before Logan. ‘If you won’t appreciate it, Ambassador, your man might as well. As for L’kor… even if she didn’t kill my father, she has dozens of followers who wouldn’t need to be ordered to do it. Or it was an accident. I don’t know.’

‘But if he is gone, you are the head of your house. The House of Drex.’

He hissed. ‘I could slay a thousand foes in a single day, and for a hundred years this will still be the House of Martok.’

‘Your father’s shadow looms large,’ Hale agreed. ‘Large enough that the High Council doesn’t know if they’re planning for a future or reeling from a blow.’

‘And you think that I could steer them?’ Drex scoffed. ‘You come here with guards from Koloth. Let Koloth rule; he wants to.’

‘I’m not asking you to rule, Drex, son of Martok. But you have your father’s name. People can listen to you. This is a time of chaos; a steady voice with a clear purpose, a voice people would hear, could make the difference between disaster or survival.’

‘Disaster or survival – you sound like Toral, now.’

Hale cocked her head. ‘Do I?’

‘My father was favouring him by the end,’ Drex grumbled. ‘He was a politician, of course – both of them! It suited my father to repatriate the House of Duras, ancient and respectable – before Toral’s father, of course. But it showed a path where those who wronged the Empire could return. And what was there for him to not love about Toral? Bold, warrior Toral.’ He grabbed his tankard and drank with some vitriol.

‘I didn’t know they were close. I thought Toral disagreed with… most of your father’s policies, to be honest.’

‘What are policies to the shared hearts of warriors?’ Drex sneered. ‘Make no mistake. He may be a firebrand. But he is listened to.’

‘He does think L’kor killed Martok.’

‘She probably did.’

‘And yet you sit here with your retinue and drink, though you think your father probably murdered?’

Drex ignored that, his eyes back on Logan. ‘You stay hooded.’

Logan didn’t move. ‘I do.’

‘Cowards hide their face.’

Don’t play that game, Hale thought. But still something struck home, and Logan pulled the hood back. Firelight reflected off the implant. In the hush that followed, Logan reached for Hale’s near-untouched tankard of bloodwine, and drank deeply.

Drex laughed. ‘Ah, this is how you make humans fun!’ he boomed. ‘Perhaps more of you will be after the last attack?’ He lifted an arm to prop his elbow on the table. ‘Come, Commander, I always wanted to test my might against a Borg.’

Logan’s gaze flickered to Hale. Exhausted, she gave a faint nod. They would get nothing else useful out of Drex.

‘What did you want out of that, ma’am?’ Logan asked once they were back out in the drizzle-stained streets some hours later. He looked none the worse for wear for the copious amount of bloodwine he’d drunk for the Klingons’ amusement.

Hale made a frustrated noise. ‘The High Council is a mess. Most of them are chasing their own tails or going to ground, returning to their homeworlds and leaving paltry representatives or sending the bulk of their retinue ahead, ready to run at any moment. Others, like L’kor, smell blood in the water and want to exploit it. The likes of Toral think this is a time to air old grievances. And Koloth is too friendly to the Federation for the conservatives to like him. I had hoped that the son of Martok might bolster Koloth or at least provide a voice people would listen to. They don’t have to come together to love us. But already reports are coming in of Great Houses looking to move against each other, take advantage of the lack of leadership from Qo’noS to return to old fights. If the High Council doesn’t say something soon, I worry the Empire will degenerate into factionalism.’

Logan glanced over his shoulder at the bar they were leaving far behind. ‘An’ you thought that guy was gonna unite them?’

She sighed. ‘I did not know how much Drex, son of Martok, lived up to his reputation. I’d hoped he was a little less Prince Hal in Act 1.’ At Logan’s confused expression, she sighed. ‘Not a Shakespeare man, Commander?’

‘I know, like. Romeo and Juliet. Hamlet. “Is that a dagger I see before me,” stuff.’

That’s Macbeth, Hale thought, and decided to not be a pedant. ‘Henry IV, Part 1. Prince Hal is the heir to the throne and he’s a wastrel and layabout who eventually reforms, defeats the rebellion, ascends to the throne.’

‘Right. Drex hasn’t hit the part where he stops being in his father’s shadow, that sort of thing? He seemed more interested in being mad that Martok likes Toral, despite being his political opponent, than being his own guy or proving his old man wrong.’

‘And in Toral we have our Hotspur. So who knows, Commander. Maybe in this chaos, Drex will wake up, realise that he needs to be a better man, and be the leader everyone needs him to be.’

‘You don’t sound optimistic.’

‘I’m not.’ Hale sighed. ‘I think we have to face facts, Commander. Unless Endeavour can pull off a miracle, Martok is gone, and there’s nobody who can carry on his vision for the Empire.’

Logan winced, and dropped his voice as they continued their walk through these streets of the young and rich and influential Klingons blowing off steam far from the halls of power. ‘If the opposing vision for the Empire is hating us and going back to old ways of conquest… is it really that bad if instead they fail to get their shit together and collapse into that factionalism you were worrying about?’

‘That might be the realpolitik of the situation,’ said Hale sadly. ‘But nowhere in my heart can I hope for our oldest allies to collapse into civil war. Even if the alternative is worse for us.’

‘And I guess,’ rumbled Logan, ‘it’d be naive to assume a Klingon civil war right on our doorstep didn’t become a real problem for us real fast. We better hope like hell Endeavour finds something.’

Thawn knew they were in orbit of a planetoid, knew they had taken one of her engineering department on an away mission, knew they were deep in the throes of an investigation, and she hated it. She was used to being on the bridge when this happened, or on the away team itself; in the heart of the action, one way or another. Instead she was in Main Engineering, where her job was to monitor the power grid as their mighty ship ran scan after scan.

‘If they’ve not found anything through sensors,’ she mused, looking at the bridge feed on one of the auxiliary consoles, ‘then either nothing’s there, or we need to compensate for interference. We could use the Empire’s own data to filter out noise -’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Forrester’s voice was clipped and not a little pointed.

Thawn turned away from the console, abashed and trying not to be. Forrester wasn’t even the official deputy chief; that she was the ranking member of the department left with Perrek gone was more an indictment of how depleted the ranks were than a recommendation of her talents. And still she felt she had the authority to criticise her acting chief, however implicitly. And still Thawn felt the judgement sting.

Nevertheless, Thawn was the Chief Engineer. ‘Do you have any recommendations, Lieutenant?’ she asked sharply. Do you think there’s anything we should be doing while we twiddle our thumbs? Or are you just getting at me?

Forrester did hesitate at that. ‘We can use this time to get ahead on the maintenance operations.’

‘No,’ said Thawn. This was first a knee-jerk reaction, rejecting anything that Forrester might have suggested. But after a beat, a new thought occurred. ‘We make sure our power allocation is efficient. If something goes wrong while we’re piping reserves into our sensor array, we need to stay agile in response.’

It was almost a spurious instruction, borderline superfluous work. But it meant that when weapons fire hit Endeavour some ten minutes later, the ship was primed to respond.

‘It’s a Mat’Ha-class bird-of-prey!’ Qadir called, his voice holding the edge of apprehension that reminded Valance he hadn’t yet manned Endeavour’s bridge in a direct confrontation before. ‘They’ve opened fire on both us and the Excalibur.’

But then, neither had she since being made captain. ‘Red alert!’ Valance called.

At Comms, Kally turned to face her. ‘They’re hailing us.’

‘On screen.’

The Excalibur had been hit hard by the initial volley, and Valance’s throat tightened as the sight of it disappeared on the screen to show, instead, the bridge of a Klingon ship. She had not expected to recognise the face before her.

‘Torkath?’

‘Captain Valance.’ Torkath, son of K’Var, looked sombre. ‘I regret it’s come to this. I respect you greatly. I will make today a good day for you to die.’

‘What are you doing? We’ve just found an escape pod from the Rotarran, we’re trying to find the truth of what happened to Martok -’

‘Have you found Martok himself?’

‘No -’

‘Then Martok is gone.’ Somehow, he sounded regretful, even though he and his ship had burst from nowhere to open fire. ‘Do not expect this peace to last. And when the banners are raised, Matthew Rourke will have no choice but to face me once I have struck at his family – just as he struck at mine.’

Beside her, Valance heard Kharth utter a low, Romulan oath, but she kept her gaze on Torkath as she said, ‘The Empire’s on the precipice of disaster, and you’re happy to usher that along in the name of vengeance?’

Torkath gave a short, sharp nod as if this was all self-evident. ‘Let us see what you do for family, Captain Valance. Qapla’.’

The viewscreen went dead, but less than a heartbeat later, Qadir called out, ‘Bird-of-prey is locking on to the Excalibur again!’

‘Put us in between them!’ Kharth barked at Shiera at Helm, and the deck surged as the mighty ship tried to make herself a barrier between the embattled shuttle and the bird-of-prey bearing down on them.

But it was too little, too late. The Excalibur danced on the viewscreen, Ensign Fox banking her into evasive maneouvres. It was enough to avoid most of the bird-of-prey’s weapons fire – but not all. Disruptor fire blossomed off the shields before collapsing them, and as Valance watched, the blasts thudded into the hull.

Even as Endeavour was finally in position, facing off against the bird-of-prey, Valance knew it might not be enough.

Athaka confirmed this a moment later, his voice an anxious higher pitch. ‘Captain, the Excalibur’s hull has been breached and – there’s a power surge in the starboard engine!’

If that engine overloaded, that was the away team gone. Valance knew she only had seconds, but it felt like an ice age before finally she found the words. ‘Lock on transporters, Athaka – Qadir, lower shields once he’s ready to beam, then raise them at once. Quickly, people!’

Her orders weren’t even over before Kharth had smacked a control on her seat’s armrest. ‘All hands, brace for impact.’

‘I’ve got a lock!’

‘Lowering shields!’

‘Transporting now -’

And Endeavour bucked hard enough to send Valance flying to the deck as a fresh volley of torpedoes from Torkath’s ship hammered into their unshielded hull.

Thawn was accustomed to needing to rally after the ship had taken a serious hit. But normally, all she had to do was get to her feet and read the damage readout on her console, everything consolidated in one place. Now she was the one who had to do that consolidating.

She hauled herself back to her feet and clutched the edge of the pool table console. All around, Main Engineering was a cacophony of alarms and flashing lights. A mere glance at the main display told her of the damage to Endeavour’s hull, but there was more. Countless more problems she was going to have to absorb in just a heartbeat.

‘Forrester, status on power regulation! Vienen, systems update!’ Around her came the flurry of voices, engineers flying into action to understand how grievously wounded their ship was.

Within seconds that felt like lifetimes, Thawn was hammering a button to open a comms channel. ‘Engineering to Bridge! We’ve got hull breaches on decks eight and nine, I’m having to reroute emergency power to keep the shields back up, and the port manoeuvring thruster is only operating at about seventy-eight percent! I need you to not get us hit if we’re going to stay combat active!’

‘Understood, Engineering.’ Valance’s voice was clipped, distracted. ‘Can you repair that thruster?’

‘Sending teams now,’ said Thawn, hitting the command controls as she did so to deploy one of the damage repair teams. ‘I’m rerouting available power to the shields but one wrong hit and they collapse.’

Kharth answered next. ‘How are we supposed to avoid getting hammered on the shields if a thruster’s out?’

Tension wrapped around Thawn’s throat; Kharth was right. That was an untenable mixture. But she had no answers for her, and it took a heartbeat before she realised it wasn’t her job to. ‘That’s a tactical issue, Commander. I’ll get us fit as quickly as I can, but that’s my diagnosis. Engineering out.’

It wasn’t running away from an argument with her superiors. It was focusing on her job. Thawn rounded on Forrester. ‘I need you to draw power from everything to keep our shields up while the repair team gets to the thruster.’

‘Emergency power is going everywhere,’ said Forrester, jaw tight as Thawn fairly flew to the console beside her to read the deeply unwelcome feed. ‘We’ve got emergency forcefields up -’

‘Evacuate and seal off those sections,’ said Thawn sharply. ‘Lock them off, preserve power. In fact, redirect all personnel not at battle stations to emergency shelter locations and cut off power to those non-essential sections.’

‘That’s not a lot of power to free up.’

‘Athaka can make a miracle with a micron,’ said Thawn, her faith in her assistant surprising even her. ‘This is about getting us breathing room while shields recharge and we repair that thruster.’ She might not have been the best person for instantly figuring out which conduits to repair or how long the work on the thruster would take. But she knew exactly where to reroute power, knew exactly how to trim percentages off here and there. Forrester could tell her what the systems were doing, how badly Endeavour was bleeding, what she needed. Thawn knew exactly where the margins were, and how to play them.

‘Right,’ said Forrester, breathless from the urgency. ‘Evacuating personnel now.’

It wasn’t a miracle. It was a margin. But it would have to do.

‘Captain – Chief Zharek confirms the away team are all aboard and accounted for.’

It was a small aside from Kally, and not the most important thing happening right then. But since the Excalibur had exploded into a fireball and the bridge had been consumed with the ravages of combat, Valance had felt a knot somewhere deep in her tighten with the uncertainty. She’d just thrown her ship into a crucible to save them. It couldn’t be for nothing.

And now she had to make sure nobody died to save them. ‘Shiera, hit full speed and try to get some distance. Use the gravity of the moon to boost us. We can’t dodge and they’ll follow, but we can make them chase.’

Kharth rounded on Qadir. ‘Lock on them with aft torpedoes and fire intermittently; let’s force them into manoeuvres if they’re going to follow.’ The bird-of-prey was faster than them, but with the right burst of speed, they could get some distance for a breather.

Endeavour’s deck rumbled as Shiera pushed them faster, the ship hurtling forwards with her mighty engines to propel them away from the fight. Valance nodded with satisfaction as she saw the spray of torpedoes from their aft force Torkath’s ship to stage only a staggered hunt, forced to swerve to avoid taking a hit. Disruptor fire came back in response, and with their thrusters damaged, Shiera couldn’t avoid it. Shields stuttered – but held.

Kharth slid up beside Valance. ‘If we can get to warp, we can run completely.’

‘And lose all hope of getting that escape pod,’ Valance muttered.

‘Assuming it survive the Excalibur’s explosion. Or that Torkath won’t blow it up. Cover up the truth.’

‘He doesn’t need to be part of a plot against Martok to hate us. This is personal.’

‘Of course.’ Kharth managed to inject tremendous acid into a drawl. ‘Why wouldn’t they risk an entire treaty and the future of their Empire over a personal grievance against someone not even on this fucking ship?’

Valance heard the unspoken scoff of Klingons and chose to ignore it. She raised her voice. ‘Status on our repairs?’

‘Port thruster is up to ninety percent efficiency,’ Athaka said. ‘Lieutenant Thawn says that’s as much as she can get us at this point.’

Anything else would take major component replacement, Valance assumed. It was still not ideal. Ninety percent sounded good, but as a pilot she knew what a difference that ten percent could make.

She glanced at Kharth, grimaced, and nodded before looking forward. ‘Ensign Shiera, break us out of orbit. We’re going to make a run for it. We’re faster than them at warp.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Shiera in her clipped, Vulcan tones. ‘Moving to -’

‘Another bird-of-prey’s decloaking!’ Qadir’s shout cut through the optimism like a poisoned dagger. ‘They’re blocking our path and locking on weapons!’

‘Evasive action!’ Valance snapped, and grabbed her armrest as Endeavour swerved.

‘They anticipated an escape,’ Kharth growled. ‘Bastards.’

‘Lock on and fire all weapons,’ said Valance. ‘If we can stagger them, we can break through.’

But Qadir’s report moments later came with the exhausted sigh of a tactical officer who knew the force of their strike had been blunted by evasion and shields, and Valance thought her heart was going to settle into a fist of stone when yet another blip appeared on their sensors only seconds later. And another. And another.

‘Wow,’ said Kharth, dry and toneless. ‘They really hate us.’

‘Captain, the first and second birds-of-prey – Torkath’s ships – they’re breaking off!’

Valance rose to her feet, and watched as transponders on the three new Klingon ships send friendly IDs. More than that, IDs she recognised. Her jaw dropped. ‘Kally, hail the newcomers.’

Once again, she recognised the Klingon on the bridge before her. Once again, she hadn’t expected it. But this time, her heart soared with a relief she’d never thought she’d feel at the confirmed arrival of the House of A’trok. ‘Gov!’

Her half-brother wore a toothy, self-satisfied smile. ‘Karana. I hope you do not resent us denying you this battle.’

‘No, Gov, I’m not sorry you forced me to fight off two ships alone.’ She worked her jaw. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Our grandfather has seen fit to lend assistance to the House of Koloth. Through them, we received word that Torkath, son of K’Var, had left Qo’noS with his ships after you and might do something rash. I apologise for arriving late; we were keeping our distance lest we trigger an unnecessary confrontation, and lost track of him until we picked up signs of battle in this system. Has your hunt been successful?’

Valance’s shoulders sank, and again she looked down at the sensor feed of everything the Excalibur had pulled from the lone, empty, crashed escape pod from the Rotarran.

‘No,’ she decided. ‘No, we’ve only found questions, not answers.’ They could go over the records inch by inch. Perhaps there would be something there. But Valance knew in her heart that this was where the trail for Chancellor Martok went cold.

Mission concludes with the events of ‘The Death of Kings.’

‘He’s the captain,’ Des Jeream said resolutely.

But Gwen Carrick snorted. ‘You say that like it’s a free pass. He got jumped up after Frontier Day, just like us. Do you know better what you’re doing just because you’re a department head?’

Hali Drix raised an eyebrow. ‘Way to tear us all down with him. Are you saying he shouldn’t have been given the job?’ It was a confrontational retort. But Gwen Carrick was good at making people feel confrontational.

Carrick rolled her eyes. ‘Because Starfleet never makes mistakes and isn’t massively under-staffed right now.’

‘You’ve suddenly lost all faith in him,’ said Jeream, ‘because he’s double-checking the frontier for danger?’

‘I haven’t lost all faith in him,’ said Carrick quickly. ‘I just think he’s got us on a wild goose chase.’

Drix, clearly looking for a diversion, turned to the fourth person at the table. ‘What do you think, Etol?’

‘Huh?’ Etol Vhalis had clearly not been listening, reading from his PADD as his friends bickered around him. ‘Yeah, if you can clear up the processing power for me to boost the lateral sensor array…’

‘Piss sake!’ Carrick threw her hands in the air, and at last, Drix swatted her on the arm to pipe down. They were, after all, four members of the senior staff sat in the Ranger’s mess hall, griping about command decisions. They couldn’t afford to be overheard. ‘We’re supposed to be on a survey mission. Not chasing sensor ghosts.’

The wreckage of the Romulan survey ship was days behind, now. But Captain Xhakaza had not given up trying to find those responsible. The problem was, as Carrick argued, that meant either they had no idea what had happened, or they were trying to find a cloaked Klingon ship.

‘This could have enormous ramifications for the region,’ Vhalis said with a hint of a whine. ‘A Klingon ship kicking off on Romulans?’

‘You don’t care about that,’ Carrick said brusquely. ‘You’re just enjoying trying to pierce a cloak.’

‘I can care about both things!’

Jeream raised his hands, ever the peacemaker so long as Drix was stirring her hot chocolate and watching the fight with thinly guised amusement. ‘The stellar phenomena will be waiting for us when we’re done. The Klingons might not wait.’

‘Don’t even try, Des,’ Drix told him with a wry drawl. ‘She’s just mad because she spent weeks preparing the bussard collector modifications for when we hit the nebula.’

‘That’s not the problem,’ Carrick snapped.

‘Oh, wow.’ Vhalis looked aghast on her behalf. ‘You worked so hard on them.’

‘I did, but…’

‘Do you want to go over the sensor readings from the area with me? I’m trying to filter out noise to maybe pick up some emissions from a bird-of-prey -’

‘That’s not – I think we’re just -’ Carrick was so indignant she descended into sputtering. Realising eyes were on her, she grimaced and dropped her voice to a low hiss. ‘I think Captain Xhakaza wants to make this out to be a bigger deal than it is because he feels sidelined. This isn’t simple. This is politics.’

Jeream made a face, but Drix tapped the edge of her cup curiously. ‘It would be a big deal if the Ranger found an incursion into the region,’ she mused.

‘Exactly! He’s bottom of the pack in the squadron, he lost the Swiftsure because of Captain Faust -’

‘Even though our rooms are so much comfier on the Ranger,’ Drix drawled.

‘Does anyone think it maybe it’d suit him a bit if there was actual trouble he found and fixed out here?’

The boys scoffed, which Drix thought was pretty typical of them. Vhalis rarely looked further than his own survey scans, while Jeream was stalwart in thinking the best of everyone, which was why he put up with the three of them.

But it was enough to have her lingering by the Helm controls on her next shift, leaning against the console and twirling a strand of blonde hair around a finger as she peered at Lieutenant Sovak.

‘So do you think it’s serious, Sovak? Or are we chasing shadows?’

Sovak, as always, ignored her leaning, his brow furrowed Vulcanly as he studied his readings. ‘It is clear the captain is being thorough.’

‘Is thorough just polite code for persnickety?’

Now Sovak looked up, frowning at the empty viewscreen instead of her. ‘No, as that is not a term I am familiar with, thus would not need to refer to it euphemistically.’

‘I mean… fussy. Needlessly detail-focused. To the point of missing the point.’ She added the last part quickly; Sovak loved details.

‘Are you aware that the detection of a bird-of-prey’s engine emissions was how the USS Enterprise was able to defeat a renegade Imperial ship and salvage peace talks at Khitomer in 2293? But, that was in an immediate conflict. It is unclear whether such emissions would still be detectable.’

‘Not to mention a hundred years of technology,’ said Drix quickly. She’d been cornered before by Sovak’s enthusing about what he loved more than anything in the galaxy: ships.

‘Of course,’ said Sovak, eyes lighting up despite his voice remaining as flat as ever. He came dangerously close to being effusive when she got him on the wrong topic. ‘That makes this a potentially invaluable study.’

It was almost enough to make Drix sympathise with Carrick – except Carrick was also motivated by her own nerdery, frustrated her modifications weren’t being tested.

This is one of those times where everyone sucks, she decided, and Commander Octavian decided to join in by giving a sharp order from the XO’s seat.

‘Drix. Your shift has started.’

Technically it wasn’t that unfair to remind her to get to her post. But it still left Drix feeling a bit put out as she went to her station and settled down for what she expected to be several hours of monotonous scans. She could not have been more wrong.

Jeream was at Tactical when the call came through. ‘Captain? I’m picking up a distress call from the Feserell system; there’s a former Star Empire settlement there. They’re reporting they’re under attack from a Klingon bird-of-prey.’

Captain Xhakaza stood at once. ‘Sovak, set a course; Des, tell them we’re incoming. Take us to yellow alert.’

The bridge hummed to action, but Octavian was on her feet and speaking to Xhakaza in a low voice she probably thought nobody else could hear. Drix, however, was a master at eavesdropping.

‘We have no contact with Feserell. No agreements with them,’ Octavian was reminding her captain urgently.

Xhakaza, of course, gave her a bemused look. ‘Are you suggesting we do nothing while Klingon raiders get them?’

‘You’re assuming raiders, sir. If this is an Imperial ship…’

‘Then we’ll ask them to turn away,’ said Xhakaza, and did not let the discussion to descend into what he’d do if that didn’t work by turning to Vhalis. ‘What do we know on Feserell?’

‘Basically nothing,’ said the Andorian science officer with a shrug. ‘It was too far from the border for strategic long-range scans and nobody’s come this far out. Decent-sized population?’

‘What’s decent-sized?’ pressed Octavian irritably.

‘Few million?’

‘A few million people,’ mused Xhakaza, ‘who don’t have the Star Empire to watch their backs any more.’

Drix sucked her teeth. ‘Can we contact the Republic?’

‘Nobody else is in range,’ warned Jeream.

‘So it’s just us,’ said Vhalis, hushed, ‘against a bird-of-prey.’

‘Let’s not borrow trouble, people,’ said Xhakaza quickly. ‘This could be anything.’

It was a distress call, Drix thought, from people who would have reached out to Starfleet by now if they’d wanted to. The fact they’d spotted a Starfleet ship nearby, ignored them for days, and now were signalling suggested this was nothing good.

Twenty minutes later, they found out just how bad it was when they dropped out of warp at the periphery of the Feserell system to find the wreckage of the perimeter defence system. It was old equipment, Jeream explained, long neglected and probably unmanned. But it meant the blip on their sensors of the Klingon bird-of-prey ploughing through the heart of the system for the inhabited third planet was not doing a fly-by.

‘It’s a K’vort class,’ said Jeream, voice tight. ‘And it’s got a KDF transponder.’

‘A K’vort isn’t just a scout,’ said Octavian, arms folded. ‘It’s a troop carrier. You don’t see them on idle missions. That’s a ship with people on board expecting to make landfall.’

‘Can you hail the people of Feserell?’ Xhakaza asked Jeream, and moments later the viewscreen had changed to show a harangued-looking Romulan official. She looked, Drix thought, exactly like someone who still clung to the trappings of old glories and stabilities despite them passing her by. Her uniform was of the Star Empire, but the insignia had been clumsily modified to something to represent just Feserell.

‘We received your distress call,’ said Xhakaza after he’d introduced them. ‘And we see the Imperial ship. Did they destroy your perimeter defences?’

‘And our patrol ship,’ explained the head of Feserell’s defence force. ‘They’ve not answered to any hails. We have mineral reserves to pay you for stopping them –’

Xhakaza raised a hand. ‘We’ll speak with them. Don’t worry, we won’t let them hurt your people. Ranger out.’ He turned to his crew. ‘Can we hail the Klingons?’

Jeream shook his head. ‘No response, sir.’

‘Alright.’ Xhakaza looked at the viewscreen. ‘Sovak, set a pursuit course. Full speed. Let’s pump everything to the engines, see if we can make ground.’

Ranger wasn’t a new ship – but she was newer than the K’vort class. Had she been a B’rel, catching up might have been harder, but as it was, the slower troop transport model of bird-of-prey was not as swift at impulse.

‘We are close on their aft, Captain,’ said Sovak. ‘They have not changed course.’

‘Still not answering hails,’ Jeream warned.

Xhakaza began to pace. At length, he said, ‘Take us to red alert. Des, get a weapons lock on their aft. Let’s see if we can get their attention.’

‘Sir.’ Vhalis turned away from his post at Science. ‘Confirming a population of six million on the third planet. Maybe another million on scattered holdings across the system.’

Octavian looked impassive. ‘We don’t know what the Klingons want,’ she reminded. ‘We don’t know if they have any history with these people. We’re flying blind.’

‘We are,’ conceded Xhakaza, ‘but we’re not about to turn back now.’

Jeream made a noise of surprise. ‘That got their attention. Locked onto their engines, sir, and they’re hailing us.’

The screen transformed at Xhakaza’s order to show the bridge of the K’vort, steeped in gloom. A Klingon woman sat in the centre chair, scowling. ‘I am Tselis, daughter of Qirv, of the House of K’Var. You are interfering in Imperial business, Starfleet.’

‘Captain Xhakaza, USS Ranger,’ said Xhakaza coolly. ‘I’d hate for a misunderstanding here. But we’re duty-bound to respond to distress calls. Can you clear the situation up for us?’

‘The situation,’ sneered Tselis, ‘is that this planet is among those flagged for conquest by Chancellor Toral. We are an advance party operating on the orders of the Empire.’

Xhakaza glanced towards the nearest display panel and its sensor feed. ‘There’s no way just you and your ship intends to conquer this system alone.’

‘We are the advance party. To soften and test their defences. So far, they have been weak.’

‘And if we let you continue on your business?’

Tselis shrugged. ‘Our warriors will test theirs.’

Xhakaza sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands. ‘I can’t let you do that, Tselis. They asked for our help.’

‘They are a former Star Empire holding! You have no agreements with them, Starfleet, no treaties! This world is far from your borders, and no concern of yours!’ she spat, sitting up.

But Xhakaza merely shook his head and repeated, ‘They asked for our help.’

‘And I, you ally, am asking you to stand aside. Lest you interfere with the lawful operations of the Klingon Empire.’ The line went dead.

‘They are not changing course,’ warned Sovak.

Xhakaza made a noise of frustration. ‘Prepare to fire a warning shot off their port side.’

Octavian straightened at that. ‘Sir, I can’t recommend engaging a K’vort.’

‘Alone, no. Hali, contact Feserell, see if they have more ships to send in support.’

‘If they don’t have more ships,’ Octavian continued as Drix worked unhappily, ‘then one way or another, they’re not lasting long out here.’

‘They asked for our help,’ Xhakaza said once again. ‘And I don’t know anything about a Chancellor Toral except that I don’t take orders from them.’

Drix sucked her teeth as she read the reply come in from Feserell. ‘Patrol ships are being dispatched, sir, but they’re a ways out.’ She looked up at him, wondering. Waiting for support might give a threat more weight. But that could also pull the situation out of Starfleet’s hands, pit Klingon and Romulan against each other in unpredictable chaos.

Xhakaza seemed to agree with that last concern, and gestured over his shoulder. ‘Des, fire that warning shot.’

They watched with bated breath as the streak of light of the torpedo soared across the viewscreen, surging past the port side of the Klingon K’Vort class.

‘They’re hailing us again,’ Jeream warned.

‘Starfleet, this does not concern you.’ The hissing face of Tsalis was furious as she appeared on the viewscreen. ‘You will fight one of your allies over some nothing planet?’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Xhakaza. ‘You say you’re part of an advance party – then scope out the system and leave. You can complete your mission without killing anyone today.’

‘And then? We return when you are not here? I am uninterested in delaying glorious victory solely so you can pretend to care about this rock you will forget the moment you leave!’

‘I don’t know what comes next,’ Xhakaza admitted. ‘I don’t know if these people will ask for our help again. Or the Republic’s. But I know that here and now, today, I won’t turn my back on them.’

‘Your ship is no match for mine.’

‘Your orders are to scope out a world for conquest. Not antagonise Starfleet.’

‘And your orders are not to antagonise the Empire.’ Tsalis spat on the deck. ‘You’re bluffing, regardless. We will continue our –’

‘Mr Jeream, lock on their engines,’ Xhakaza snapped, eyes not moving from the viewscreen. ‘Fire when ready.’

Tsalis hesitated. To Drix’s eyes, so did Jeream. ‘You don’t –’

‘Mr Jeream!’

Des Jeream faltered only half a heartbeat before he said, ‘Firing.’

It was one blast. Not enough to do more than scrape their shields. But Drix watched as Tsalis, already furious, exploded to her feet with a burst of oaths.

‘You are lucky, Xhakaza, that my orders do not extend to fighting Starfleet this day. Do not doubt I will bring word of this to my superiors!’

The viewscreen went dead. A moment later, Sovak said, ‘They are breaking off their advance on the third planet, sir. Their course is heading back to the periphery.’

Xhakaza’s shoulders slumped, and he rubbed his temples. ‘Let them go. We’ll see what we can do for the people of Feserell.’

‘Maybe they want to quickly become a protectorate or something,’ said Vhalis, grimacing. ‘Or buddy up with the Republic.’

‘We better hope so,’ said Drix, a little hotter than she meant. ‘Otherwise, did we just stick our necks out and strain a treaty agreement for people who want nothing to do with us?’

‘No, Hali.’ Xhakaza was already relaxing, already turning back to his staff with a gentle smile. ‘We stuck our necks out and strained a treaty agreement for people who asked for help.’

But by now, Drix knew her captain’s propensity for determined hope. It wasn’t exactly one she shared. And from the frown on the face of the silent Commander Octavian, ever more pragmatic, ever aware that they had just thumbed their noses at the Klingon Empire, Drix couldn’t this time bring herself to feel reassured.

There would be a reckoning for this.