If one could strike gold on a mission of stellar surveys, studying the Mesea Storm was more like striking copper. Such were the metallic hues the swirling plasma storm cast through the windows of the Round Table, Endeavour’s officers’ lounge given a cheap gilding at this late hour.

Kharth’s hand hovered over a piece on the board. ‘Oh,’ she grunted. ‘That’s a silver piece.’ She reached for another. Hesitated. Made the move.

Caede didn’t pause before he moved his piece in response, pinning her back even more. ‘The lighting doesn’t cover the colours any more than it’ll spare your blushes.’

‘I’m not making excuses.’

‘You did last time. Poor refugee kid, hasn’t played a proper game of latrunculo since leaving Romulus. Like you couldn’t replicate a board for sixteen years.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Kharth sneered. ‘We didn’t have a board at the refugee camp. And who was I going to play against in Starfleet?’

‘Don’t tell me officers wouldn’t fall over themselves to experience a taste of Romulan culture. Just to show off how open their horizons are.’ Caede’s flinty eyes flickered up from the board, waiting for her to make her next move. ‘Or did you want to avoid getting your ass kicked by some human from New York?’

‘No. If that happened I’d sell them the refugee sob story so they’d feel guilty.’ Caede laughed, and she moved, hoping he’d be distracted. But his response came immediately, pinning one of her pieces and forcing her to take it off the board. She made an annoyed sound. ‘I just suck at latrunculo.’

‘Then why are you playing?’

‘You suggested it! Both times! Thought I’d be sociable. I don’t care if you’re playing mind-games, wanting to judge if I’m Romulan enough, seeing how I cope in the face of adversity or whatever…’

‘Nah.’ Caede sipped his white-leaf tea. ‘I like winning, that’s all. Not as if there’s much else to keep either of us busy right now.’ His eyes fell on the windows, at the swirling maelstrom of the plasma storm that had been Endeavour’s home and all-consuming focus for days.

The Mesea Storm lay at the furthest reaches of the Midgard Sector, deep in unclaimed and uncharted space that had once been the borderlands of the Romulan Star Empire, and Starfleet had barely scratched the surface of its secrets. If the Star Empire ever knew them, the records were lost or never to be shared.

‘From a proper first contact to stellar surveying,’ Kharth grumbled, not looking at the window. She was sick of the view by now. ‘Starfleet life is never done.’

‘Beats endless patrols.’

‘We get those, too.’

‘Not on a ship like this.’

‘Yes, yes,’ spat Kharth. ‘I should be grateful, I’ve got so much, oh, but I’m not a proper Romulan because I suck at latrunculo and haven’t read Averin -’

‘I haven’t read Averin,’ Caede grunted. ‘And I’ve met lots of people who are bad at latrunculo. These are your issues, Kharth, not mine.’

Perhaps their exchange officer wasn’t trying to get under her skin, put her in a position to expose her insecurities. But he was managing it anyway. Wondering why she’d agreed to the game this late at night, and hoping for it to come to an end as quickly as possible, Kharth moved a piece, which he immediately took.

The universe was particularly unkind, because the interruption didn’t arrive until after he’d won the match. There was little warning – merely an intensifying of the rumbling of the deck, the creaking of the hull, and then a thudding impact. A lay-person might have mistaken it for weapons fire, the strike of an energy blast, but neither Kharth nor Caede were lay-people.

Besides, with Endeavour travelling with navigational deflectors on, charged and calibrated to weather the plasma storm, there was no phaser or disruptor strike that could immediately rock the ship.

Had they been on their feet, they might have been knocked over. As it was, their drinks went flying, along with the wretched latrunculo board and all of its pieces, and Kharth gripped the armrests tight, jaw clenched, as the ship shuddered and shook around them before the lights died.

There was only a beat as it subsided before emergency lights gleamed to life. They braced and stared at each other, wondering if it was over. Then the red alert klaxon went off.

Kharth smashed her combadge. ‘Kharth to bridge! Report!’

It was Lieutenant Lindgren who answered, the flight control officer running the graveyard command shift, her bid to clock more time in the big chair going more dramatically than she probably expected. Cool and collected, her poise belied the situation Kharth suspected they were in.

‘Sudden plasma discharge from the storm, Commander, bigger than any we’ve had so far. We took it on our shields but looks like it’s overloaded the main deflector dish and short-circuited a bunch of systems in the EPS relays.’

Caede was already at the wall panel, hammering commands to get a damage report. His head snapped over to Kharth, eyes narrowing. ‘Hull breaches in main engineering. Emergency forcefields are kicking in.’

All over the ship, automated systems would be activating, directing people to where they needed to go. Captain Valance would be racing to the bridge. Commander Thawn to engineering. Kharth, meanwhile, knew she should be wherever she was needed most. And she was closer to engineering, not just than to the bridge, but than Thawn.

She shot to her feet. ‘Hold down the fort until the captain gets there, Lieutenant. We’re going to help Forrester in engineering.’

At this distance, they had no choice but to rush to the turbolifts and pray emergency power levels kept them functioning. Everyone else aboard was either already at their post, or hadn’t been awake and alert when the disaster struck. Heads were sticking out of doors as the two senior officers ran through the corridors, but they were the first to a lift.

They were also the first reinforcements in main engineering, bursting through the heavy doors to find it in a state of controlled chaos. At this time of night, young Lieutenant Forrester ran the engine room – though, Kharth thought wryly, Forrester was a veteran of Archanis and Deneb by now, her age less important than her experience of a dozen crises and battles.

Main engineering was a mess of emergency lights and klaxons, smoke billowing from the upper chambers where EPS conduits had overloaded, alerts flashing on a dozen screens. Forrester stood in the middle, commanding things like a very brusque conductor. Her eyes lit up when the doors opened, but her disappointment that they were not Chief Engineer Thawn was nearly palpable.

‘We’re what you get, Lieutenant. Put us to work,’ Kharth said, not wasting time asking for a report.

Forrester’s expression settled. ‘We’ve got hull breaches in this section and elsewhere on the ship. Emergency forcefields are holding, but I don’t want to rely on them. Commander – controls are over there for emergency bulkheads. Make sure nobody’s about to be trapped and seal up where you can to spare us power.’ She rounded on Caede, the more technically minded of the pair of Romulans. ‘Centurion, if you’d help with rerouting power from unstable conduits, me and my team can focus on making sure the containment on the warp core stays stable.’ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the pulsing, furious heart of the ship.

It was rare Kharth was given simple orders and simple tasks these days. Even in a crisis, there was something soothing about it. On the bridge, she’d have to balance a dozen duties, keep an eye on a whole situation. Here, she could walk three metres and have everything laid out before her. In the background, the shouts of Forrester and her team faded to a distant, irrelevant hum.

Forcefields sealed off hull breaches themselves, while emergency bulkheads sealed off whole sections, sacrificing everything – everyone – ahead of that point. They’d only come down automatically if power systems were desperately failing, if it was that or lose the ship, but otherwise no computer could determine how much of a section, material, lives could be sacrificed to salvage power. Kharth’s chest eased as she saw life-signs clear the endangered sections; Endeavour’s emergency systems had kicked in fast enough that they’d lost nobody, and would lose nobody, to the breaches. Deck by deck, her eyes ran across the breaches, bringing down emergency bulkheads where she could, as with each passing moment, Caede stabilised power flow to bypass damaged conduits.

When they’d arrived, a collapse in the power systems could have brought down the wrong emergency forcefields and decompressed a whole section. By the time the doors slid open to admit the frantic figure of Commander Thawn, they’d backed the ship away from the edge of the cliff she’d been teetering on.

To Kharth, the warp core had looked only subtly different. Upon arrival, Thawn took three steps into the heart of main engineering, looked at the pulsing of the warp core plasma, and swore in her native tongue.

‘Forrester! What do we have?’ she demanded, striding over to her young assistant.

‘The storm’s discharge has overloaded EPS conduits, and there’s been surges in plasma flow putting strain on the warp field coils,’ Forrester began to explain. ‘I’ve been stabilising containment -’

‘Throttle back the injection rate,’ Thawn cut her off. ‘Sixty percent. Cut it right down. We’ll have to reconfigure the entire conduit system.’

Kharth turned at this, aghast. ‘Sixty percent? That’s barely enough to crawl out of here – isn’t that a bit premature a damage assessment?’

‘Didn’t know you were an engineer, Commander,’ Thawn replied smoothly. ‘Thank you for your assistance. But I’ll take it from here.’ Without another look, she advanced past the XO, joining her engineers clustered around the warp core, and began her work as a surgeon trying to coax the ship’s very heart back to life.

Caede and Kharth stepped to the door, a little cowed at their dismissal despite themselves. Caede wore a deep frown. ‘You’re not an engineer,’ he conceded, ‘but you know this ship better than me. How bad’s that power cut?’

‘Depends,’ grumbled Kharth.

‘On?’

‘On if we want to move faster than warp five any time soon.’

‘Finally. What’s a guy gotta do to get your attention around here?’ Nate Beckett knew this came out more as a whine than a witticism, but was in too much pain to muster some discipline and salvage his dignity.

‘Have an emergent medical issue, or arrive before Sickbay must contend with seventeen more pressing injuries,’ came Doctor Starik’s smooth reply as the Vulcan finally stepped over to Beckett’s biobed, medical tricorder in hand.

‘Lieutenant Jain just hit his head,’ Beckett pointed out as Starik scanned him.

Starik did not look up. ‘Head injuries are considerably more dangerous than what appears – and remains – a posterior glenohumeral dislocation. Doubtless uncomfortable, but not life-threatening.’

‘You just gave Jain a painkiller and sent him on his way.’

‘I’m not at liberty to discuss Lieutenant Jain’s medical treatment.’

‘I saw you do it!’

‘I am aware. You protested at your alleged neglect the entire time.’ Starik snapped his tricorder shut and looked up. ‘You will not require surgery.’

Disguising his relief, Beckett stuck his nose in the air. ‘Imagine if I had. Then you’d be sorry for de-prioritising me.’

‘My protocol has been textbook,’ was Starik’s unimpressed reply, just as the doors slid open to admit Commander Thawn.

She looked around quickly, and Beckett tried to pretend the sight of her didn’t make him feel better as she hurried over. She looked more rumpled than he had when he’d last seen her, dashing off for main engineering, her cheeks smeared with soot. ‘Are you okay?’

She’d extended an arm, and he rocked away. ‘Nonono not the shoulder -’

‘Oh, I – I thought you’d been seen to!’ Thawn gasped, apologetic.

‘He was a low priority concern,’ said Starik, full of the quiet frustration that only Vulcans could harness so subtly.

‘See!’ Beckett looked triumphantly at him. ‘She thought you’d have me patched up by now.’

‘If Commander Thawn were truly worried, I anticipate she would have escorted you to Sickbay herself.’

Beckett worked his jaw. ‘…you don’t know she was there when I did this.’

‘You said you fell out of bed when the ship was struck.’ Starik looked him up and down, still resplendent in his pyjamas. ‘I extrapolated.’

‘It was an engineering emergency,’ Thawn protested. ‘I couldn’t detour up here, and he could walk.’

Starik’s eyes fell on her, appraising. ‘You had time to don your uniform.’

‘Yes, that was very hurtful,’ Beckett agreed, ‘and you’re very funny, but I’m still in a little pain here.’

‘Mn.’ Starik glanced between them. ‘Do I have permission to discuss your medical situation in front of the commander?’

‘Yes – get on with it, Starik, come on.’

‘Very well. Your injury caused a temporary compression of the axillary nerve, which ought to explain numbness and tingling. This will be resolved by treatment.’

‘Starik, I wish it were numb. For the love of God, put it back in and give me a painkiller.’

‘As you say,’ said Starik, and only too late did Beckett realise he maybe should have suggested an anaesthetic before, rather than after, as the Vulcan’s strong hands took a grip on his arm.

‘Hang on -’

It was not this instruction that made Starik stop, but the doors sliding open to admit, this time, Captain Valance and Commander Airex. Valance’s eyes swept across the room before they headed over, the captain’s gait brisk, focused. ‘Commander. Doctor.’

Thawn straightened, plainly guilty for being in Sickbay instead of at her post, but that just meant Starik assumed control of the situation.

‘Eighteen injured crewmembers reported to Sickbay, Captain. A further twenty-five injuries reported across the ship that have received treatment from the designated first-aider and proceeded to their duty stations. Those in Sickbay have been treated, and the other twenty-five will be instructed to report here once relieved. No serious casualties.’

‘Those in Sickbay are being treated,’ Beckett muttered resentfully.

Valance gave him the briefest of glances – she’d never known how to cope with his humour – before nodding to Starik. ‘Good. Commander Thawn?’

‘Sorry, Captain – the situation was stable in main engineering and I did leave Nate behind with a dislocated shoulder when I ran off to respond…’ Thawn’s voice trailed off as Valance’s eyebrows went up an inch. She cleared her throat. ‘No change. The warp core has been throttled down to sixty percent. I don’t want to raise it without repairing or replacing the compromised EPS conduits. Forrester is diagnosing the extent of the damage, I was just popping up here to -’

‘It’s fine, Commander,’ Valance said at last, raising a hand. Beckett could see she didn’t want to have to manage Thawn’s feelings. ‘You’ve saved me going down there myself.’

The doors slid open anew, this time to admit the rumpled figures of Kharth and Caede. The XO headed over, brow furrowed in consternation. ‘Everything alright, Captain?’ They’d plainly come looking for her.

Valance gave a small sigh. ‘We’re fine. I was checking in with the doctor and Commander Thawn.’

‘Sickbay,’ said Starik levelly, ‘is not a meeting room.’

‘My apologies, we’ll -’

‘I welcome the explanation on this occasion and I must see to Lieutenant Beckett. I simply ask you do not make a habit of this, Captain.’

Only a doctor, and a Vulcan to boot, could get away with telling off Valance like this, and Beckett made a small, pathetic noise. He’d have liked to pretend this was to distract from the tension, but that was a lie. ‘Can you work and be explained to, Starik?’

‘What happened?’ said Kharth as Starik put his hands on Beckett’s arm anew.

‘We couldn’t have foreseen it.’ Airex spoke at last. His hair was as wild as his eyes, which were bright and enthusiastic despite the calamity. ‘It’s because of the Borg.’

Thawn’s eyes widened. ‘It’s what?’

‘The Cube and the collapsed transwarp conduit last year,’ elaborated Valance, a little long-suffering. ‘Unsurprisingly, there are long-term implications for subspace.’

‘Underspace can’t have helped,’ grumbled Caede.

‘Quite,’ said Airex. ‘There are still pockets of unstable subspace caused by the transwarp conduit’s collapse across the sector, and, it seems, within the Mesea Storm. When Endeavour approached this pocket, our warp field interacted with the gravimetric fluctuation to cause a cascade effect, resulting in a highly concentrated plasma bolt being ejected from the storm. I couldn’t have begun to anticipate this manner of plasma-gravimetric interaction -’

‘Is he always like this when space tries to kill us?’ interrupted Caede, looking at Kharth, ‘or is he just covering for not seeing this coming?’

Airex scowled, but Beckett caught Kharth trying to smother a smile. ‘He’s always like this when space is trying to kill us,’ she said, and the hint of amused affection seemed to stun Airex out of offence.

‘Tearing everyone’s attention away from my terrible injury, which Starik will doubtless see to at once,’ said Beckett, ‘is this going to happen again?’

‘Remain still,’ Starik instructed. His hands had been on Beckett’s arm for some time without motion.

‘It might,’ Airex admitted. ‘Though remaining at low warp will reduce chances.’

‘Presumably, as we get the hell out of here for repairs,’ said Kharth.

Thawn made a small noise. ‘That’s the problem. We can leave the Storm, of course, but we’re a long way out from Gateway and these repairs are serious. I don’t recommend we go above Warp 5 outside of emergencies, Captain. That’s a month’s travel.’

Caede hesitated, working his jaw as if chewing on something he didn’t like. ‘We could make for Nemus Station,’ he said at last. ‘It’s on the Republic border, it’s closer.’

‘Do they have the facilities to oversee our repair?’ said Valance. ‘I know it provides such services to the Republic…’

‘Your EPS conduits aren’t that special,’ drawled Caede. ‘But Nemus prioritises Republic assets and needs. Which have been a lot more desperate than Starfleet. You’ll have to be convincing.’

Kharth raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You can’t be convincing?’

‘I’m just a Centurion.’

‘Nemus is still ten days away,’ said Thawn, who’d been hammering furiously on her PADD.

‘Son of a bitch!’ exclaimed Beckett – not at the journey, but because Starik had, without warning, manipulated his shoulder for a sudden, sharp, precise reduction of his injury. ‘You don’t give a man painkillers first, Doc?’

‘You explicitly directed on painkillers after,’ Starik reminded him, letting him go and straightening. ‘You -’ He looked at Beckett, then the others, then back. ‘Do I have your permission to discuss your medical -’

‘Yes!’

‘Then I will apply ten milligrams of anesthizine, as you seem in distress,’ said Starik, loading a hypospray.

Kharth gave Beckett a look. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I heroically -’

‘He fell out of bed,’ sighed Thawn.

‘And she left me there.’

‘It was an emergency!’

‘Vor,’ spat Caede. ‘Ten days crawling our way back through the sector with this. Why does this crew keep getting stranded?’

Starik pressed the hypospray to Beckett’s neck, and relief instantly flooded through him. With it came a dose of sudden, happy clarity, and he smirked because he had the opportunity to be smug.

‘Don’t worry, Centurion,’ he said. ‘I have a much better, and nearer, suggestion: Rencaris.’

Airex cocked his head. ‘Rencaris is a former Star Empire world, currently unaligned. Why would we go there?’

‘Because Rencaris wants to stay unaligned. Despite overtures from the Republic.’ Beckett inclined his head to Caede. ‘It’s a well-populated system with a heaving and balanced industry. Self-sufficient. They benefit from trade, but they don’t need aid. If they want to stay independent, and they don’t like the Republic, they need friends. We could be friendly.’

Caede scowled. ‘It’s ruled by a pack of reactionary authoritarians who want to build their own little Romulus-away-from-Romulus, who were heartbroken when Rator fell. If you help them, you undermine everything the Republic is trying to build in this sector.’

‘Calm down,’ drawled Kharth. ‘We’re talking about asking to berth up in their dockyard for a bit so we can do repairs somewhere safe. That’s not going to destroy the Republic’s credibility.’ She looked at Valance. ‘I think it’s a good idea, Captain.’

Valance’s eyes were on Beckett. ‘You think they’ll help us?’

He’d been gurning smugly, but sobered under her gaze. He nodded. ‘I think we can negotiate help. They were open to discussions around Underspace. Swiftsure did some work nearby clearing up the Borg mess. The best thing for a world like that to do in a region like this is be a place you can get what you need for a fair price, no matter who you are.’

‘It is,’ said Thawn quietly after consulting her PADD, ‘only three days away.’

Valance nodded. ‘Then it’s a good plan, Lieutenant. Commander Thawn, can you make us ready to get underway?’

‘I’ll want to finish appraising the state of our EPS conduits so we can make sure we’re bypassing all damage in the power network,’ said Thawn, ‘but I don’t anticipate that taking more than a few hours. I’ll head down now to oversee.’

‘Good. Airex, appraise the plasma discharge more, make sure we’re doing everything we can to not be hit again.’

‘I will. But I can’t stress the significance of this data, Captain. We still understand very little of the state of subspace in the sector. This could be critical for life going forward in the region.’

‘So we get to be the lightning rod,’ grunted Caede. ‘Don’t sound too excited.’

‘Better us,’ said Valance, ‘than someone less prepared. Patch us up. Then we go to ground. This latest run of exploration is over.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Beckett cheerfully, hopping to his feet. ‘Did I mention that no Starfleet officers have actually set foot on Rencaris soil or facilities before?’

Valance swore, breaking the quiet hum of her ready room. Over on the comfortable seating by the windows, Airex looked up from the PADDs he’d strewn across the coffee table, and she grimaced. ‘It goes from bad to worse,’ she explained with a sigh. ‘Thawn says that our power reserves and flow are heavily compromised. If we want to send word to Gateway of our condition, we’ll need to drop out of warp and reconfigure our systems to have enough juice. And at warp, our sensors will only be operating at about seventy percent.’

‘We can send a message once we’re out of the Storm,’ he said, voice quiet and reassuring. ‘It’ll still take some time for the transmission to arrive. The compromised sensors… I’ll do what I can. We only need to keep an eye out for trouble.’

‘I know.’ She swallowed the burst of frustration. ‘This could have been picked up earlier.’

Airex now put the PADD down, his eyes thoughtful. ‘We knew these systems would be compromised. I expect that Thawn didn’t know how much until she had a complete image of the damage. That assessment was always going to take time.’ He watched her a beat more, then leaned forwards. ‘Another, more experienced chief engineer, might have said something about it sooner, but it would have been a hypothesis with nothing firmed up. Or, more politely, a guess that would be corrected later.’

She had to smother her glare, this frustration from a completely different source. ‘Another chief engineer,’ she echoed. ‘That’s not what this is about.’

‘It’s about that you’ve not had enough sleep, and that we’re in a tight spot. Again.’

When Valance’s brow knotted, it was more thoughtful than irritated, this time. ‘I don’t mind the tight spot. I’m used to those. I want to make sure we’re not jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.’ She looked at his collection of PADDs. ‘Anything more on Rencaris?’

‘A little. Nothing noteworthy that Beckett didn’t cover.’ Airex slumped back, tossing a hand in the air. ‘The bad news is that I think Caede was right: this was practically the centre of local nobility, so to speak, for the Star Empire’s side of the Midgard Sector. Possibly their Alfheim, but with more sense of belonging to the core worlds.’

‘They don’t want unification, they don’t want the Republic’s concept of liberal democracy,’ she surmised. ‘But they’re not stupid enough to think the Empire’s coming back, and they’re… too far out from the Free State?’

He shrugged. ‘Or they think the Free State is the upstart child of the Tal Shiar. What data we’ve gathered over the last year suggests they have a small defence force from the remains of Rator’s navy, who didn’t want to go with either faction. The system’s rich in resources – minerals in an asteroid belt, a few useful gas giants – that they’ve got thriving industries around. Decent agriculture, but plenty of big cities. Orbital infrastructure. They still have the same governor from before the fall of Rator – Governor Vhiemm. He’s treated directly, or through his office, with what few interactions they’ve had with Starfleet.’ Airex shuffled through the PADDs. ‘And that’s… largely it.’

‘That’s it? That’s the sum of all of our knowledge of a star system less than thirty light-years from a major Federation starbase?’

‘By the time the Federation knew Rencaris existed, the Neutral Zone had been established,’ sighed Airex. ‘So we spent more than two hundred years with no idea about places even a stone’s throw over the border. And when Rator took over this region, they didn’t exactly welcome us. There’s a lot of our front door to explore out here, Karana.’

‘Maybe Beckett’s right,’ she sighed. ‘Maybe this is an opportunity. We have to hope they’re reasonable and know they’re better off with Starfleet as a friend. But they’re Romulans, and apparently traditionalist Romulans. They’re going to see we’re desperate, and then they’re going to try and take advantage.’

The door-chime sounded, and for a moment, Valance put on her mask of professionalism. That faded when the doors opened at her summons, and Kharth entered, shoulders hanging with weariness.

‘We’re out of the storm,’ she reported, her voice brusque but low. Her eyes fell on Airex. ‘Your recalibrations of our deflector shields to dissipate the plasma charge signature worked. At least, we didn’t get hit again.’

‘Hardly a data point, but a result I’ll take gladly, nonetheless.’ He lifted the steel coffee jug sat on the low table. ‘I brewed some of that Vega blend.’

‘Coffee at 0330? Don’t mind if I do.’

Valance watched as fatigue and familiarity washed away any of the usual wrong-footed tension between her two senior-most officers, with Kharth taking a mug off the small collection kept by the replicator, and Airex barely looking up from his notes as he poured, like he knew where she was without looking.

‘Rencaris,’ mused Kharth, glancing over his PADDs. ‘I didn’t say this in Sickbay, but Caede’s not wrong to be cautious. About the political implications, I mean.’

‘I know,’ Valance sighed, leaning back in the tall-backed, comfortable desk chair. She would not have treated herself to something this cushy, with faux-leather upholstery and thick stuffing she could sink into, but Rourke had never collected it after his departure. On a night like this, it was welcome. ‘We’ll have to weigh up our alliance with the Republic in any deal we broker with Rencaris.’

‘What are we offering them?’

Valance shrugged. ‘They’re hardly going to be paid off with some of our deuterium supplies. I was going to see what they say and negotiate from there.’

‘You need to come up with something. Or they’ll take it as an insult.’ Kharth’s expression flattened. ‘We need to, I suppose.’

‘Any chance they’ll like our fascinating scientific findings on how the Mesea Storm nearly blew us up?’ mused Airex facetiously.

‘The Storm isn’t new to them,’ she pointed out. ‘They know more about it than we do.’

‘Not necessarily since the subspace disruptions.’

‘Data is a good start,’ Kharth conceded. ‘We’ve almost certainly gone further into the former Star Empire territories than they have. Even our findings over the last few months – an update of their strategic and economic context – might be worth something to them.’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Valance quietly, ‘I want to arm them a surviving branch of the Star Empire with information about a first contact we made.’

‘Other things, then. Survey results.’ She paused, brightening. ‘Survey results from inside the Neutral Zone. They might not want it. But it’s not an insulting offer. And it’s a start.’

Valance nodded. ‘Have Beckett put together a package, including a few choice samples.’

Kharth’s improved mood was short-lived. ‘He’s going to make a song and dance about classified data.’

‘He suggested Rencaris. Remind him of that.’

‘When did he fall in with the party line for Intel so much, anyway?’

Airex grimaced. ‘I’d say he’s just doing his job, keeping our information security in mind, but the division has a way of clouding your thinking like that. He has more interaction with an outside chain of command than anyone else on board. Even my dealings with Starfleet Science are mostly… well, academic.’

Valance glanced at Kharth. ‘What are the odds he gets his marching orders from his father?’

‘Admiral Beckett and I aren’t much on speaking terms anymore. I didn’t think Nate is, either, but if there’s one toy the admiral probably won’t give up so easily, it’s his son.’ Kharth shrugged.

Airex watched Valance, eyes narrowing. ‘What’re you thinking?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘It didn’t matter much when we’ve spent the last few months outside of Federation space. If Rencaris gets politically complex, though, it’s going to be bad enough juggling our needs, Sector Command’s needs, and the Republic’s needs without someone even bigger getting involved.’

Kharth shook her head. ‘You’re doing that four-dimensional thinking that you reserve especially for finding trouble to worry about, Valance.’

‘I’m doing what?’

Airex snickered, but smothered his smile self-consciously as they both looked at him. ‘She’s, ah, right, Karana. I think we’ve got as solid a plan for Rencaris as we’ll get.’

Valance looked between them, eyes narrowing. If someone had told her a year ago that she’d be the captain of Endeavour being nagged by a command team of Airex and Kharth, she’d have laughed them out of the room. ‘In which case, we need to get there in one piece. What’s the mood out there?’ She nodded to the door, meaning not just the temperament aboard the bridge, but the ship.

‘Mostly?’ Kharth shrugged. ‘Sleep-deprived. Lindgren can see through the rest of the shift, though. I told the counsellor to go back to bed when he commed. So far as shipboard disasters go, this one’s more of an inconvenience than a trauma. He can tuck people in with warm milk in the morning.’

‘Sounds counter-productive,’ Airex said, but quietened down as his joke earned a tired, irritable look.

‘I want us all,’ said Valance carefully, ‘visibly clocking time with Counsellor Dhanesh when things like this happen.’

Kharth stared. ‘We blew a few EPS conduits, we hardly -’

‘This ship spent most of last year without a counsellor aboard. The crew went through Borg – twice – and got stranded on the other side of the galaxy. It’s been a quiet few months since the counsellor came aboard, but this is the first really bad thing to happen, and we’re going to set an example to the crew.’

Kharth looked like she’d been told to suck on a lemon, but then her lips twisted. ‘You gotta hate being captain sometimes, huh?’

‘Yes,’ Valance conceded irritably. ‘We have a few days to Rencaris. We’ll be licking our wounds all the way. Let’s set the right example to everyone.’ She stood, lifting her hands to her temples. ‘The good news is that it starts with sleeping.’

‘Replicators in your rooms out, too?’ was the grunt with which Caede greeted Lindgren when she came out of her quarters to find him headed for the turbolift.

‘Rosara’s memo says it’s the whole section.’ She forced a shrug. It was an inconvenience, but a reasonable measure for preserving power, and nobody needed Caede thinking everyone was grumbling about it. ‘It’s fine, we can go up.’

His frown only deepened, but with consternation, at least, not disapproval. ‘Thought people would breakfast in the Safe House.’

‘You didn’t read the memo, did you?’ Her voice went light, toying as they walked for the lift together.

‘It started with a deep explanation of the exact nature of the damage to the EPS conduits. I stopped reading.’

‘She could have prioritised her information better. But there was an addendum at the end from Counsellor Dhanesh.’

‘I definitely didn’t read that.’ Caede rolled his eyes as they boarded the turbolift. ‘Don’t know why you keep a therapist aboard.’

Lindgren bit her lip. Counsellor Dhanesh was not just a counselling psychiatrist, but a specialist in xeno and forensic psychology with diplomatic and anthropological experience. He’d come highly recommended by Greg Carraway, Endeavour’s last counsellor, before they’d left on this deep-space exploration mission. But she was leery of giving Caede any explanation that might downplay his duty to the crew’s mental health.

‘You’ll see,’ was all she said instead.

When they reached Deck 1, Caede looked like he’d head to the break room with hopes of grabbing breakfast there, but she bumped him with her shoulder to take a right turn into the conference room instead.

‘Good morning!’ boomed the cheerful voice of Counsellor Dhanesh from across the room. The main table had been pushed closer to the window, with most of the rest of the senior staff seated with plates of breakfast and steaming mugs of hot drinks, the air casual and full of idle chatter. The counsellor himself stood at the far end of the room at a new table laden with hotplates and platters, and stainless steel jugs of hot coffees, teas, and a jug of fresh juice. ‘Make your order and you’ll have breakfast in a jiffy.’

‘A jiffy…’ Caede stared.

‘It’s an omelette bar, Caede; try to not faint at the new Earth experience,’ Lindgren said in a gentle dig, elbowing him again before heading over. ‘Good morning, Counsellor; this looks great.’

Dhanesh’s bright smile was knowing, particularly as he saw Caede’s suspicious, curious look. ‘We’ve only got replicator power to a few essential stations, and I thought this would be more cheerful than everyone sadly ordering a bacon sandwich on their own. Help yourselves to hot drinks. How do you want your omelette, Elsa? The green peppers are fresh from hydroponics.’

‘Then how can I say no? Peppers and cheese it is.’

Dhanesh was a big guy, the sort of counsellor who integrated exercise into his therapies and adopted a holistic, body-and-mind approach to health. But with his ready smile, tidy beard, and easy manner, it gave him more the look of a bombastic father to young children – which he was – than an imposing build.

‘Coming right up. What about you, Centurion? I’ve got some spices here – arket and havrik. I picked them up at that stop at Vendarinor last month. Together they give the omelette a heck of a kick.’ He picked up a jar of Romulan spices, wafting it towards Caede.

‘I know what havrik smells like,’ Caede said bluntly, placing, Lindgren thought, a very subtle emphasis on the correct pronunciation – though were she not a linguist, she wouldn’t have noticed Dhanesh get it wrong. ‘I would not add it to eggs.’

‘Oh? Doctor Starik said it wasn’t unlike the Vulcan emina spices his people put in a scramble.’

There was a moment where Lindgren thought Caede was going to refuse breakfast, but he must have been too hungry to take a stand. He swallowed. ‘Egg and mushroom will be fine, Dhanesh.’

Lindgren wrinkled her nose. ‘You go sit. I’ll bring it over.’ Once he’d poured himself a mug of coffee and left, she looked back at Dhanesh, eyebrows raising. ‘Comparing Vulcan cooking to Romulan? That was rude, Counsellor.’

‘He was rude,’ said Dhanesh in a breezy tone as he whipped eggs. ‘Romulans put havrik in eggs. He saw I was doing something considerate and didn’t know how to respond appropriately, so he went on the attack. Everyone’s too polite when he does that.’

‘A crack about his heritage, though?’

‘It had to be something that would land. He’ll think twice next time, mark my words.’ Dhanesh handled the skillet with easy confidence, cooking the omelettes to perfection while only half-paying attention. Before Lindgren knew it, she had two plates in her hands. ‘Enjoy!’

‘You’ll cook yourself something now, right?’

‘Check your own oxygen first, Lieutenant.’ Dhanesh tapped his nose. ‘I ate before I started.’

Caede hadn’t sat, he’d gone to drink his coffee by the window. Taking the counsellor’s wisdom aboard quicker than she’d expected, she didn’t bring his plate over, but caught his eye, nodded to the table, and set it beside her as she pulled up a chair with Thawn, Beckett, and Kally.

‘…not enough. Tell her, Elsa.’ Beckett looked between Lindgren and Thawn, gesticulating with a forkful of egg. ‘She can’t run an engine room on four hours of sleep.’

‘I’m not pretending it’s sustainable,’ Thawn protested. She looked, for all of her boyfriend’s accusations, crisp and presentable, but Lindgren knew the ship would have to be exploding around them for her to not start her day picture-perfect. ‘But I need to monitor things as much as possible while we’re at warp. You got me here.’

‘Silly me,’ said Beckett with wry amusement. ‘A sociable breakfast or sleep; not both.’

‘Would you like us to make it to Rencaris in one piece -’

‘Lieutenant.’ Kally leaned towards Lindgren, eyes pleading, as Caede finally reached them and slumped into the seat beside her in a manner she felt not unlike a sulking teenager. ‘Please help me change the subject.’

‘You don’t want my relationship litigated over breakfast?’ said Beckett with an air of mock offence. ‘Alright, what about someone else’s – Elsa, how’s your fella?’

‘Vor,’ muttered Caede, stabbing his eggs.

‘Thanks, Nate,’ Lindgren groaned. ‘Mac isn’t my fella. We’ve been on a few dates. Then Endeavour shipped out.’

‘You’ve been writing,’ said Caede, not looking up from his food.

Kally’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, we’re too far out for a direct link. So it’s had to be letters? That’s kinda sweet and old-fashioned, isn’t it?’

Lindgren felt her cheeks colour and tried to hide it behind a gulp of coffee. She wasn’t used to this kind of interrogation – or used to feeling this kind of self-conscious about it. ‘It would be. Except Mac can’t tell me about half of the things he’s up to on the Blackbird.’

‘Oh no,’ said Beckett in mock-despair. ‘You’ll have to talk about feelings or daily life and not work, in long, contemplative letters where you have to wait maybe days for a response, building up a connection and anticipation. How horrid.’

‘Do Starfleet officers talk about anything other than their personal lives?’ butted in Caede. ‘We’re nearly dead in space, crawling out of a stellar phenomenon that tried to kill us, heading for a den of snakes. Is this really what’s most pressing?’

‘I agree,’ muttered Thawn.

‘We talk about life-or-death stuff all the time,’ Kally protested. ‘In a minute, the captain’s going to give us an update on how much of a mess we’re in, followed by a pep-talk about how we have to stick together and it’ll be hard, but with teamwork, we’ll pull through. I think Counsellor Dhanesh put this together so we could have a little social break.’

Thawn looked offended. ‘This is a more efficient use of energy -’

‘By, like, a percent,’ scoffed Beckett. ‘But Kally’s onto something.’ He continued waggling the forkful of food around illustratively. ‘Valance isn’t as good at pep-talks as Rourke. Anyone want to bet on which cliche she’ll use?’

‘Nate!’ Thawn’s offence was even deeper.

‘What do we win?’ said Lindgren suspiciously.

‘Fun!’ said Kally.

‘Uh… winner has everyone cover for them next time they want to skip out on one of Dhanesh’s group-bonding events?’

‘That’s not -’

‘Something about facing tougher challenges and coming out stronger,’ said Thawn, eyes lighting at the prospect of a free excuse.

‘Rosara!’ Lindgren gave her a look, unsure if she should be indignant on Valance’s behalf or impressed.

‘Um… “teamwork is our greatest asset,”’ ventured Kally.

‘“Together, we can face anything,”’ said Beckett smugly.

Caede scoffed, and Lindgren braced herself for him to dismiss their fun, only for him to say, ‘A metaphor about weathering the storm.’

They all went, ‘Ooh,’ in universal approval, then fell silent as Valance stood. It was almost as if prompted, though Lindgren was sure the captain hadn’t heard. She’d been sat at the head of the table in conversation with Airex and Starik, while Kharth, Logan and Dhanesh were a buffer between them. There was no way they wouldn’t have been rebuked if their Kharth had heard them, let alone Valance.

‘Good morning,’ said Valance, clearing her throat. ‘Thank you to Counsellor Dhanesh for organising this. We often get little time to stop and touch base in a crisis. But it’s important we do so.’

The officers at the more junior end of the table leaned forward, inadvertently on tenter-hooks with the new stakes of their CO’s speech. Valance opened her mouth to continue.

The red alert klaxon went off.

‘Bridge to Captain Valance!’ Lieutenant Qadir’s voice was tense, worried. ‘Klingon bird-of-prey decloaking off our port side! Sir, they’ve raised shields and have locked on weapons!’

The senior officers were on their feet in an instant, breakfast and bets all forgotten.

‘Klingons,’ Caede spat, tossing his napkin down. ‘This new storm is a lot uglier.’

‘Bird-of-prey, designation IKS Morinar, B’rel class,’ Logan read from his readouts at tactical in a cool but firm voice. ‘Holding position fifteen thousand kilometres away. Their shields are raised, weapons charged and they’ve locked onto us.’

Going to red alert had immediately activated Endeavour’s defences, but a glance at the readouts on her armrest confirmed Valance’s fear: those were unreliable in their current condition. ‘Commander Thawn, get down to engineering,’ the captain instructed as she sat in the centre seat. ‘If this turns into a fight, you need to hold us in one piece.’

As Thawn left, Kharth leaned across from the XO’s chair. ‘Recommend we launch fighters.’

‘Get them in their cockpits,’ Valance agreed. ‘But I’m not escalating if we don’t have to. They could have opened fire right after decloaking.’ She glanced about the bridge, making sure her senior staff had assumed their posts. ‘Airex, do what you can to discern if there are any other cloaked ships out there.’

‘That would be difficult at the best of times,’ came his grumbling reply from Science, ‘but I’ll try.’

‘A B’rel shouldn’t be trying to pick a fight with us,’ said Valance. ‘Either they’re posturing, they know we’re wounded, or they have friends.’

‘Do you want me to hail them, Captain?’ asked Kally.

‘Not yet. Logan, lock weapons and arm torpedoes. Let’s make it clear we’re not about to roll over.’

‘Aye, Captain. Weapons locked.’

Valance took a deep breath. Grasped the armrests of the chair. Nodded. ‘Now we hail them.’

A moment later, the viewscreen came to life, showing the gloomy interior of a Klingon bird-of-prey, and the shadowed reaches of its bridge. A wiry Klingon woman sat in the command chair and leaned forward with a hint of a leer. ‘I draw my blade at you in the darkest reaches of the galaxy, Starfleet, and you want to chat?’

Valance tilted her chin up. ‘I’m Captain Valance of the starship Endeavour. I assumed a warrior who meant to use her blade would have swung by now. We’ve been on a mission of exploration; can we be of assistance?’

The Klingon captain had plainly not expected someone with her face, with her soft ridges. She sprang to her feet like a cat who’d been coiled comfortably in the chair but was suddenly restless. ‘I am Captain Ledera, warrior of the House of K’Var. Exploration seems to have gotten the better of your ship, Valance. I didn’t think staring at space would leave scars.’

‘Then you aren’t staring at the right parts of space, Ledera.’ Valance stood, aware of the intricacies of matching Ledera’s energy and tone, aware that gestures of strength were both necessary but could be wilfully interpreted as a threat. ‘We were struck by a plasma discharge in the nearby Mesea Storm. We’re putting in at Rencaris for repairs. What brings you out here?’

‘You’re asking,’ said Ledera, hand resting on the knife sheathed at her belt, ‘if I’m here to kill you.’

Valance hesitated. Then she squared her shoulders. ‘You’re asking yourself that. Or you’d have struck. You wanted to see what you were dealing with – now you see. We’re not some wounded, unarmed surveyor.’

‘And why would I want such an easy target?’

‘Why do you want such a target at all? I didn’t know Toral had declared his captains should openly strike at the Federation. Or that the Khitomer Accords had been torn up.’

‘Do they extend out here? Perhaps on paper, but what is that, out in these hunting grounds? These testing grounds?’

Valance paused again, looking Ledera over. She was a young warrior, Valance thought. Perhaps she had spotted the wounded Endeavour, been curious, and was still scoping out the opportunity. But young warriors in a place like this, far from any superiors or allies, were always eager for a chance to prove themselves. And the House of K’Var had proven their old friendship with Starfleet had soured – and their fondness for Endeavour herself all but evaporated.

There were superiors in the house, Valance thought grimly, who might shower a captain in glory for bringing back her scalp.

She straightened. ‘I have faced Romulan warlords, D’Ghor dogs, and Dominion soldiers, on my bridge and with my blade, Ledera. Neither I nor this ship should be considered a training opportunity -’

‘Bluster, mongrel. Your ship’s power levels are compromised; if you had to recharge your shields from one good volley, they would probably collapse,’ Ledera scoffed. ‘Perhaps I will leave you be. Or perhaps you may find out if you can bolster them with more bragging.’

Ledera had not only been posturing, Valance thought. She’d been buying time to scan Endeavour and take the full measure of her damage. It was one thing to watch from cloak while they moved at warp. Now, with Endeavour’s shields up, she could see how the damaged ship’s power levels fluctuated, how Thawn and Caede had to make compromises and adjustments to be battle-ready.

She was young, brash. But not necessarily stupid. Valance glanced back at Logan, her question silent, and she knew the answer even before Logan gave the faintest shake of the head.

This was not a fight they wanted.

‘If you have no more bluster,’ said Ledera, a slow, fanged smile playing across her lips, ‘then maybe I will spare you and your crew, mongrel. If you beg for your life and theirs.’

Behind her, Valance heard Kharth mutter oaths in her native tongue. Were the involvement of a Romulan not liable to escalate matters even more violently, she suspected her XO would not have kept her choice words to herself.

Valance gave an irritated sigh. ‘Is that what it takes to distract a hunting trip? Small words to ease your ego?’

‘One way or another, you will be beaten here, mongrel,’ said Ledera with a shrug. ‘The question is only if you live to see defeat by bowing and scraping at the feet of a warrior, as is your place, or if your unearned pride makes you fight and die like a dog.’

It was, on paper, an easy choice. Valance did not care about the opinion of a young, brash warrior. Nor did she think her bridge crew cared enough about the opinion of a young, brash warrior to care if their captain had to perform theatrics in front of one. To Starfleet officers, doing what Ledera asked was embarrassing for Ledera, not for her.

And still, any attempt at gathering words caught in Valance’s throat before she said, instead, ‘This is beneath you, Captain Ledera -’

Ledera snarled. ‘You think you can dictate my honour, mongrel –’

Which was when Kharth launched herself to her feet, thundering, ‘Call her “mongrel” one more time, you ignorant brute -’

Perhaps it was the insult, perhaps the interruption. Perhaps it was Ledera realising she was in danger of losing the upper hand. Perhaps Kharth’s outburst made it clear that, with her pointed ears and eyebrows, she was not a Vulcan. Whichever way, Ledera’s fist slammed onto a control by her chair, and a heartbeat later, Endeavour shook under the impact of weapons fire.

‘Direct torpedo hit!’ Logan barked. ‘Shields down to forty percent!’

‘With one torpedo? My, my,’ said Ledera in a sing-song voice. ‘What’ll it be, mongrel?’

Valance first rounded on Kharth. ‘Stand down, Commander.’ Her voice was low, firm. ‘If we’re not dying for my pride, we’re certainly not dying for yours.’

Kharth’s lip curled, but she nodded and stepped back. Rather than resume her seat, she moved behind the command chairs, and Valance could hear her prowling like a caged animal. That wasn’t the worst choice, Valance considered. If it looked like this hurt her people, then that would be more likely to placate Ledera.

Valance’s eyes went to Airex first. Her friend looked tense, almost as coiled and ready as Kharth, but, with a tight jaw, he gave the faintest of nods.

It was more bolstering than she’d expected. This was just words. Just theatre. He had her back. She drew a deep breath and turned back to the viewscreen. Somewhere, she heard another alert go off on Logan’s console, but blocked that out; he would report if something mattered. ‘Captain Ledera,’ she began in a crisp, collected, but low voice. ‘I’d be a fool to pretend you don’t have the upper hand. A second blast will bring down my shields. A third will breach my hull and kill my crew.’ She swallowed. ‘Please don’t do that.’

Ledera sank into her chair, chin raising a half-inch. ‘Why shouldn’t I? Mongrel?’

‘Because this crew -’

‘Because you can go to hell,’ came Kharth’s second interruption, and for a second Valance legitimately considered turning and back-handing her XO to stop Ledera from reacting to this further insult. But Kharth wasn’t stupid or that impulsive –

Then the viewscreen shook as the IKS Morinar was racked with weapons fire, and as Ledera’s head snapped around, Logan gave a triumphant report from Tactical.

‘Incoming starship, Captain! It’s the USS Scylla.’

‘We’re being hailed! Both of us!’ called Kally, relief flooding her voice as she pressed a finger to her ear.

The viewscreen split in half, the shadowed halls of the Morinar’s bridge shoved to one side for the other to be dominated by the blazing, alert bridge of the Manticore-class USS Scylla. Valance had never met Captain Borodin before, but the square-jawed, dark-eyed commander of the squadron’s dedicated tactical escort was one of the most welcome sights she’d ever seen.

‘Stand down, Morinar.’ Borodin’s voice was low, tight, and threatening. ‘I have a lock on you with all three forward torpedo launchers and can bring eight of my ten phaser arrays to bear. It would be wise to only pick a fight with damaged ships today.’

Ledera’s lip curled in a snarl, but her eyes flickered across the screen to lock back on Valance. ‘You need to cry for help, mongrel -’

‘Lieutenant Oraix, open fire,’ came Borodin’s cool interruption. ‘One volley, all launchers, all arrays.’

Valance tensed at that, watched as weapons fire racked the Morinar, as a torpedo seared through the shields and thudded into the hull. The Klingon bridge was awash with chaos, officers shouting in the background as Ledera rounded on her people, barking instructions.

‘Captain Borodin,’ said Valance, voice whip-sharp. ‘I think you’ve made your point. Do you need assistance, Captain Ledera?’

Ledera only spat oaths in Klingon before cutting the communication line, and a moment later, Logan was giving a fresh report from Tactical.

‘Bird-of-prey has come about and is leaving at maximum warp. Looks like their cloak’s been taken out.’

‘That was my intention,’ said Borodin, whose expression had not changed throughout this confrontation. ‘And to leave a mark they’ll remember.’

‘That was some mark,’ said Valance, but let out a deep breath. ‘But I can’t pretend you don’t have excellent timing, Captain. I didn’t know you were this far out.’

‘We’ve been assisting with Republic border security for weeks and took the lead on a patrol where we spotted you limping on long-distance sensors. We came as quickly as we could. Can we be of any assistance?’

‘Can you give us a whole new set of EPS conduits? Or, if the Empire’s warships are prowling out here… perhaps an escort,’ Valance sighed.

‘The former is no more in my engineers’ power than yours,’ conceded Borodin. ‘But the latter would be my honour, Captain. If the Empire thinks of Midgard as its hunting ground now, nobody should walk it alone.’

Endeavour was still measuring every micron of energy pumping into every replicator, so Captain Borodin hosted Valance aboard the Scylla. The last Endeavour had been a Manticore class, and she’d served aboard for four long years as XO. To walk the interior with its crisp metal bulkheads, shining fixtures, and steel blue carpets was like stepping back in time, and the pang she felt in her chest was unexpected. What she missed about those days was not the ship, that lean vessel made for combat her crew had tried to wield as a weapon of hope. It was the people – Captain MacCallister, the other senior officers – and the simplicity of those days that she missed. The similarities were still striking.

But that sense of familiarity passed quickly. Within seconds, in fact, as the light of the transporter faded around her to reveal the transporter room, and a larger reception than she expected: not only the transporter chief and a sturdy, grey-haired man in a red uniform and commander’s pips, but a pair of officers posted to frame the steps of the pad.

Before she’d taken a step forward, the transporter chief had tugged a bosun’s whistle from his uniform and blown a quick, reserved arrival piping. The officers snapped to attention at once.

‘Welcome aboard, Captain Valance,’ said the commander with a swift, formal salute that he, to her relief, did not hold in expectation that she return it. Starfleet had never adopted such protocol formally into its codes of conduct, but she’d known some crews practice it. ‘I’m Commander Solheim, XO. Let me show you to the captain.’

She nodded politely as he extended a hand towards the door. ‘Thank you, Commander.’ She had questions, but knew it was down to Borodin to explain just what had brought the Scylla this far out. They had not walked more than a few metres of corridor in silence before they passed two more junior officers, who snapped to attention at either bulkhead as they passed, and Valance couldn’t suppress a raised eyebrow.

‘Captain Borodin runs a tight ship.’

To her relief, a tight smile crossed Solheim’s lips. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d welcome the whistle, ma’am. It might be a bit old-fashioned, but Captain Borodin wanted to be sure you were welcomed with the respect you deserve as a fellow starship commander, even in this situation.’

Even when I needed rescuing, she thought wryly. ‘Captain Borodin only took command of the Scylla a few months ago. Have you served with him before?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I was his XO on the Vigilance. He brought much of the crew over with him.’

‘The Vigilance. She was a New Orleans, no? How are you finding a Manticore?’

‘Bigger. Faster. Tougher. She’s a tough piece of work, this girl. She’ll go toe-to-toe with anyone who wants to make trouble, and end it.’

‘I appreciated the manoeuvrability,’ Valance mused, ‘but found the forward-facing weapons profile affected my thinking. We had to face problems head-on.’ At his curious look, she shrugged. ‘The last Endeavour was a Manticore. We’re not so much made for slugging matches any more.’

His eyebrows went up as they stepped into the turbolift. ‘No, ma’am. But the new Endeavour’s a fine ship. Traditional.’

Valance didn’t know if that was code for soft, and didn’t much want to prejudge a seasoned officer being proud of his ship, supportive of his captain, and polite in conversation. Thankfully, the turbolift trip was brief, and soon enough Solheim had led her into the CO’s ready room.

If Valance thought her approach to decorating was minimalist, Captain Borodin’s was practically invisible. He kept the steel blue carpets and clean lines in gunmetal grey. The interior bulkhead had a large Starfleet crest etched into the metal, and a display shelf along another wall showed off models of ancient sea-going warships of Earth. The wall behind his desk, beside the tall window, had only a few frames hanging, which Valance at once recognised held records of the captain’s commendations.

The man himself stood from behind his desk the moment they arrived. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, strong-jawed, he looked younger in person. Valance wasn’t used to being the elder captain, though she knew he’d held the rank for longer, and she decided that this, and the greater prestige of her ship despite its condition, put them on equal footing.

Borodin seemed to think so, too, walking around the desk to extend his hand for a crisp shake. ‘Captain Valance. Welcome aboard.’

‘Thank you for the welcome, Captain, and the save.’

‘Of course. You’d do the same for me, I’m sure.’ He looked to Solheim. ‘That’ll be all, Commander. Check in with Oraix on his tracking of the Klingons.’ As the XO left, Borodin turned to the replicator. ‘I took the liberty of brewing a raktajino. I hope that isn’t crass, under the circumstances; I served alongside KDF ships on the Warspite back on Operation Gatecrash and acquired a taste for it.’

She’d been half-bracing for him to make some implication about her heritage, and this wrong-footed her. ‘Raktajino sounds great. Black, no sugar.’

‘As it should be.’ Borodin took up a stainless steel jug and poured into two hefty mugs bearing the Scylla’s crest. ‘Please, sit,’ he said, gesturing to the low seating by the window, rather than his desk, as he handed her one.

Her worry about an excess of formality was fading. ‘We were very lucky your patrol took you this far out, Captain,’ she said as they sat before the windows, the distant shape of Endeavour dimly visible as a brighter gleam among the stars.

‘That’s true,’ said Borodin without pride. ‘We left our Republic allies behind to race here at maximum warp. We’ve told them to hold position; there’s no telling how many of the House of K’Var are out there. I’ve not encountered this Ledera before, but it’s not our first run-in with her house.’

‘They’ve fallen in very firmly with Toral. The house used to be divided in its attitude to the Federation, but the hostile factions seem to have won. They’ve been escalating against the Republic?’

Borodin nodded, stone-faced. ‘Probing, for now. But setting their eyes firmly on the Republic, like the rest of the Empire.’ She hadn’t realised her expression gave anything away, but he cocked his head. ‘You’ve been out of Federation territory a while, Captain. Chancellor Toral’s all but declared war on the Republic. The border houses who want their territory are starting to act like it.’

Endeavour hadn’t been completely cut off from the rest of the galaxy, but Valance wondered how much Rourke had kept his thumb on her reports, making sure he didn’t include anything which would have her racing back. Her lips set. ‘They’re going to burn the Khitomer Accords at this rate.’

‘I expect that’s why Chancellor Toral hasn’t formally declared war.’

She shook her head. ‘To an extent. It’s not necessarily fear of escalation that keeps him in line. But there are houses who don’t want war with the Federation, and he’s not strong enough to defy them.’

‘Yet,’ said Borodin grimly.

‘Yet,’ she conceded. ‘K’Var’s been focusing more on this border?’ The local tactical issue was, while threatening, a preferable concern to the risk of war with the empire.

Borodin sighed with frustration as he nodded. ‘They’ve found clear passage to traverse the dorsal border of the Republic to this frontier, which they expect to be less well-defended than the direct border with the Empire. Commodore Rourke dispatched me to aid the Republic with border security this far out. Fleet Captain Faust has her division at Unroth and Nemus Station, building up defensive infrastructure.’

Valance glared out the window for a moment. ‘We’ll have to return to Gateway once we’re able. Report to Commodore Rourke and see how we can help.’

‘Admiral Morgan’s calling the shots in the sector,’ said Borodin carefully. ‘I expect the commodore dispatched the Scylla to mollify the admiral. He’s taken the Sirius out past Vadfall, chasing reports of a Romulan warlord. The admiral wanted the Sirius closer for defence.’ Again, she must have been poor at masking her expression, because Borodin gave a low chuckle. ‘I know. Command politics. Much better to be out here, getting our hands dirty.’ He paused, wincing. ‘Apologies, Captain. I’m sure you’ve not enjoyed the dirt you just got on you.’

‘Not much, but we lost nobody,’ said Valance. ‘I call that the good end to a bad day.’

‘You think you can secure the help you need at Rencaris?’

‘I don’t know. But I think that if the House of K’Var is out here, Rencaris will be involved in local politics more, one way or another. Now we have the best excuse for diplomatic outreach.’

‘Even if we’re on the back foot.’

‘I think the company of your ship, Captain, puts us in a stronger position.’ She shrugged. ‘It makes us look less desperate. We can go somewhere else, it’s just an inconvenience. It’s not a matter of survival.’

‘We should make sure,’ said Borodin carefully, ‘they don’t realise that the longer I’m with you, the longer the Republic patrols don’t have my help.’

She nodded, and her brow knotted finally as she was reminded of his tactical acumen. ‘You hit that bird-of-prey rather hard, Captain.’

Borodin’s expression didn’t change. ‘I did. They had deadly designs on a Starfleet ship.’

‘A volley of half your weapons would have made the same point.’

‘It would have demonstrated we could bloody them. It might not have demonstrated we would. There’s no benefit to walking softly with these people.’

Again, she braced for the implication he was lumping her in with Klingons, but he didn’t. There was, this time, no hint of the affection with which he’d spoken of his comrades on Operation Gatecrasher, liberating Federation space from the grips of the extremist Sovereignty of Kahless over a decade ago. Only a cold pragmatism.

‘The wrong hit, and we’d have been rescuing them or retrieving bodies,’ Valance pressed.

‘I disagree,’ sad Borodin. ‘I calculated the ordnance loadout carefully. You can disapprove of my desire to bloody them to make a point, Captain, but please don’t suggest I didn’t use exactly as much force as I chose to.’

Force doesn’t work like that, Valance thought but didn’t say. It gathers momentum fast. She inclined her head. ‘Then I’ll just thank you for the save.’

‘Even though we sent them packing,’ said Borodin, and for a moment she thought he was going to double-back and relitigate something he’d just asked her to stop litigating, ‘and politics of Rencaris aside, I want to make sure your ship is escorted and safe. I heard much of the comms chatter on our approach. You’ve made an enemy there.’

The thought that this brusque, formal man had heard her borderline begging for her crew’s lives did not make this meeting any more pleasant. ‘I’m sure she and I will have a chance to resolve our business.’

‘Not just you. Your crew. She came for them, too, coming for you like that.’ Borodin’s gaze was fixed, firm. ‘Your XO sees that.’

She wasn’t sure if he was accusing Kharth of speaking out of turn, suggesting she was dismissing her crew’s feelings, or reassuring her that she wasn’t alone in what had just happened. Before she could press, the door-chime sounded and Borodin looked up with a flash of irritation at the interruption as he gave his summons.

‘Apologies, Captain,’ said Commander Solheim once inside. ‘We’ve found something on our long-range scans.’

‘The Morinar?’

‘No, sir. Another Klingon ship. Vor’cha class.’ Solheim hesitated. ‘Sir, it’s at Rencaris.’

Borodin was on his feet. ‘Return Captain Valance to her ship at once – Captain, I apologise, but if the House of K’Var are assaulting Rencaris then we must lend aid -’

‘They’re not attacking, Captain.’ Solheim was more firm, sounding now like the older man bringing his commanding officer’s youthful exuberance in check. ‘They’re in orbit of the third planet. It looks like they’re… visiting.’

Borodin stopped, staring at his XO. ‘Visiting?’

Valance let out a slow breath, chest tight. ‘This won’t be a vacation. Or a scouting trip. There’s only one reason to send a Vor’cha for something like this: they’re negotiating. And they’re serious about it.’

‘Negotiating what?’ said Borodin.

‘That,’ said Valance more levelly, ‘is something we must find out when we get there. And complicate this party.’

‘It would be best,’ said Valance to the image of Captain Borodin on Endeavour’s bridge viewscreen, ‘if you and the Scylla remained at a distance on our approach.’

‘I agree,’ conceded Borodin with visible reluctance, ‘but we’ll hold position. If Rencaris or the Klingons start anything…’

‘We’ll withdraw,’ Valance said swiftly. ‘And you can cover our escape. We’ll signal if we need you, Scylla, and communicate once we’re safe. Endeavour out.’

‘Babysitting over,’ mused Beckett as the viewscreen died. He’d assumed the tertiary command seat, somewhat to her consternation, but he was still the closest thing they had to a local expert.

‘We probably owe Captain Borodin our lives,’ Valance reminded him curtly, then raised her voice. ‘Take us into the system, Lieutenant Lindgren. Ensign Kally, keep transmitting our greeting message.’ Kally had composed, in consultation with Beckett, a simple message to declare their peaceful intentions and desire to speak with the leadership of Rencaris, trying to open the door to negotiations succinctly without over-explaining.

Within minutes, they dropped out of warp at the periphery of the Rencaris system, the strained hum of Endeavour’s engines receding as they coasted in. Valance watched the image on the viewscreen still as the stars stopped streaming, but barely change, the outermost planet still no bigger than her thumb at this distance, but growing all the time.

Kally had a finger to her earpiece, the young officer’s expression perhaps the most intent Valance had seen it. ‘Picking up traffic from local ships, captain. There’s a lot of commercial activity.’

‘And patrols,’ said Logan, reading his tactical sensors. ‘Old ships, mostly – D-7s and Stormbirds. All with modified transponders of the former Star Empire, Romulan and Rator. Two are headed our way.’

Valance looked at Kally. ‘Do they have our message?’

‘They should do, Captain.’

Kharth had moved to stand at Logan’s shoulder. ‘They’ve got shields up but haven’t armed weapons,’ she said. ‘Flight pattern is for non-hostile engagement; they’re wary, but they’re not coming in hot.’

Valance had wondered if she should stop her XO and former Chief of Security from backseat driving her successor, but Kharth was still an astute observer of Romulan military matters. She nodded, just as Kally called out anew.

‘Comms from the patrol ship, Captain.’ She paused, finger at earpiece. ‘They’re offering to escort us further in. Governor Vhiemm would like to welcome us.’

Valance let out a slow, relieved breath. ‘Confirm our cooperation, Kally. Lindgren, follow their lead.’

Endeavour glided deeper into the Rencaris system, the crew watching on the viewscreen as the once-distant star blossomed into the heart of a bustling interstellar hub. Stations, freighters, and sleek transports crisscrossed the space between planets; even in the vastness of space, the star system boasted a steady hum of activity. A moderately sized defence platform orbited the sixth planet, a respectable shipyard the fifth, and within that ring of duranium, they could see the rest of the system’s life. Sleek habitats and settlements gleamed on the surfaces of worlds and moons, their infrastructure layered with industry and urban sprawl.

‘I’m getting comms not just in Romulan, but some of the local indigenous languages – and some further out, too,’ said Kally, keyed into the general communications chatter.

‘Some of these ships are from a ways out,’ mused Logan. ‘Few we know from Sot Thryfar, even Rho Detara. Some are IDing from Volantis, Chalthe…’

‘This is to the old Romulan factions what Alfheim is to the Federation,’ Kharth reminded him. ‘The edge of everything.’

‘The Vor’cha class is orbiting the third planet,’ Airex butted in, voice terse. ‘I’ve ID’d her as the IKS Suv’chu, part of the House of K’Var’s fleet.’

Beckett’s head snapped around at that. ‘That’s General Brok’tan’s ship. He’s the…’ He waved a hand illustratively as he sought the word. ‘Master-at-arms? Marshall? Of the house. The highest ranking military member who’s not part of the house itself.’

‘That could be worse,’ said Kharth, ‘seeing as we – well, Rourke – killed one of K’Var’s sons and now the brothers are out for our blood.’

Logan sucked his teeth. ‘He might have orders to bring in our heads.’

‘Torkath only attacked us back in the Empire to hurt Rourke; it’s only personal with Rourke,’ said Valance, rubbing her chin. ‘I wouldn’t expect a subordinate to automatically take up that fight. We should be careful, though.’

‘It’s a big deal if Brok’tan is here,’ Beckett said. ‘He’s the highest ranking member of the house to get involved in their campaign against the Romulans.’

‘Let’s hope that means he won’t compromise his mission just to please Torkath,’ said Kharth.

‘That does raise the question of what he’s doing.’ Valance frowned, but then Kally was interrupting again.

‘Sorry, Captain – we’re being hailed. It’s the office of Governor Vhiemm.’

Kharth looked over before Valance could reply. ‘You want to field this one, or should I?’

Valance shook her head. ‘There’s no telling if they’d distrust a Klingon in a Starfleet uniform or a Romulan in a Starfleet uniform more. I won’t overthink this.’

‘That’s a hell of a choice getting into Romulan politics,’ Kharth pointed out, but returned to her seat at Valance’s side anyway.

The captain nodded to Kally. ‘On screen.’

Vhiemm was a weathered Romulan man whose ridged forehead was somewhat at odds with his otherwise thin, delicate features. Behind him was his office, bathed in bright sunlight spilling from tall windows showing the distant vista of Rencaris’s capital city, walls adorned with intricate Romulan tapestries. He spoke in a voice slightly higher pitched than Valance had expected, almost melodic in his greeting. ‘Captain Valance, welcome to Rencaris. How may we assist Starfleet today?’

Valance straightened. ‘Thank you for the welcome, Governor, and for receiving us. As you may have been informed, my ship is badly damaged. We face a long journey back to Federation territory across this turbulent sector. I’m here to ask for shelter so we can conduct repairs.’

‘I’m delighted to hear Starfleet considers us friends enough to reach out in such troubled times,’ said Vhiemm, rather to her surprise. ‘You were right to make your way to Rencaris. I cannot offer you use of our shipyard facilities at this time, but your ship is welcome to enter orbit of our capital and conduct repairs in safety.’

It took discipline to disguise her surprise at this immediate cooperation. ‘That would be gratefully received, Governor. In return, we can discuss sharing some of our findings of the further reaches of -’

‘Captain, what matters most is your ship getting to safe harbour.’ Vhiemm interrupted her with an airy wave of the hand. ‘We can discuss the details later, perhaps some way our shipyards might accommodate you. Rencaris is welcome to all those who would treat with us fairly. That includes you.’

‘Thank you,’ Valance said again, somewhat stunned.

‘I ask you to appraise your repairs and inform me once you have some idea of how long it will take, and we can discuss from there whether it is appropriate for you to call in further assistance from your people. My reports indicate there is another starship nearby?’

‘The Scylla.’ For a moment, she considered obfuscating, but decided there was value to testing Vhiemm’s reaction. ‘They have business of their own to return to once we are safely harboured, but they escorted us here after we were targeted by a Klingon bird-of-prey.’

Vhiemm’s eyes did narrow at that. ‘Targeted.’

‘I assure you, Governor, in our condition I did not seek a fight, and your scans should make it plain that our damage came from the Mesea Storm, not Klingon weapons. I’ve no intention of starting trouble with your other guests.’

‘Yes, well. General Brok’tan is our guest. We will brook no external conflicts spilling into our territory.’

‘Of course not.’

‘I expect you to make your people aware of this, should they come across any of the general’s warriors off-duty.’ Vhiemm did spot her flicker of confusion this time, and gave a thin smile. ‘Of course your crew are welcome to enjoy the sights of Rencaris while you are here. As I said, Captain. Rencaris is welcome to all those who would treat us fairly.’

‘We’d… welcome the shore leave, Governor.’

‘Good.’ Vhiemm’s eyes flickered off-screen. ‘You will be given instructions by your escort about your orbital vector. Please give my security staff your full cooperation. Governor Vhiemm out.’

Kharth was frowning deeply when the viewscreen died. ‘That went well.’

‘Really well,’ Valance agreed with shared suspicion.

‘He didn’t ask for anything,’ said Caede, turning in the chair, scowling. ‘He’s up to something, Captain.’

‘He said we’d negotiate later. Though that sounded like it’d only cost us if we want their facilities, or to bring in more personnel.’ Valance frowned and, despite herself, looked at Beckett. ‘Lieutenant?’

‘I’m not exactly an expert in Romulan negotiations,’ the intelligence officer admitted. ‘But it’s a pretty standard practice to make the first offer free, to get us in the door. Also, the Klingons being here might shift things. Maybe he doesn’t want to seem like he’s favouring the Empire, so doesn’t want to risk turning us away.’

‘I think he’s actually proud of Rencaris,’ mused Kharth. ‘He wants to show it off.’

‘He wants,’ said Caede roughly, ‘to come across as reasonable, when he’d rebuild the Star Empire in a second if he had his way.’

‘But he won’t get his way,’ said Kharth, a bit dismissive. ‘So he can be as munificent as he likes if it suits us.’

‘What I’m saying, Captain,’ the centurion pressed, eyes on Valance, ‘is that he’s not our friend. Even if he’s being nice.’

‘I’m aware of that, but thank you for the reminder,’ said Valance, trying to sound sincere. ‘It’s easy for us to get so relieved at a spot of good luck we don’t keep an eye out for danger. But let’s not borrow trouble, either.’ She stood and straightened her uniform. ‘Lindgren, find us a patch of sky we can call our own. Then let’s figure out how long we need to be here. Lieutenant Kally, signal the Scylla they can get back to their journeys. We’re going to put our trust in our host’s hospitality.’

Valance rubbed her temples as her yeoman swished through the holographic displays boasting the delights of Rencaris, bright pictures dominating the compact ready room.

‘…what about the Varal Moon Gardens?’ Ensign Hargreaves said, eyebrows raised like she was testing toys on a child and monitoring their reaction. ‘Botanical gardens, home to rare Romulan plants. Crafted landscape. You don’t get much of Romulan botany elsewhere. Or the Rilan Sky Temple, an aerostat over Rencaris IV, one of the gas giants, offering stunning -’

‘I told you to put some information together, Hargreaves,’ Valance snapped at the young officer. ‘Not get a job at the Rencaris Tourism Board.’ She reached to swipe over to the next offering, labelled the ‘Plasma Falls of Eridon,’ a favoured site for extreme sports, hikes, and scenic views. ‘Where did you find all of this?’

Hargreaves straightened her uniform self-consciously. ‘The, ah, Rencaris Tourism Board. I did consult some of our own scans and Kally’s comms records, trying to put together a more objective assessment of the system, but then Counsellor Dhanesh suggested-’

‘…that this was a chance for everyone to wind down? Say no more,’ Valance grumbled. ‘Let me guess, you want to go diving off the Plasma Falls.’

‘Actually, there’s a grav-racing circuit at Solathian…’

Valance was saved from managing the young ensign’s enthusiasm by the door-chime’s chirrup, and her brisk response summoned a suspicious-eyed Kharth.

‘Commander,’ Valance greeted her. ‘Come in. Hargreaves is suggesting twelve ways to die in Rencaris.’

Kharth gave Hargreaves a brief, assessing look, then shrugged at Valance. ‘I only need to suggest one, for you: walk a street in Rencaris.’

‘That’s a little paranoid. If the Suv’chu is here, and if they’ve had half the welcome we did, then I expect Klingon warriors are taking shore leave.’

‘And,’ said Hargreaves, swishing through a few more pictures on the holographic projection,  ‘Rencaris is close enough to the old Neutral Zone that they’ve a fairly well-established array of travellers from over the border. The capital city is quite diverse and hotspots like Kalaak’s Plaza are -’

‘Did you swallow a brochure?’ said Kharth.

‘Dhanesh wants us to take a break,’ sighed Valance, ‘so he asked her to make it all sound appealing.’

‘A break sounds great. For everyone who’s not you, me, or the engineers.’ Kharth shot Hargreaves another look. ‘Beat it, Ensign. Go take Kally BASE jumping off a flaming waterfall or something.’

‘Actually, now you’re here, Commander…’ Hargreaves fished about for her PADD. ‘Governor Vhiemm’s extended an invitation to Captain Valance and a nebulous number of guests to have dinner with him and his wife before attending a performance at the Old Ratorian Opera House in the capital. Day after tomorrrow.’

Valance gave Kharth a wry look. ‘Give me one excuse why my Romulan XO isn’t a perfect companion for this.’

Kharth narrowed her eyes. ‘Can’t your reporter girlfriend get here in 24 hours at maximum warp or something?’

‘She’s not my girlfriend –’

‘That makes it sound worse and more desperate; what’s the show, Hargreaves?’

‘Uh…’ Hargreaves flicked through messages. ‘The Fall of D’taleth.’

Valance had not expected Kharth’s reaction of a brief, smothered grimace. ‘Fine,’ said the XO.

‘We should wear civilian formalwear,’ said Valance, watching her more carefully. ‘Avoid drawing too much attention. And we’ll want a security officer.’

‘Logan can -’

‘I’m not putting Logan on security detail within ten feet of the head of state.’

Kharth stared at her for a moment. Then she turned to Hargreaves. ‘Again, Ensign: beat it.’

The two women were silent as the young officer grabbed her PADD and fairly flew out the door, leaving the projection of the delights of Rencaris shimmering in the air by the bulkhead. After a moment, Kharth let out a slow breath. ‘He’s a good officer -’

‘This is a diplomatic opportunity and there’s no need to add the complication of an xB. For his sake as much as the mission’s,’ said Valance levelly.

‘Don’t say it’s for his sake.’ Kharth scowled. ‘He wouldn’t thank you for stopping him from doing his job and saying it’s for his own good -’

‘You just suggested I’d get mobbed walking the street. It’s not unusual to pick a junior security officer for an assignment like this. I won’t lie to Logan, but I’ll ask him to choose someone else.’ Valance leaned back in her chair, and a quick wave of the hand made it clear the discussion was over. ‘What’s the word from Thawn?’

‘Without use of Rencaris’s facilities, this could be a two-week job,’ said Kharth, sucking her teeth.

‘We can discuss that tomorrow. Alternatively, Gateway has offered to send reinforcements. Swiftsure could be here in a day or so if they burn hot. They’ve got the industrial replicators and can secure parts from the station before they go.’

‘Do you think Vhiemm will welcome another Starfleet ship?’

‘Maybe not, but it might get us out of his hair sooner,’ Valance pointed out. ‘It’s another option to put on the table. I expect him to start dangling prices at dinner.’

‘Airex and Beckett have been putting together a few options on data packages to offer in trade.’

‘Good. Then we’re ready. I had word from Admiral Morgan; he’s indicated he’ll follow my lead on the negotiations.’

Kharth scowled. ‘You mean, he’ll let you take point and blame you if it goes badly, and swoop in and take credit if this is a success?’

Valance opened her mouth to chastise her XO for speaking ill of an admiral, but her heart wasn’t in it. In the end, she just said, ‘We’ll see,’ before looking up at her. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Feeling?’ Kharth made another face. ‘I don’t know. A bit hungry?’

‘I mean, how long has it been since you were somewhere like this? Romulan space that isn’t a desperate frontier, or an empire collapsing around our ears?’

‘Two and a half years? Since we raided Rator space to bust Rourke out of prison?’

Valance rolled her eyes. ‘Without someone trying to kill us.’

‘If you’re asking how I’m feeling about being around my people…’ Once, Valance thought, Kharth would have gone on the offensive to push the topic away. Now she shifted her feet and said, ‘Last time I went to the opera was with my parents. On Romulus. I was twelve. Didn’t really appreciate it very much. My…’ She cut herself off and shook her head. ‘It’s weird. But I’ve spent more of my life in the Federation than anywhere else, now. You probably spent more of your adult life around Klingons than I did around Romulans.’

‘That might be true,’ Valance allowed. ‘I only ask because Dhanesh will probably ask.’

Kharth set her hands on her hips. ‘There’s a lot of things I’ve disliked you for in the past,’ she said. ‘Asking Greg to recommend us a new counsellor might be the worst. How are you feeling about the Suv’chu?’

‘Like there’s a predator I can see out of the corner of my eye, sizing me up, trying to figure out if it should make the first move,’ said Valance, fidgeting with the stylus for her PADD. ‘Which reminds me. About the run-in with the Morinar, and Captain Ledera…’

‘I know.’ Kharth made a frustrated sound, but it didn’t seem dismissive. ‘I spoke out of turn. I should have kept my mouth shut. I just hate when these assholes get to act out and we’ve got to keep the high ground, but I put the crew in danger, I know…’

Valance’s lips twisted. ‘Yes. There is all of that. But what I was going to say was…’ She hesitated, plucking at air with her fingertips like seeking words, and tried to keep her voice light. ‘Thank you.’

‘Oh.’ Kharth blinked. Then she frowned and self-consciously shifted her feet. ‘Well. Yeah. Like I said. There’s a lot of things I’ve disliked you for. Ledera doesn’t get to shit on you after only knowing you for five minutes.’

‘Let’s try to be more diplomatic with Vhiemm and Brok’tan if it comes to it, though, yes?’ Valance stood, eager to move on after the uncommonly warm exchange. ‘And Dhanesh is right about some things: the crew deserve a break. Not to mention that we’re explorers, and we know so little about these people, these worlds. We can mix business with pleasure. Make sure everyone gets at least 24 hours off. Even Thawn and her team. If Airex wants to integrate some anthropological observations with downtime, so much the better.’

Kharth nodded. ‘Rest. Recuperate. Seize opportunities. No such thing as a real vacation for us, huh?’

‘Not out here,’ sighed Valance. ‘Let’s also try to politely scope out Rencaris’s shipyard facilities, see if they’re worth us buying access to -’

‘Kally to Valance.’ The young comms officer’s voice came crackling over the system, low but urgent. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Captain, but I’ve got a message here from General Brok’tan of the Suv’chu. He’s inviting you aboard. Lunch, apparently, uh, at 1300 hours.’

Valance met Kharth’s gaze, guarded as she called, ‘Thank you, Kally,’ and cut the channel. ‘I suppose I’m popular.’

‘You’re bringing someone,’ said Kharth flatly. ‘If Brok’tan doesn’t like it, he doesn’t get lunch.’

‘Of course, but respectfully, Kharth, this one isn’t a visit for you -’

‘No. This is boarding a Klingon warship when we just got threatened by one of their buddies out there. It’s okay to make Brok’tan feel a bit uncomfortable.’ Kharth straightened. ‘Which means this time you are bringing Logan.’

When Raj Dhanesh had come aboard Endeavour some months ago, he hadn’t expected the first visitor to his office to be chief of security Jack Logan.

‘Thought I’d give you a warm welcome,’ the former Borg drone had drawled as he’d sauntered in before Dhanesh had finished deciding where to put his potted plants. ‘Considering most of the senior staff are probably busy drawing up plans how to best avoid you. I’m Jack Logan.’

‘You know how to make a fellow feel wanted,’ Dhanesh had mused in reply, giving Logan’s extended hand a firm shake. ‘Is everyone aboard that therapy-averse?’

‘I’d say no more than on any starship. Some of them are real bad at winding down and trying to relax or be happy, though.’ Logan wandered the half-unpacked office, eyes sweeping over the tentative choices in decor. ‘You’re gonna need to hook ‘em in if you want them to talk about their feelings.’

‘But not you.’ Dhanesh had watched this broad-shouldered, swaggering man with a suspicious air. ‘I don’t need to worry about you? In fact, I should worry about everyone else first, because you’re so clearly so well-adjusted?’

‘What? Oh, no.’ Logan waved a dismissive hand as he turned from a picture of a calming ocean that Dhanesh rather hated, but knew to be soothing. ‘Nah, this ain’t some gambit where I pretend to be the model patient, so you pay me less attention. I’m not gonna be your patient at all.’

Dhanesh had been sifting through a box of knick-knacks. It was good to make the office look personal, make him look and feel like a real person to his colleagues when they came to bear their souls to him. But professional boundaries still mattered, so which real version of Raj Dhanesh they all got mattered a great deal, and some of that was in which tiny sculpture he put where. ‘You’ve got my attention,’ he admitted.

‘I’m well-therapised. You probably saw my counsellors’ files; you could present it to the Sheliak as convincing documentation. My commission, especially my service in a senior role on a front-line starship, is dependent on my cooperation with clinical psychologists who’re absolute experts in my specific bag of trauma.’ Logan had leaned against the door-frame, arms folded across his chest, watching the counsellor. ‘So I talk with them regularly, remotely. Do my worksheets. Express my feelings. All that good stuff.’

‘Then why, if you’re such a cooperative patient, don’t you want to benefit from face-to-face sessions with a counsellor who sees you every week?’

‘Don’t get me wrong. If I need some emergency session ‘cos something bad happens – I’ll book in.’ Logan shrugged. ‘But my day-to-day needs? I’m sorted. I’ll go somewhere else, thanks.’

Dhanesh had reached for the console built into his desk to quickly but pointedly summon Logan’s files. ‘I guess I’ll have to have a word with… Commander Bainbridge about that. See if she has any concerns about what could be considered avoidance behaviour.’

‘Oh, it ain’t for my good, per se. This is for yours.’ Logan had given a slow, self-satisfied smirk as Dhanesh’s suspicious eyes fell on him. ‘You’re about to become the emotional guardian of one of the most stand-offish packs of over-achievers you ever met, and they’re not gonna want to let you. You’ll either be in conflict with them or know the truly screwed up shit they’re going through. You’re gonna need better boundaries than the old Neutral Zone. Except for with me. ‘Cos I’ll keep going to Bainbridge.’

‘You’re saying this like I should thank you.’

‘Dunno about that. Point is, you’re gonna have a lot of weird relationships. One thing you’re gonna need is a friend. One you don’t therapise, one you don’t need to keep some professional barriers up for. Someone you can blow off steam with. You play springball?’

‘Badly.’

‘Good, me too. See you tonight at seven on the court? We can grab a beer after.’

Which was how Raj Dhanesh became friends with Jack Logan.

He made sure to keep an eye on Logan’s records, checking that Commander Bainbridge of Starfleet Medical was satisfied with the progress and cooperation of a relatively high-ranked xB. With Endeavour in deep space for long weeks, too far out for instantaneous communication, Dhanesh reached out to Bainbridge himself to see if Logan’s primary carer wanted him to check in. But Logan proved as good as his word. Then again, most officers didn’t risk losing their job if they didn’t follow a counsellor’s instructions to the letter.

Springball became beers became regular games down the gym, or holodeck jaunts, or long evenings in the Safe House. It didn’t take a read of Logan’s file for Dhanesh to see the man’s aching need for constant companionship, to fill the silence the Collective had left within him. Then again, Dhanesh was fresh to a new assignment, finding his feet, himself cut off by Endeavour’s distance from real-time communication with his family. The arrangement worked. The friendship worked.

It meant that when, the day after their arrival at Rencaris, Logan flopped onto the bench in Endeavour’s gym between weights sets, puffing much more than expected at this stage into the workout, and began to complain, Dhanesh knew this was the bellyaching of a friend, not the expressing of feelings to a counsellor.

‘I’ve still gotta pick someone,’ Logan huffed, grabbing his water bottle. ‘For day after tomorrow.’

The emotions were clear. The context was not. Dhanesh set his weights down thoughtfully. ‘To do what?’

‘Escort duty. The opera. ‘Cos they can’t let me near a head of state, lookin’ like this.’ Logan was still catching his breath, and gave his own face, his own cortical implant, an agitated gesture.

‘Ah.’ Dhanesh handed Logan his water bottle. ‘Do you want advice on this professional decision?’ Or do you just want to get this off your chest?

‘It should be Qadir, right? Professional, capable. Not a Borg. Could be Griffin. Or I think a bit more out of the box and send someone like Beckett – it ain’t as if physical security will actually be needed, and the kid’s got good eyes…’

Dhanesh stayed silent. Logan drank deeply. His rest timer went off, and that cut the venting off for the period of another set of lifts. Dhanesh considered his options, and decided that being Logan’s friend didn’t mean he had to turn his professional instincts off.

‘Are you angry that you’re benched as chief of security because you’re a Borg? Or are you angry that you’re benched but Kharth is going?’ he said once Logan had put the weights down again.

He’d slightly misjudged it, and Logan put his dumbbells down with a bit of a clatter, his jaw tightening. ‘Can it be both?’ he said after glaring at the weights for a moment.

‘Sure can. I should rephrase, though. Are you legitimately worried for her safety, the captain’s safety? Struggling with the idea you’re not allowed to do your job? Or the idea there are social spaces they can go – she can go – that you can’t?’

‘Alright. Counsellor.’ Logan stood, lips twisting. ‘So there’s stuff to work on.’

‘Hey. I’m just asking questions,’ said Dhanesh with an amused shrug.

‘And maybe in all of this I should be thinkin’ harder about escorting the captain over to the Suv’chu, huh. Last time I escorted a senior officer to a Klingon meeting, guards pinned me to a wall while he got the hell beaten out of him.’

Dhanesh rolled his eyes. ‘That does make this sound a bit like deflection. Yeah.’

‘Or there’s just a lot goin’ on,’ Logan pointed out.

‘One step at a time. What do you need for the trip to the Suv’chu?’

‘To wrap Captain Valance in padding?’ Logan’s honest brow furrowed as followed the joke with a sincere ponder. Then he sucked his teeth and shook his head. ‘If they start to posture, if they start to throw their weight around, all training says you sometimes gotta be ready to meet Klingons on their own terms. Match strength for strength. If I hold back at the wrong moment, it looks like weakness and that hurts us.’

‘And…’ Dhanesh knew what the alternative was. He just wanted Logan to say it.

‘And if I push back at the wrong moment, they decide to see me as an outta control Borg and this makes things worse.’ Logan grimaced as he reached for his towel at last, wiping the back of his neck down.

He was never more obviously a former drone to Dhanesh than when they exercised. Physical competitions between them had been abandoned quickly, at Logan’s suggestion, because he was so clearly the stronger and faster. Down here in the gym, Dhanesh could only spot that superior strength if he stopped to note how heavy the weights were, how effortless it sometimes was. But in lightweight workout gear, he could see the nodes and implants marring Logan’s skin, marking his muscular arms and body.

To some extent, the trap Logan described would be performative, Klingons picking and choosing when they thought an opponent fighting back was impressive and worthy, and when they thought it meant they deserved death. But there were times Logan moved too fast, or lifted something too heavy, and some small part of Dhanesh’s hind brain screamed that there was a threat nearby.

‘Trust the captain,’ Dhanesh said in the end. ‘She knows the people involved, the culture. Let her set the pace. And tell her this before you go, so she knows when and why to give you orders.’

Logan frowned a moment, then nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, she’s not gonna be weird about appearing weak or whatever. She’s sensible.’

‘And then, when this is over,’ Dhanesh continued more carefully, ‘maybe have a conversation with Saeihr about the opera. Because I don’t believe you’re fretting more about a mission you’re not going on than one you are going on. You’re fretting about her. Being seen in public with her, on a Romulan world, in Romulan culture.’

Logan laughed. It was sincere but bitter, self-effacing but also, somehow, relieved. Dhanesh had cut to the heart of things, and though that hurt, it was also liberating. ‘Damn, Raj,’ he said as he gathered himself. ‘Thought I said I weren’t gonna be your patient?’

‘Sorry, Jack.’ Dhanesh clapped him on the shoulder as they headed back for the changing rooms. ‘I’m your friend, not your counsellor, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less annoying.’

‘We’ll keep a good enough sensor read on you at all times that if we need to beam you out, we can,’ said Kharth, walking in step with Valance on the way to Endeavour’s transporter room, Logan a beat behind them. ‘The first sign of trouble -’

‘They’ll raise their shields,’ Valance pointed out. ‘And then you’ll have to do some negotiating and try to get Rencaris on our side because we can’t either start or survive a fight in their territory. I’m not expecting a double-cross, Commander.’

‘That’s the point of a double-cross, Valance. You don’t expect it.’

‘This is a Klingon officer. A general,’ said Valance, chin tilting up an inch. ‘He’s here to engage the people of Rencaris in diplomatic negotiations. He doesn’t then invite another guest aboard his ship to kill them.’

‘I don’t -’

‘Keep an eye on us from the bridge if it makes you feel better. I think you’ll be very bored waiting, though.’ They entered the transporter room, and Valance gave Chief Zharek a brisk nod as she sprang onto the pad. ‘Get ready to beam us over, Chief.’

Thwarted, Kharth turned to Logan. ‘Remember that Klingons are liars,’ she told him bluntly, well aware Valance could hear her. ‘They’ll cling to honour until you get the better of them, at which point they’ll decide your methods were dishonourable, that you’re dishonourable, and so they don’t have to play by their made-up rules with you.’

‘All rules are made up,’ said Logan with a tight, wry smile. ‘But you’re makin’ a great case for why you’re not on this diplomatic trip to see Klingons, Commander.’ Behind Kharth, Valance smothered an audible guffaw, which kept her wrong-footed enough that she didn’t stop Logan when he reached to give her arm a quick squeeze. ‘We’ll be fine.’

She worked her jaw. ‘I know,’ she said, wondering if she should have expressed more concern for him directly, if he’d have welcomed that, if it would have been unprofessional. ‘Just keep this one safe from relying too heavily on honour from people trying to invade this region now it’s weakened.’

‘Commander.’ Valance’s voice was a little more impatient, and Kharth might have resented her interrupting the farewell if it weren’t so carefully impersonal. Logan joined Valance on the transporter pad, and with a quick nod from the captain, Zharek beamed them away.

Kharth stared at the space they’d been stood for a beat, then glanced to Zharek. ‘Stay at your post, Chief. You might be called into action.’

‘Yes. Commander.’

The clipped tones of Zharek’s voice stuck with Kharth as she headed back to the bridge. Their brief dalliance – one-night stand, really – had been years ago, but every now and then she thought she sensed a glimmer of resentment from the Andorian if her personal business ever reached the transporter room.

But this was likely something she wanted to bother her, so she didn’t have to think about Valance – and Logan – away on the Suv’chu. It didn’t help that the bridge was quiet when she arrived, Lieutenant Stevens surrendering the big chair to her with a hint of quiet resentment at sacrificing his effort to clock more command hours. With Endeavour but powered down in quiet orbit while repairs were ongoing, there was only a skeleton crew on the bridge, the heart of the ship humming rather than beating.

But on the viewscreen, she could see the solid lines of the Suv’chu, hovering like a buzzard above the skies of Rencaris III. Kharth checked her armrest panel, confirming they still had a read on Logan and Valance. All was still. Poised.

She tapped her armrest comms button. ‘Bridge to Engineering.’

A beat. ‘Thawn here.’ She sounded resentful of the interruption.

‘Anything to update?’

‘…are you expecting an update, Commander?’

‘Well, no, but I just got up here -’

‘I’m halfway through reprogramming these isolinear chips to better manage our EPS systems with the bypasses we’ve had to set up – I don’t have time to chat. Commander.’

Thawn’s growing confidence as chief engineer was not always endearing. Kharth dimly missed the days when she’d have rather died than been rude to a superior. ‘Sounds like we could do with that help from Gateway, Commander.’

‘I – whatever the captain thinks is best, ma’am. Now, if you’ll excuse me – Thawn out.’

Well played, Kharth thought irritably. She closed her eyes for a moment, slumping back in the chair. Only after a beat did a thought occur, and she sat up, and gave the computer a command.

Ten minutes later, the turbolift doors slid open, and Dav Airex’s eyebrows were raised when he heard the music wafting through the bridge. ‘We are letting standards slip, aren’t we,’ he said, voice dripping with wryness as he padded past her towards the science console. Before she could summon an indignant defence, he’d asked, ‘Tarvanen?’

‘I – yes,’ said Kharth, flustered. ‘The Fall of D’taleth. What’re you doing here?’

He smirked as he leaned over his console, tapping in commands but not sitting. ‘I’m the chief science officer. Do I need a reason?’ But he shook his head. ‘I’ve been talking to a director of the Rencaris Science Institute. There are some in-roads on collaboration with the data we secured on the Mesea Storm.’

‘You can’t hand that over,’ she said quickly. ‘We might need that in the negotiations with Vhiemm.’

‘Which is why I’m not giving them anything meaningful,’ said Airex, eyes twinkling as he looked up at her. ‘I’m just… dangling. Teasing. Enough that the director maybe wants what we have. Enough that maybe he reaches out to the governor so he asks us for what we have.’

‘That’s… really smart,’ Kharth admitted.

‘I know,’ he said without pride. ‘So I’m just running a quick analysis on some of this data before I send Director Talarin the preliminaries. Whet her appetite, so to speak.’ The computer processes begun, he turned to her, watching for a moment before his eyes rose to take in the bridge. She could tell he was listening to the music, though, the low crooning of the Romulan voice in this overture. ‘I love the way Tarvanen builds towards the crescendo, with the layering of instrumentation. You first get the percussion, then…’ He lifted a finger, poised, waiting, then smiled tightly as a new element entered the melody. ‘There it is. The brass. Like clockwork.’

Kharth shifted her weight. ‘I didn’t know you knew anything about Romulan opera,’ she admitted. ‘Who was that from? Isady? Lerin? Lerin struck me as the kind of asshole who’d learn foreign opera.’

He’d braced at the mention of Airex’s last host, the one who had destroyed their life together before ever they’d met, but gave a small, relieved smile at her comment. ‘A different asshole. Davir.’ He cleared his throat, stepping away from the science console as it chirruped away at its processes, and eased onto the XO’s chair beside her with a self-conscious air. ‘Over, ah, the last few months on the Cavalier.’

Back when they’d served together before. Back when they’d been together before. Kharth swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘You…’

‘Heard you listening to – I think it was Dantrontre’s work, and I didn’t recognise it, and you kind of brushed me off when I asked, but I was curious.’ He didn’t look at her, drumming his fingers on the armrest, flushing a little. ‘I got a taste for it.’

She looked away, trying to keep her own body language casual, failing badly. ‘I needed a distraction. With Valance and Logan on the Suv’chu.’

It was his turn to shift his weight. ‘They’ll be fine. It’s not in the profile of Brok’tan to -’

‘I know. It’d be diplomatic madness. I don’t wish I were there. But I don’t like waiting. It’s the worst part of being XO – as Chief of Security, I was always in the thick of things…’

‘You will be later,’ he pointed out. ‘At the opera.’ At her surprised look, he shrugged. ‘Director Talarin mentioned it. I expect she’ll be there; it’s a big social event.’

Her eyebrows raised. ‘We should see about getting you in, then. Schmooze with Talarin, get her to gush at the governor about how important our data is, and you get to see the opera…’

It was like the air tingled as he smiled, the kind of quiet, self-conscious smile she associated with Dav, the man, not Airex, the parasite. ‘That would be delightful,’ he said softly. Behind him, the science console chirruped.

‘Is that your data?’ she asked, glancing past him.

‘Yes.’ Airex frowned, and didn’t move. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Vega blend?’

‘What else?’ he said, standing. ‘We can wait for the diplomats to get back.’

Moments later, he was back in the chair beside her, passing her a steaming mug of coffee. The sweeping tones of the opera washed over them, a new hum to replace the silent heartbeat of the ship, and wordless, together, they waited.

It was the most comfortable Kharth had felt in a very long time.

On a ship as mighty as the Suv’chu, they were not received in General Brok’tan’s quarters or office, but his private halls. That was the term for what on Endeavour would be Valance’s private dining room, a small space to host a half-dozen guests just off the Safe House lounge. On a Klingon warship, it was far more impressive, a mighty chamber where a score of warriors could sit with the general to eat, drink, talk, and sing. He himself could sit in state atop the mighty central chair and receive those who wanted to brief him, bring issues to him. Here, he was not merely a starship commander, a warrior. He was a lord.

General Brok’tan had cleared the room, so when the warriors who met Valance and Logan at the transporter had escorted them to the private halls, they waited at the door. That gave Valance some small comfort; that Brok’tan had no concerns about her bringing her guard with her, while he left hers outside, only reinforced the civility of the meeting. He either did not expect trouble or was not concerned by it.

The hall was shrouded, as she’d expect in a Klingon’s sanctum. Blazing braziers lining the wall cast everything in golden silhouettes, with Brok’tan himself a towering, brooding figure in his throne-like chair. The metallic twang of her footsteps as she approached felt incongruous; in a place like this, she expected the sound of stone, as if they were in the hallowed halls of an ancient household.

Rather than make her cross the distance like a supplicant, Brok’tan stood at her approach and stepped down to the deck. ‘Captain Valance. Daughter of the House of A’trok. You honour me with your visit.’ He was a large, husky figure, going soft around the middle and greying in the beard but still moving with power and confidence.

‘General Brok’tan. I thank you for your hospitality. This is my Chief of Security, Commander Logan.’

Brok’tan’s dark eyes dragged over the figure of Logan, a half-step behind and beside her. ‘Commander. Battle-scarred, I see.’ He extended a hand to the long table, where platters had been laid out. ‘Come, both of you. Sit. Eat.’

Valance gave Logan a pointed look as they approached the table. ‘Do it,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Eating and drinking -’

‘Gives us rights and protection as guests; I know,’ came the quiet, confident drawl back. ‘Ain’t my first Klingon rodeo.’

They sat. Up close, Brok’tan’s chair was not so looming or so tall; up close, he could sit alongside those at his table, first among equals rather than towering and lordly. He enthusiastically pushed platters towards them, and Valance was dimly relieved to see a varied spread: gagh and targ meat, but an effort at food palatable to his guests. Even if it looked like plain-boiled rice and some fowl roasted in what smelled like spices more comfortable to a Klingon tongue.

As ever, she hesitated, torn as to whether reaching for the gagh would make her look performative. Logan spared her the challenge, grabbing a fistful which he shoved in his mouth without batting an eyelid, and Brok’tan laughed.

‘It’s fresh!’ he assured them with some delight. ‘I am not here to test if you can stomach it.’ As Valance settled on a leg of targ, Brok’tan served himself before planting his elbows on the table. ‘I see your ship is bloodied. But not, I am told, by your encounter with Captain Ledera or the Morinar.’

Kharth hadn’t been wrong about one thing, Valance thought ruefully. Klingons would insist themselves not duplicitous, but their standards of honour and respect could shift, the rules changing as it suited them. In this case, the question was how in how much she wanted to admit to her ship’s weakness, and how Brok’tan would perceive that.

‘My ship was damaged in the Mesea Storm,’ she said carefully. Simple truths were the best starting point. ‘As we approached Rencaris, looking for safe harbour to conduct repairs, we encountered the Morinar. She winged us, yes, but the USS Scylla winged her when they arrived.’

Brok’tan watched her for a moment, leaning back in his chair. ‘A simple exchange of blows,’ he surmised, lifting his hands. Then he sighed and shook his head. ‘I have seen the reports. You have my apologies, Captain. Ledera is young, hungry, eager to prove herself. It was beneath one of my warriors to strike at a weakened target for no reason.’

‘Should Starfleet and Klingon ships consider each other targets at all?’

Brok’tan scoffed, and she tensed. ‘What should and what is are not the same in these years,’ he said, but shook his head. ‘I have not come here to fight the Federation. And I have certainly not come here to prey on damaged ships. You, your crew, your vessels, are all safe from me and my warriors should our paths cross, Captain. I have made that abundantly clear to Ledera. And here, we are both under the hospitality of Rencaris, and I would never abuse that.’

He had given her assurances, she thought, while giving away nothing of his own intentions. ‘I am glad to hear it. I once counted the warriors of the House of K’Var as friends. Lord Torkath has done us great service before.’

‘The dispute between Lord Torkath and Commodore Rourke,’ said Brok’tan, more carefully, ‘is not our dispute, Captain. I knew Dakor since he was a child. Trained him. And yet, there are many warriors I once trained who are now dead. He sought battle and glory, and found both before his end. So the story goes, he and Rourke fought hand-to-hand, and Dakor was slain. Avenging him is not my duty, and even if it were, it has nothing to do with you, Captain Valance.’

‘We both have duties out here that are best not muddied by the personal affairs of Commodore Rourke and Lord Torkath,’ Valance agreed with a flash of relief. Brok’tan was keeping his cards close to his chest, but she thought she heard a certain air of disapproval in the mention of involving her and Endeavour. If Brok’tan was a man of honour and sense, he would likely not think well of Torkath’s attack on Endeavour in imperial territory, a strike whose sole purpose was to try to hurt Rourke and set him and Torkath on a collision course. Torkath was a man grieving – grieving the death of his brother, and the perceived betrayal of Rourke for killing Dakor. Brok’tan did not have to share that clouded judgement.

‘Indeed. That was why I wanted to speak with you, Captain: to give you these assurances. Ledera may have thought she would please Torkath by striking at you, or simply thought your ship and reputation made you a worthy target. I have put a stop to that. I and my warriors are not here to strike at Starfleet. You are not my enemy.’

‘Who is?’ Valance watched him intently. ‘Forgive me for being brazen, General. But you have scouts flying the area willing to strike at passing starships, and you come here in a mighty vessel. You come in honour, but also strength.’

Brok’tan didn’t hesitate, per se, but he did linger over his gagh. ‘Chancellor Toral has made it plain that it is time to turn our eye on our old enemy.’

‘The Star Empire? That doesn’t exist. Romulans? Then what brings you so civilly to Rencaris? Or is this merely scoping it out as a weak target?’

It was an intentionally provocative blow, and Valance did not have to study closely to see Brok’tan’s reaction. The general’s lip curled. ‘They are a brave people seeking their self-determination and we are here to ensure that…’

‘To make sure they don’t join the Republic. You’ll guarantee their independence?’ Valance cocked her head, watching him. ‘In exchange for, I assume, something along the lines of resupply for your ships as the House of K’Var makes a bid for this border of the Republic.’

Brok’tan’s expression was sliding towards a glower. ‘You have heard from Governor Vhiemm. He would have Rencaris be a friend to all who will treat with them well. We need be no different.’

‘Perhaps not. But Governor Vhiemm has not allowed Endeavour to use Rencaris’s dockyards or repair facilities. Not without negotiating a better price. Is the protection of the House of K’Var a price worthy of that access?’

‘As I say,’ said Brok’tan, slowly regaining some control over his frustration at how she had slipped a dagger between his defences, ‘Chancellor Toral has said we should turn to our old enemy. But that means you are not my enemy, Captain.’ He reached to a pitcher and filled her tankard, and Valance was relieved that the bloodwine was well watered down when she drank. ‘I fought alongside your grandsire in the Dominion War, you know. I hope he is well.’

‘You would likely know better than I,’ Valance admitted. ‘We do not talk often. I have heard little from my brother, so I assume no news is good news.’ She wondered if Brok’tan knew that her brother Gov’taj had marshalled ships of the House of A’trok in defence of Endeavour when Torkath, son of K’Var, had tried to kill them in the Empire months ago. But there was an opportunity here. ‘I hope your lord K’Var is in better health, also.’

Brok’tan straightened slowly. The ill health of K’Var himself, father of Torkath and Dakor and their siblings, was not widely known. Torkath had admitted it to Rourke before Dakor’s death, and intel had suggested the house was not undivided in its ambitions or organisation. ‘It has been some time since he and I last spoke,’ Brok’tan said after a moment’s consideration. ‘But I will pass on your wishes.’ He reached for another platter. ‘More gagh?’

The rest of the lunch passed swiftly. For a Klingon warrior, Brok’tan was quite adept at keeping conversations neutral, turning discussion to old campaigns that had nothing to do with the current political situation. Valance engaged politely, but kept her counsel with Logan until they had returned to the transporter room and beamed back aboard Endeavour.

‘A pact to guarantee Rencaris’s independence,’ Logan growled the moment he stepped down from the pad. ‘And in exchange, they get… what? A place to resupply so they can invade the Republic?’

‘Rencaris stands a lot to gain. And a lot to lose.’ Valance grimaced as she joined him. ‘No wonder these negotiations aren’t fast. It only really suits them if the Klingons are in the ascendance in the region.’

‘If they really hate the Republic, though… or fear the Republic…’

‘That might make Rencaris more rash, yes.’ She shook her head. ‘Brok’tan seems like he’ll treat with us fairly, at least.’

‘He were pissed when you wriggled his mission out of him. An’ pissed you knew about old man K’Var. I’d be careful trusting his word,’ said Logan, eyes narrowing.

‘You sound like Kharth. Besides, here at Rencaris -’

‘He can’t do anything against us openly. You caught that he shifted how he spoke to you, though, right? When he were wrong-footed, you were more Starfleet. When he liked you, you were more Klingon. Amazing what a Klingon warrior can justify if they don’t view their enemy as worthy of respect.’

Valance had noticed, on some level. She was always so uncomfortable with how Klingon she should act around other Klingons, though, that she hadn’t felt capable of taking advantage of it; had been too busy second-guessing herself and her behaviour. This was one reason she’d brought the astute Logan, who was a master at fading into the background on the rare occasions it suited him.

‘I’ve been told I over-think situations and borrow trouble,’ Valance said with a hint of wryness. ‘Let’s not assume Brok’tan is an enemy yet. For now, it suits him to be civil.’

‘We oughta keep it that way as long as we can.’

‘And in the meantime,’ she agreed, ‘find out exactly what this deal is they’re trying to make with Rencaris, and how close they are.’

‘So that’s another vote for the Solathian Race Grounds.’ Lindgren swiped her finger across the holographic display dominating the Safe House lounge to tally up her count. ‘Looking pretty decisive, then!’ She turned to the small assemblage of young, twenty-something officers and NCOs with a hint of triumph.

‘Damn it,’ swore Lieutenant Forrester at roughly the same time Chief Bekk gave a hiss of delight, his sharp Ferengi fangs bared.

‘What’re you complaining about?’ The floppy golden hair of Lieutenant Tyderian, Endeavour’s fighter squadron leader, swung as he turned to beam at Forrester. For her part, the grim-faced engineer seemed unmoved by his simple charm. ‘You’d love the Race Grounds.’

‘That’s the problem,’ drawled Zherul, the Orion paramedic.

‘There’s no way Thawn lets me take more than twelve hours off,’ Forrester confirmed.

Lindgren had thinned her lips, obviously not about to voice or join criticism of a fellow member of the senior staff to the junior officers present, but the response was a general grumble of outrage.

‘Surely not,’ blustered Tyderian, blue eyes bright with disbelief. It was a little like watching a puppy be told Christmas had been cancelled. ‘Counsellor Dhanesh says we should all see the sights, and Commander Airex wants us filling in reports.’

‘Yeah,’ said Zherul, smirking. ‘It’s our job to party. In the name of exploration, you understand.’

Forrester shrugged. ‘Not while the ship needs repairing.’

‘But if that happens,’ said Chief Bekk, his eyes narrowing, ‘then all our department heads will follow suit, right?’

‘You’re fine,’ Forrester told the quartermaster with an eyeroll. ‘No way Caede listens to Thawn.’

‘No, but Athaka will! Then other shift leaders might stop and think…’

‘Take it up with Thawn,’ said Forrester. ‘No way I get to feel dirt under my boots this week.’

All eyes turned, at last, to the inevitable. Nate Beckett, perched on the Safe House’s bar with a bottle of beer in hand, sighed. He took a moment for a long gulp of his drink, tasting the flavours, the fizz, then sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘And so you turn to me in your hour of need.’ He jumped off the counter with what he thought a swaggering air, though that was a hard thing to do. ‘To slay the dragon. The harpy.’

‘Your girlfriend,’ Lindgren pointed out in a moment of unhelpful feminine solidarity.

‘But yes,’ said Forrester, ‘please give her a good seeing-to, so she lets us take time off.’

‘Have no fear.’ Beckett set his hands on his hips in a heroic pose. ‘She’s never been able to resist my charm.’

‘That’s… outrageously untrue,’ said Bekk. ‘She used to throw you out of her office in Ops all the time –’

‘You just figure out who else you’re bringing on this racing escapade,’ said Beckett, waving his finger at them all. ‘Who’ll make it cool. And I’ll make sure everyone can go.’

They’d been a persistent band over the years, this collective of young lieutenants and NCOs. They were the sort of officers for whom Endeavour had usually been their second assignment, somewhere they’d been sent once they’d cut their teeth and were now due a little responsibility. Some faces had come and gone over the years – Harkon now on Sirius, Tyderian now here running the Black Knights – but the core had remained, largely built around whoever Elsa Lindgren liked, or at least didn’t want to put up with the hassle of rejecting.

It had not escaped Beckett that they weren’t ensigns any more, the lower deckers at the whims of the truly powerful. Some of them were senior staff – and not second-string like Lindgren had been at Comms. Most of them were the very shift leaders and managers whose wrath they feared. Theoretically, they had the power to deny the iron rule of Rosara Thawn.

But she wasn’t really one of them anymore. Not Commander Thawn, who brunched with Airex and worked out once a week with Kharth. If they’d grown, she’d grown. Nobody had wanted to invoke her wrath when she was a fussy martinet, but now she was the ship’s master, much higher in the chain of command, much more respected. Her wrath wasn’t just annoying now. It was powerful.

‘Fine, whatever,’ said Rosara Thawn when he found her. Or rather, when he found her feet sticking out from under a console in main engineering, and had put the question of Forrester’s shore leave to her.

‘What?’ Beckett stared. He was going to be a hero, and he’d done nothing.

‘Counsellor Dhanesh’s memo said everyone should get a 24-hour shift off. So long as all my shift leaders don’t take their day off at the same time, it’s fine.’ Thawn wheeled out from under the console, her hair a red mane of wildness, face smudged with soot. ‘If Forrester’s sensible, I don’t see why she can’t go on the trip.’

‘Oh. Awesome!’

‘Of course,’ Thawn continued, leaning over to her toolkit, ‘I’ll have to cover her shift.’

There it is. ‘What?’

‘And I wasn’t going to have time for a full twenty-four hours off anyway.’ She looked up at him, gaze guarded. ‘You wanted to go to this race course?’

‘Well… yes. But you mean you’re not taking any time off?’

‘The ship is damaged, deep in the sector. We’re at the mercy of some Romulans we just met, and there’s a Klingon warship sharing our orbit. Why should the chief engineer take a break?’

‘Counsellor Dhanesh -’

‘I won’t work dangerous hours; I will follow all safety protocols perfectly appropriately. And when this is over, I can take a week off and spend it in a bath in the holodeck. Go, Nate. Have fun.’

His shoulders slumped. ‘No. I’ll save the day off until next week. Maybe then you’ll see a way out of this mess.’

She made a face. ‘Is this ship really going to fall apart if you take two days off?’

Beckett had to fight to swallow the indignation, though knew it was pointless. He could sense the immediate regret coming off her in waves, just as she had to sense that she’d insulted him. It was unclear which came first. ‘No, the Chief Intelligence Officer has nothing to do in a star system where Starfleet has never spent more than a few hours, at the edge of known space, in a volatile region, where we have Klingons doing God-knows-what -’

‘I’m sorry.’ Her regret sounded sincere, but so did her annoyance at him milking it. ‘I don’t think you’re slacking. And I’m sorry again, Nate, but I just don’t have time to get into it right now.’

He’d been very supportive of Thawn’s move to engineering, mostly because he wanted whatever made her happy. Had he known it would turn her into an even worse workaholic, he might have thought twice. He let the apologies wash over them both and left, sending a quick word up to the expedition team that they could holiday in peace. Almost at once, the reply on his PADD came from Lindgren, a simple question.

So no Rosara then. You still in?

Beckett was stood before the turbolift, staring at the query, when the doors slid open to show Doctor Starik in remarkably casual civilian garb: a very plain tunic with a thick, leather, belted robe thrown over it, lacking any of the adornments or simple embroidery he might normally wear.

‘You going somewhere fancy?’ said Beckett wryly, stepping in to join him.

‘On the contrary,’ said Starik, apparently missing the irony. ‘The capital city appears to be a diverse place where many people from different socio-economic backgrounds live in proximity -’

‘The clothes, Doc. You don’t normally dress like this.’

‘No. The city may be diverse. It would not be judicious, however, for my heritage to be immediately recognised. It is only sensible for me to pass for a local without further investigation.’

‘That makes sense,’ Beckett allowed as the turbolift began to whisk them away. ‘Going anywhere fun?’

‘I anticipate you would not deem the Rencaris Institute of History and Culture to meet that criteria, but it is the largest museum in the system with extensive exhibits on the colony…’

‘Are you kidding?’ Beckett rounded on him. ‘You know I was an A&A officer before I was in Intel?’

Starik tilted his head. ‘I did not. You are welcome to accompany me. I was going to ask Lieutenant Turak, as we should not travel alone…’

‘We can have Turak, Turak’s fine -’

‘Your company will suffice,’ said Starik, a little more quickly.

Beckett narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you not like Turak? You’re always spending time together.’

Starik paused. ‘Lieutenant Turak has not been receptive to my subtle indications that there might be more to conversation than his studies. Variety in companionship would be… welcome.’

‘Oh, you sassy boy, Starik. I knew you had a judgemental streak in you.’ Beckett clapped his hands together, thinking. He couldn’t take his day off if he wanted to wait for Rosara, but this trip could easily be logged as work hours, and would only take an afternoon. Perusing a museum was the perfect mixture of business and pleasure. ‘Let’s do it. Give me a minute to get changed, and I’ll be your chaperone. Don’t want you getting hate-crimed in the street, after all.’

‘Indeed,’ said Starik mildly.

If Beckett looked up, he could barely see the tops of the spires of Rencaris’s capital city, Vedrex – but he could see the surveillance drones. Metres above their heads, they buzzed along streets heaving with the bustling population of this old Romulan colony and its myriad of visitors. Down the wide boulevards lined with high-end shops and cafés, or the narrow streets cutting from the shopping district to the museum district, wherever they went, they were watched. Everyone was watched.

‘The more things change, the more they stay the same,’ Beckett mused as they walked into the open, busy plaza before the Rencaris Institute of History and Culture. The fat sun of late afternoon struggled to peek between the city’s vast towers, but even if it reached the square, the looming statue of Rencaris’s founder at the centre of the plaza’s array of decorative fountains was enough to blot out the light.

‘You suspect a continuation of Tal Shiar social surveillance?’ asked Starik, unmoved as ever, somehow walking through the crowd like it was nothing when Beckett felt he had to jostle and elbow his way forward.

‘Not literally Tal Shiar surveillance. Or we’d feel the hand of the Free State shoved up Rencaris’s arse. But you don’t need Tal Shiar letter-headed paper, or even their playbook, to run an authoritarian surveillance state.’ Beckett kept his voice low but casual, a tone where nobody in a crowd would pick up on his words unless they were trying very hard. Rather than a full-on disguise, he wore a soft brown leather jacket and had crammed on a black baseball cap and stuffed his ears inside. It wouldn’t pass scrutiny, nor could he be accused of hiding, but at a glance, neither of them would draw attention in a sea of mostly Romulan faces.

But not exclusively Romulan. Particularly here, in the tourism-focused parts of the capital, visitors from a dozen species punctuated the crowd. Rencaris wanted the wider sector, the wider quadrant, to feel they could visit, do business, socialise. They just kept everyone under tight surveillance all the same.

The museum itself was a looming, impressive building of traditional Romulan architecture, its grey-green walls built with a local stone that looked akin to serpentine, to Beckett’s eye. Columns framed the entrance, intricately carved with figures he didn’t recognise and suspected had some local rather than wider cultural import. Large, arched windows gave glimpses into the vast halls beyond, but were too high from the ground to give him anything but a tease from the outside, and likely let sunlight spill through inside. A massive domed roof crowned the structure, softening the harshness of the building’s corners and giving it a sense of stoic grandeur.

Inside, they joined a thin queue of tourists winding through the vast atrium, built such that a hundred excitable voices didn’t echo and disorientate. Beckett took the lead, not wanting Starik to be betrayed by his Vulcan demeanour, even if a low cap earned him some suspicious glances from the ticket staff.

Still, Starik butted in halfway through the transaction, staring directly at Beckett. ‘We should acquire an audio guide.’

‘I’m pretty sure the interpretation panels at Rencaris’s premier museum will -’

‘You will assume you know things,’ Starik pressed on without missing a beat, ‘and speak. With an audio guide, that will not happen.’

‘Are you saying that with an audio guide, I won’t speak, or with an audio guide you won’t have to hear me?’

‘Only you can determine that outcome. Either way, I am sure to hear an accurate retelling.’

Beckett paid extra for the handheld device to give them an audio tour, gritting his teeth. Only once they were past the desk and heading deeper into the museum did he hiss, ‘I didn’t want to say anything there ‘cos I expect the audio guide to be even more explicit propaganda. So if you think I’m going to be less vocally critical with this thing trying to convince me about the glory of Romulus…’

‘Then so be it; you will have more evidence for your point. Remember that I am a graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy, however, and am well versed in the pertinent eras of history.’

‘Or the Vulcan propaganda version of the exodus,’ Beckett muttered.

Starik, of course, heard him. ‘The version rooted in the logical analysis of historical record -’

‘Written by who? And of course your social framework’s analysis of your history is gonna be sympathetic!’ Beckett threw his hands in the air. ‘STEM kids. You take one humanities module because it’s required and you think history’s just about memorising facts. That’s not scholarship.’

They would prove to agree to disagree. Or, perhaps, to just disagree. The museum’s halls led them first through to a section on the Vulcan exodus, where the audio guide told a story of how an oppressive regime seized control of the planet, suppressing the rights of individuals to their thoughts and feelings until the flight of a large group of brave dissenters seeking freedom.

‘A clumsy misinterpretation,’ said Starik as he studied an intricate set of models of the exodus fleet. ‘The passions of our people were driving us to self-destruction.’

‘Sure,’ said Beckett, though his eyes were more on the models. ‘But what about if you were a resident of Vulcan and didn’t want to give up the right to feel your emotions and express them?’

‘There were no legal inhibitions or restrictions.’

‘Just societal pressure to never so much as laugh in public. Right?’

‘You presume this transition was not long and arduous for all of Vulcan society,’ said Starik, brow furrowing in thought. ‘All were provided with support.’

‘I’m sure that if it was difficult, you were helped. I’m saying, what if you didn’t want to live like that?’

‘The alternative was destruction.’

‘And yet, the Romulans built an empire that lasted two thousand years. And it wasn’t their passions that destroyed them. They became one of the greatest powers of the galaxy, while the Vulcans had to get subsumed by the Federation.’

‘There is no shame in collaboration, nor is geopolitical might the sole standard of -’ Starik stopped himself, the furrowed brow deepening. ‘You seek to provoke me. You are aware this is a wasteful endeavour, yes?’

‘I think I successfully provoked you.’ Beckett smirked. ‘But what I actually did was make a point. Your facts are based on your framework, your standard of success, of societal wants and needs.’ They’d continued to wander the halls now, passing a somewhat ramshackle set of exhibits about the exodus itself, which featured more information boards than actual artifacts. Through a set of double doors was the next section, with a large holographic display hovering overhead simply titled ‘The Founding of Rencaris.’

‘What’s not logical,’ Beckett said in a more conciliatory fashion, ‘is the song and dance they make about the exodus and the link to Rencaris’s history, when Rencaris wasn’t settled until a century after Romulus. And not by any of the remains of the exodus fleet.’

‘It is an effort to establish a sense of lineage,’ said Starik. ‘Nation-making requires such myths.’

‘Funny, your analysis is at its best when it’s cynical but not partisan.’ They paused at the doors to the section on the founding as a group of Romulan schoolchildren were marched up the corridor. Beckett knew better than to get in the way of a school trip, but let the droning of the audio guide wash over him as it tried to link specific ships of the exodus to the founding, and listened to the rather wild-haired teacher at the head of the group.

‘…and the founders uncovered a wilderness in this region, particularly this close to Klingon space,’ she was saying, even as she appeared to be checking and double-checking she had the right number of children in the group. ‘By settling Rencaris, our ancestors didn’t only secure the homes we live in today, but brought civilisation and order to a chaotic region…’

‘Impressive,’ mused Beckett as she led the children on ahead. ‘She can manage a pack of twelve-year-olds and spout colonial propaganda at the same time.’

‘A versatile skillset,’ agreed Starik, as always more receptive to dry wit than open humour. They gave the school trip a wide berth before following.

Once inside the next section, Beckett stopped before a tall display. Behind one glass case were the faded and tattered remains of an ancient tapestry; beside it, bright-coloured and intact, was a holographic representation of how it had originally looked.

‘There’s not a single picture of that thing here,’ he pointed out. ‘Contemporaneous, I mean.’

‘You think the completed image a falsehood?’

‘No, I mean – maybe. I’m just curious what they based it on.’ Beckett’s eyes swept from the text of the tapestry to the display board beside it. ‘It was made to commemorate the Imperial Senate’s decision to expand the borders this far. “The Walls of the World,” they called this sector.’

‘“The border of known space,” surely,’ corrected Starik.

‘No, see – huivaraen as a word isn’t just boundary, it’s got implications of protectiveness and support.’

‘Is walls the best analogy? Translation ought be more direct and literal, rather than imagining evocative implications that may not -’

‘Don’t make me move from historiography to translation,’ Beckett groaned. ‘The point is how this has shaped Rencaris’s identity. The edge of the empire. Barbarians beyond in the wilderness.’

Their advance became more meandering afterwards, the two men through the rather deifying exhibit about Rencaris’s heroic founder, Rhamanath, depicted in the museum as a visionary and pioneer. Beckett thought he sounded more like a bureaucrat appointed by a board of colonial affairs on Romulus.

Then again, most such figures probably were. Someone had probably convened a hiring panel somewhere for Jonathan Archer, after all.

‘They are a proud people,’ mused Starik as they progressed. ‘But these exhibits have changed. They are more recent, modern. They mention the supernova. It is curious.’

‘You thought they’d be more reflective?’ Beckett shook his head. ‘The myth changes. Once, it was belief in Romulus. Now, it’s belief in Rencaris. The walls of the world. But the barbarians aren’t just to the trailing border. They’re everywhere.’

Starik paused in front of a display showing the holographic image of Romulan ships in a pitched battle against Klingon vessels. ‘They were not only trailing. Once, rimward.’

‘Ooh.’ Beckett leaned in. ‘They’re always so cagey about the nature of the Klingon-Romulan conflicts of the late-twenty-third century…’

‘I had not known Klingon ships penetrated Romulan space this far,’ Starik admitted.

‘They probably took the same route the Suv’chu did,’ Beckett mused, reading. ‘The House of Konjah leading the attacks. Woah.’

‘Woah?’ It sounded, from Starik’s lips, like a computer trying to approximate the emotion.

‘The purpose was to devastate Rencaris’s shipyards to deny their frontier forces a fallback point for repairs. Over one hundred thousand dead as one of the orbital platforms fell to the surface.’

‘So say their records.’

Beckett blew out his cheeks as they read on. ‘And then the strike in retribution on the border world of Q’alah, Klingon territory. One-twenty thousand dead.’

‘It reads far more as the intentional inflicting of mass casualties. Including civilian,’ Starik pointed out. ‘Phrased in that same celebratory manner. Phrased also as if it is something of which the people of Rencaris should be proud.’

‘Hurt us, and we’ll hurt you worse,’ mused Beckett. ‘Not the worst principle to motivate a populace with their backs against the wall.’ He raised his hands at Starik’s look. ‘I’m talking as a pragmatic tactic! Not an admirable one!’

‘And yet we come here to find Rencaris considering some form of concord with a Klingon House. In defiance of their own kinfolk, and a government that has never inflicted atrocities upon them.’

‘Some might think the Federation abandoning Romulus was an atrocity,’ Beckett pointed out mildly. He glanced up at the tall doctor. ‘Was it logical for Vulcan to campaign in favour of that? Leaving their own kinfolk?’

‘We are not kin,’ said Starik with a bluntness that surprised Beckett. ‘Genetics are less significant than culture and values to bond people. This is why Vulcan made common cause with the Federation, and not the Star Empire.’

Beckett worked his jaw, and decided he didn’t want a blazing row with a Vulcan about the Romulan evacuation in the middle of Rencaris’s centre of historical remembrance. ‘Times change, I guess,’ he said, knowing it was a brush off, feeling a little guilty for not challenging Starik’s perspective. ‘Friends are foes, foes are friends.’ He nodded further down the halls. ‘Let’s see how else they turn things upside-down, huh?’

‘What’re you doing here?’ Kharth looked suspicious as she opened the door to her quarters to see Logan standing there. That in itself wasn’t the problem, but he wore hard-wearing civilian clothing, the like of which she’d seen him in when they’d first met. He’d been undercover on the Romulan refugee world of Teros, after years out on the frontier on behalf of Starfleet Intelligence.

‘Can’t a guy drop by just ‘cos?’ He smirked. ‘Get changed. We’re going out.’

She rolled her eyes and waved him in. ‘Do I get a clue what to prep for?’ she asked, heading for her wardrobe.

‘I think you’ve got enough info already to make the right decision.’ He waited politely in the middle of the room, even the XO not granted a separate bedroom in their quarters on a ship as compact and utilitarian as Endeavour’s living conditions could be.

‘You’re annoying,’ she said, knowing to match his level of clothing, and pulled her uniform jacket off. ‘Anyone ever tell you that?’

‘You. Often.’ Logan gave a toothy grin.

‘You’re also in a good mood. I didn’t know it went that well on the Suv’chu.’

‘Klingons didn’t try to show off who’s bigger and meaner at each other. I didn’t have to fend off death threats against my captain. I’d say it’s a pretty good day.’

She hesitated as she pulled a canvas jacket to toss on the bed before pulling off her undershirt. ‘You’re feeling better about the opera,’ she surmised, deciding it was better to mention it than sit on it all evening.

‘Is what it is, ain’t it?’ Logan shrugged, hands in his pockets as he watched the window, with the gentle rolling hues of Rencaris III’s atmosphere below. She didn’t know if she liked the gentlemanly approach; he’d seen her naked countless times by now, and didn’t need to be coy. Even if she was just changing her shirt. ‘Saves me havin’ to listen to some opera.’

Kharth hid her expression by turning away to pull on her jacket. ‘Let’s have this surprise, then.’

They beamed down from the transporter room into fresh, cold air and a gathering dusk. Kharth drew a sharp breath at the sudden drop in temperature, and with it came the taste of smoke and spices on the air.

Before them rolled sprawling fields, the rays of the dying sun casting gold across tiered plots of crops punctuated by the shining specks of agricultural buildings and equipment. Turning showed their true destination: the bustling hub of a rural settlement of Rencaris III. Rather than some isolated village, this was a town, the streets wide enough for drones and transport skimmers to zip between fields and processing centres. But the sleek buildings lining the roads still bore dark stone facades adorned with intricate latticework, arched doorways and curved rooms framed by warm lighting, markers of traditional Romulan architecture.

‘Berinen is one of the central townships of this region,’ Logan explained in a low voice that still carried through the gloom. ‘Which has got a big enough agricultural network to feed a quarter of the system. An’ it’s the end of the harvest. Which means it’s time for…’

‘The Rihan-kholva festival,’ Kharth breathed. ‘Jack, what are we doing here?’

‘Relax, I did some reading.’ He’d put on a wide-brimmed hat before they’d beamed down, enough that his cortical implant wouldn’t be noticed at a mere glance. Now he stuck an arm out to her in a silly, self-aware manner, and she was too dumbstruck to do anything but take it. ‘Berinen’s big enough that their festival draws in all sorts of tourists. We ain’t intruding on nothin’. Thought it’d be nice.’

Indeed, on their approach to the town they were falling in with a growing trickle of visitors, mostly Romulan, many of whom woere clothes that set them apart from the locals. Kharth felt her back tensing, but Logan’s head was up, soaking in the lantern-lit streets, the hum of people, the distant sound of music and more voices.

‘Fascinating, ain’t it, how so many cultures do something like this? Back home, it ain’t like the end of the harvest really means much, but we still do something a bit like this. Though it does include racing transport skimmers, all painted up an’ decorated, bit of inter-farm pride ‘n all…’

Kharth said nothing, letting Logan’s nostalgic musings on how this reminded him of Kentucky wash over her. Approaching the town square meant approaching the thickest knot of the crowd and, in the centre, a towering bonfire. Only the locals approached its flickering flames, visitors kept at a distance by a barricade and lured there by the stalls the periphery. These burst with commemorative trinkets she thought might be a little tacky, but also sold fresh produce and served food for the evening: spiced meats and vegetables, roasted in open pits before being laid out on platters on the stalls. An elevated platform hovered in the distance, musicians playing haunting chimes and stringed instruments in a melody that kept an exuberant beat but an undercurrent that was eerie to her ears.

‘What’re the masks?’ Logan asked, leaning in and dropping his voice. He nodded to the locals in the centre, dancing before the fire, each wearing an ornate mask etched with unique geometric symbols and sleek metallic details.

‘Do you know what Rihan-kholva means?’ Kharth pressed, sharper than she intended, and tried to pass it off as needing to enunciate to be heard over the music. ‘It’s like “the lowering of the veil” or “the descent into shadows.” Winter is a time where you turn inward, to your closest community. The celebration’s about enjoying the connections of the wider community one last time, but also about shutting the door. The masks represent different families, communes.’

‘Oh.’ Logan’s lips thinned. ‘That’s a bit more sinister.’

She looked away, to the crowd. The Romulans near her were undoubtedly tourists, too, and likely from the city, with soft leather shoes and lapelled jackets that made even her look like she fit in better. Near the fire, a group of tourists stood in an entranced semicircle around a child in a rough-spun tunic she suspected wasn’t everyday wear for a local, watching her recite a lyrical poem about the land and the gathering dark. A parent stood over the girl, a hand on her shoulder occasionally tensing every time the child hesitated or faltered in her recitation, a rumbling undercurrent completely missed by the crowd too enchanted by local rustic custom.

‘I want some roast rhevet,’ Kharth said, turning on her heel to push through the crowd for the periphery. Logan had to walk swiftly to catch up as she approached a stall with a spit turning slow over an open flame, the vendor – a middle-aged Romulan with a glint in his eyes – caught her approach.

‘Rhevet,’ he offered, gesturing to the roasting meat, its skin crisped to a golden hue. ‘Fresh off the fire, as it has been for centuries – a true local delicacy -’

‘I could replicate that in the capital,’ Kharth spat before she could stop herself. ‘But I’ll have a cut.’

‘You’ve never tasted it prepared like this, I promise you.’ The vendor’s lips curled into a smile, unperturbed by her sharpness. He carved a thick slice, juices fizzing as they dropped into the flame, and handed it to her on a wooden platter. ‘Enjoy.’

Logan appeared at her shoulder and peered at a set of clay flasks. ‘What’s the drink?’

‘Only the finest gellhek,’ the vendor said, already pouring a glass.

‘It’s like whiskey,’ sighed Kharth. ‘You’ll enjoy it.’

He did, smacking his lips when he had a savouring sip once they’d walked away from the stall. ‘Smoky. Feels like home. Except for the masks an’ all.’

‘Enjoying your authentic Romulan experience?’ This time, she couldn’t fight the sharp edge to her voice, and he couldn’t miss it. In the centre of the square, around the fire, drummers were beating a steady thud to dictate the pace of the masked dancers.

Logan’s brow knitted. ‘I just thought this would be nice. How long’s it been since you were around your people doin’ something normal?’

‘Normal? As opposed to “being miserable on a refugee world?”’

‘Uh. Yeah?’

Kharth ripped off a mouthful of rhevet. It was annoyingly delicious. ‘What, you thought I needed help from you to reconnect with my roots?’

He held the beaker, stunned. The thud of the drums soared behind them, and there was a cheer from the crowd, the dancers likely making more impressive moves for the audience. ‘I thought we’d – hold on. Why’re you pissed at this?’

‘I grew up on Romulus. In the city. This is like me taking you to, I don’t know, a founding festival on fucking Archer IV and thinking it resonates with you!’

‘I didn’t think it were gonna resonate! I thought we’d have a night off!’

The thud of the music and the hum of the crowd were enough to smother their fight, but enough to smother her. For all her words, the smell of the spices and cooking filled her nostrils, just as they might have on a street market on Romulus. The music had the rustic edges, but it was played with real instruments by people who spent a lifetime sharpening their craft, with an aching care she hadn’t heard in a lifetime. She would never have danced before a bonfire in the masks, but they had hung from the walls at home, etched with markings of her family. It was all so close and yet too far. Light-years away, decades away, lifetimes away, and filling her head and senses all the same.

‘It’s… it’s just fake,’ Kharth said, shaking her head as she looked away.

‘It’s performative,’ Logan agreed. ‘We don’t race skimmers everyday in Winchester, but that don’t mean it don’t mean a lot to us to blow off steam an’ be proud of what we got.’ His gaze softened, and he stepped in. ‘It’s okay for this to feel a bit weird, you know? Being back on a Romulan world -’

She stepped back. ‘If you think this is so great, enjoy the rhevet.’ She shoved the platter in his hands as she went to push past him. ‘I’ll see you back aboard.’

A part of her expected him to stop her, to come after her. But he’d always let her set the beat, be the drummer in their dance dictating tempo and intensity just as much as the musicians at the heart of this performance. So she was free to push through the crowd, free to storm away from the thudding music and roaring firelight and cheers and shouts, performance and tradition swirling and blending together.

At the edge of the square, she passed the same local parent and child she’d seen near the fire, the parent now scolding the girl in a hissing, low turn for mistakes in her poetry recital.

‘…people come a long way for this… embarrass us in front of the city…’

A long way. A long way to travel and feel connected to one’s roots, to an older Romulan tradition, to perform being Romulan at a time when being Romulan was harder and harder to define by what you did. Kharth didn’t linger, storming down the streets, heading for the outskirts of the town so she could beam out.

She didn’t have a performance in her anyway.

‘Again, you sure you don’t want me here for this?’

Valance adjusted her uniform collar as she double-checked her reflection in the ready room mirror, which also meant she didn’t have to look at Kharth. ‘I want to get a better read on Vhiemm before I decide if it’s right for you to meet.’

‘To decide if he thinks I’m the right kind of Romulan?’

The sneer was unexpected. Valance turned. ‘I’m surprised you want to walk into a meeting room to talk diplomatic negotiations with staid old men. You’d normally jump at the chance to escape that.’

For a moment, she thought Kharth was going to fight her. Then she shrugged. ‘You’re right. You bringing Airex?’

‘And Beckett.’

‘Remember, just like I told you about the Klingons: Romulans are liars, too. They just know they’re liars.’

It helped. It just wasn’t reassuring.

Neither was Beckett when Valance reached the transporter room to find him and Airex waiting there, the young intelligence officer holding up a PADD they were both watching, faces serious.

Beckett flipped it to show a news report playing on the screen. ‘Picked up this on Rencaris state media this morning.’

‘They arrested a university lecturer,’ said Airex, jaw rather tight, ‘for interrupting a public event Vhiemm held on “international cooperation.” This man – Sullis…’

‘“Disrupted the proceedings with inflammatory rhetoric that witnesses say was clearly influenced by foreign agitators,”’ Beckett recited crisply. ‘No idea what the guy actually said.’

Valance watched the news report for a beat as it showed Sullis – a youthful, rather bookish Romulan – being led away from crowds by security officers in the severe black uniforms of Rencaris law enforcement. His head was held high, but the image cut away quickly to faces of those apparently assembled at Vhiemm’s event, looking disapproving.

‘Foreign agitators,’ she repeated. ‘Are we about to be hit for this?’

‘Not unless it suits them,’ mused Beckett.

On the PADD, the newsreader for Rencaris state media carried on. ‘Senior Procurator Sevik praised the swift response of security forces, saying: ‘This incident demonstrates the ongoing attempts by outside influences to undermine our cultural sovereignty. The accused had a history of disrespecting our values and way of life, which culminated in this outburst. This serves as a reminder of why our careful preservation of Romulan tradition is more vital than ever.’

‘If you see seditious behaviour,’ Beckett carried on, having clearly watched this before, ‘report it to your nearest inquisitor of un-Romulan affairs, where you will be presented with a boot to lick, yadda yadda.’ He switched off the PADD and tucked it under his arm. ‘Thought you might want to be prepared, Captain. I’ve already seen life down in the streets. Even in the nicer bits of Vedrex, you’re watched. Even in a tourism hotspot, you take the story the state gives you, or you have a bad day.’

‘We knew we were dealing with a “traditionalist” regime, and that means strict, illiberal rule,’ Airex sighed. ‘Whatever we give them in these negotiations, we can’t risk legitimising this government.’

‘Agreed,’ said Valance carefully, ‘but legitimise it to whom? We can’t control the flow of information internally. Just our presence, our meeting with Vhiemm, can be turned into a suggestion the Federation approves of this leadership. Externally, we have to avoid angering our Republic allies. But make no mistake: we’re not in charge of the narrative here on Rencaris, and we shouldn’t try to be.’ She pursed her lips. ‘The opera might be a step too far. Perhaps we take this meeting as a chance to cancel.’

Airex looked ponderous but Beckett shook his head. ‘Don’t close that door. We have days, Captain. And right now if we upset them, we drive them into the arms of the Klingon Empire. The Republic is going to like that even less than us appeasing a totalitarian regime.’

‘What about my opinion on appeasing a totalitarian regime?’ said Valance, but it was borderline rhetorical. They were all professionals, and they all knew the stakes. She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Let’s see what Vhiemm wants of us.’

The only thing she could say for the pomp and circumstance of arriving in the governor’s offices in the capital of Vedrex on Rencaris III was that it wasn’t completely public. It was still a demonstration of strength as they were escorted by guards in a ceremonial uniform Valance could tell was still highly functional, barely restricting their movements, through to the atrium. The complex itself was built in the manner of ancient statehouses of Romulus, though Beckett leaned over to mumble as they walked the halls.

‘Much less design on the stonework,’ he noted. ‘That kind of detail in a place like this should tell a history. I don’t think it’s as old as the colony itself, and it’s like a copy, a mimicry -’

‘Thank you, Lieutenant. I get the picture,’ Valance said with quiet sharpness. The last thing she needed was for Beckett’s observations to be overheard.

He wasn’t wrong, though, with the atrium itself ringing hollow as an artificial heart. Here, those ceremonial guards ran scrupulous security screenings of officials entering the building, even the ones who seemed to have some rank. Large screens on the walls showed broadcasts of recent official events, with one mentioning a ‘cultural education programme’ that Valance thought sounded suspiciously mandatory. Eyes were on them, but only an aide to the governor approached to show them through the severe halls and chambers to the meeting room.

The aide swept them through administrative wings and past more ceremonial guards to finally reach a set of high double doors that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an ancient Romulan fortress. The doors swung open at their approach to reveal Governor Vhiemm’s office, all angles and shadows that spoke more of imperial power than bureaucratic efficiency. Vhiemm himself rose from behind the broad meeting table as they entered, and Valance caught a glance of something on his computer display before he deactivated it she thought might be reports on Klingon ship movements. Or more likely, given everything else they’d seen, another piece of carefully curated propaganda. The doors closed behind them with a soft but final click.

‘I trust you’re finding our orbital lanes adequate for your repairs, Captain?’ Vhiemm sat back down with the easy confidence of a man who knew his position was stronger. ‘It’s the least we could offer a Federation starship in distress.’

‘Your hospitality is appreciated.’ Valance stayed standing until Vhiemm gestured to the arrangement of high-backed chairs before the conference table, and sat with Airex and Beckett flanking her. ‘Though I would like to discuss access to your shipyard facilities. We’d be on our way much faster with proper dock resources.’

‘Ah.’ Vhiemm’s smile thinned. ‘That would be a significant step up from our previous agreement of mere safe harbour. Such cooperation would need to be appropriately compensated.’

‘The Federation is prepared to discuss fair terms.’

‘Excellent.’ Like she’d put meat before a bird of prey, he leaned forward. ‘The Federation’s formal recognition of Rencaris as the legitimate successor state to the Romulan Empire’s holdings in this sector would be worth a great deal.’

Beckett gave a low whistle. ‘That’d make for some interesting chats with the Romulan Republic.’ Valance had been halfway to glaring at him, but he spoke with the right amount of levity, getting the point across with a succinctness she couldn’t.

Vhiemm still furrowed his brow. ‘The Republic abandoned their claim to legitimacy when they chose to remake themselves. We have maintained our traditions, our heritage -’

‘Governor.’ Valance tilted her chin up, tone measured but firm. ‘You know that what you’re suggesting would be impossible without severely damaging the Federation’s relationship with the Republic. More than that, if your goal is recognition of Rencaris’s legitimacy, antagonising one of the major powers in this sector would be counterproductive.’

Vhiemm’s expression hardened, but he sat back in a way which made Valance suspect he’d known this was too outrageous a demand in the first instance.

‘Speaking of the local area,’ Airex interjected smoothly, shifting the topic along so Vhiemm didn’t need to offer a graceful dismount, ‘our preliminary analysis of the Mesea Storm’s recent increased volatility has yielded some fascinating results.’

At this, Vhiemm waved a dismissive hand. ‘Our scientists have studied the storm for centuries, though I’m sure comparing methodologies would be… illuminating.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Airex mildly. ‘When there’s time.’

Vhiemm drummed his fingers on the conference table for a moment. ‘If recognition is too high a price, perhaps something more… cultural. Your officers’ presence at the opera is appreciated, but a broader programme of public appearances – tours of our heritage sites, meetings with our educational institutions – would demonstrate the Federation’s respect for our sovereignty.’

‘Cultural exchanges.’ For a moment, Valance thought of the news report Beckett had shown her. Then she gave a slow nod. ‘With some parameters. We cannot make political statements about Rencaris’s governance or relationships with other powers.’

‘Of course not.’ Vhiemm smiled. ‘Merely showing the Federation’s interest in our civilisation would be enough.’

‘In return for full access to your shipyard facilities?’

He gave a gentle scoff. ‘In return for your safe harbour. We can discuss the shipyard facilities another day. A fair trade for now, don’t you say?’

Valance sighed. ‘Provided we maintain those parameters. Cultural exchange only.’

‘Your reputation for directness is well-earned, Captain. I look forward to discussing this further at the opera house.’

‘Assuming we don’t bore the captain to death with five hours of Romulan opera first,’ said Beckett as they all stood.

Vhiemm actually laughed. ‘Lieutenant, I assure you – no one has ever been bored by The Fall of D’taleth. Traumatised, perhaps…’

Valance forced herself to give a smile, implying more amusement than she felt. The opera itself felt like a long way away, and far, far less pressing than the news report flooding out about how Governor Vhiemm and his administration ran Rencaris.

And how much she could work with such governance, publicly be seen cooperating with such governance, before she was complicit with its claims of legitimacy.

The racetrack had been loud. Exuberant. Fast-flowing. And so had the alcohol.

Lindgren normally liked to have breakfast in the Safe House or in her quarters; this morning, she opted for the Round Table. In her own rooms, she might have stayed under the covers and not come out. In public, her headache might have split her skull open. Here, in the privacy of the officers’ mess, she could slink in, get a coffee and breakfast bagel from the replicator, and hide in a booth in the low, gentle lighting until she felt more alive.

‘I need you.’ Caede slid into the opposite seat without asking.

The bacon tasted good. Salty and enriching. Lindgren glared balefully at the bagel he was stopping her from eating, before she glared balefully at him. ‘I’m not in the mood for your charm today, Caede.’

He made a face. ‘I’m not trying to be charming. There’s work to do.’ He leaned forward. ‘Yesterday, the Rencaris government arrested a man named Sullis, who works for the University of Vedrex. He interrupted a public event held by Governor Vhiemm, calling out all of their oppressive -’

‘Caede. I’m sorry, this sounds awful, but do I look like I’m… I don’t know what you want from me here, but I’m pretty sure I can’t give it.’

He rolled his eyes, reaching into his jacket. ‘Thought you might say that,’ he grunted, and pulled out a hypospray. ‘Got that from Sickbay. Fix yourself.’

‘I… what?’

‘Last year, fifteen protestors were shot in the Khalaman Plaza in Vendex. Five months ago, the government shut down a whole wing of Sullis’s university because they taught things they didn’t like about the fall of Romulus. These people are bad guys and we’re helping them.’ Caede’s expression was flat.

Lindgren watched him before, reluctantly, taking the hypospray. She made sure to give it a quick examination before she dosed herself, and within heartbeats her head started to clear. She smacked her lips at the acrid taste of adrenaline. ‘You better not have made me drug myself just so you can complain about the civil rights of people down there. It’s sad, but what are we -’

‘We could avoid legitimising the bastards by working with them,’ Caede grumbled. ‘Failing that, I intend to make the most of the cover Endeavour’s giving me.’

‘Cover?’

He leaned forward. ‘There are people in this system who want a better way of life. I’ve found where I can find the student movement that Sullis was a part of. I want to reach out to them. I need you with me.’

‘It’ll hardly help negotiations if a Starfleet officer -’

‘Does her job?’ Caede’s lip curled. ‘Oh, be nice and fluffy and uplifting, but only if it’s not hard? I’d do it myself, but Rencaris Security doesn’t need an excuse to disappear me if they catch wind and see me walking the streets. You don’t have to lift your pretty head. Just be my shield. Come on.’

She wasn’t sure why she followed him. Probably because he had something approaching a point.

The bar was as far from the wide, grand streets of Vedrex one could get while still being in the capital. Called the Fifth House, Caede had to explain the name as they approached the doors, both in civilian clothes: Rencaris had been founded by four great houses, with power largely drifting between them. This was the home of everyone else: the rabble. Inside, worn copper and steel fixtures caught the dim lighting, and faded banners of the Star Empire decorated the walls in what Lindgren suspected was more irony than nostalgia.

She looked up at Caede and rolled her eyes. ‘They won’t talk to you if you look like you’re counting exits,’ she murmured.

His scowl deepened. ‘I wasn’t counting exits. I was counting security cameras.’ But he rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen up. It made him look like he had backache.

Young looking Romulans clustered around tables, wearing, to Lindgren’s eyes, clothing that marked them out as affluent enough they were probably students of Vartax’s prestigious university – or those working very hard to pass as such. But while their clothes were pressed and proper, their manner was not, and voices raised in discussion went quiet when the human and her Romulan companion entered.

‘Easy,’ she murmured as Caede tensed. ‘Let them come to us.’

They made their way to the bar. The bartender was an older Romulan woman who’d probably been here since the fall of the Star Empire of Romulus, and gave them a look that suggested she’d seen everything since. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘Havaran ale, from the Republic,’ Caede said, and Lindgren considered punching him. Her hangover hadn’t worn off that much.

She watched it land with the subtlety of a stone tossed in water, leaving splashes rather than whispers of conversation spreading through the bar. She tried her most disarming smile. ‘I’ll have what’s local.’

‘Bold choice,’ said a voice to her left, and Lindgren turned to see a young woman garbed like a student regarding them both. ‘Most off-worlders stick to what they know.’

‘When in Vartax,’ Lindgren said easily.

The woman waved a hand at the bartender. ‘The kirhc brandy for the Starfleet officer.’ Her gaze slid to Caede. ‘Your ale might have to wait; we only get shipments when trade regulations allow.’

‘It served a point,’ he said, rather impatiently.

‘Dhael,’ she introduced herself, looking between them. ‘You’re from Endeavour.’

‘Lieutenant Lindgren. This is Ce -’

‘Caede,’ he said, cutting off her rank. ‘You knew Sullis.’

This was like another rock he’d hurled. Dhael’s grip on her drink shifted, knuckles whiter. ‘Lots of people knew Sullis. He taught us.’

‘Before he was arrested. For speaking out against the K’Var alliance, because of how it would turn Romulan against Romulan -’

‘Are you trying to get more of us arrested?’ Dhael’s voice was acidic. ‘If not, drop your voice. And maybe join us.’

The table they approached held three other students, all looking as tense as Dhael had when Caede mentioned Sullis. He didn’t seem to care, sitting down with the grace of a frustrated targ.

‘Sullis was brave,’ he started at once. ‘He saw what was happening and he acted.’

‘He was foolish,’ one of the students said. At Caede’s darkening expression, he added, ‘That’s what everyone is saying. What it’s sensible to say.’

‘And you’ll let him rot in prison. While you sit here and in your classes discussing poetry.’

Dhael looked at Lindgren. ‘Is he usually this obtuse?’ She glanced back at Caede. ‘They’re watching us all now. His friends, his students. Waiting to see who else will step out of line. What did you expect to find here? A resistance cell ready to storm the detention centre?’

Caede’s expression didn’t shift. ‘You’ve got to stick your head above the parapet some day. You think that Vhiemm will want a hornet’s nest with Starfleet around? People he wants to impress?’

‘That didn’t save Sullis.’

‘The captain knows about his arrest now,’ said Lindgren softly. ‘We’ve need a moment to get the lay of the land. We have it. It can be made diplomatically inconvenient for the administration to be too heavy handed.’

‘People aren’t just scared,’ Caede surmised, ‘you’re angry. Or I damn well hope you are. Now’s the time to use that anger. With the eyes of two foreign governments on you.’

‘We aren’t soldiers,’ one of the other students said quietly. ‘We’re scholars. Artists. We’re speaking truth to power, not starting violence in the streets.’

‘That power isn’t listening,’ Caede scoffed. ‘The Republic -’

‘Isn’t here,’ Dhael cut him off. ‘You are. Causing attention none of us can afford right now.’ She stood. ‘I think you should leave. Before someone decides a Republic officer asking questions about a political prisoner is worth reporting.’

Lindgren touched Caede’s arm as he tensed, saw the muscle working in his jaw. After a long moment, he gave a sharp nod and stood.

‘Jolan tru,’ he grunted.

Lindgren lingered a moment after he headed for the door. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘He means well. But it’s true what we said: Starfleet isn’t going to stand by if something happens. Things moved fast with Sullis. That won’t happen again.’

‘That doesn’t mean we do what he says.’ But Dhael’s voice softened. ‘Sullis knew the risks. We all do. But there’s a right way to do things.’

As Lindgren followed Caede to the door, she heard how conversations around them shifted. No longer silenced by surprise at their present, they talked about poetry, music, art. Some of it she recognised; pieces from the diaspora, even pieces from the Republic. Art of the wider Romulan people, not merely what Rencaris dictated. This wasn’t the rebellion Caede wanted, but embers were there. Quieter. Subtler.

She found him outside, jaw tight, arms folded across his chest. ‘Children,’ he spat as she joined him.

‘I thought you had a better plan than that,’ she admitted, eyes sweeping the street for sign of a surveillance drone. She was Starfleet in their city. They’d be watching even if she couldn’t see them. ‘You went up to a bunch of kids and asked them to form a militia.’

He grunted. ‘I wasn’t much older than them when I was fighting for the Republic. Only the Republic was just a dream then, fighting with the flotilla, trying to get to what would become New Romulus. They’re weak.’

Lindgren grabbed his arm and turned him towards her. ‘You made contact. You know who they are. You know what they’re like. So you can plan your next move, but… what’s the goal here? Incite a rebellion?’

‘If that’s what it takes.’ His lip curled. ‘Valance is making nice with these bastards in charge, going to the fucking opera, and -’

‘Then tell her what’s going on! She saw about Sullis, tell her about this!’

‘You think the Federation is going to fund a rebellion against the Rencaris government? That sounds like a great time to hide behind your non-interference policy instead,’ he sneered.

‘Well, I guess you’re fucked, then!’ she spat before she could stop herself. ‘And I should bow before your world-weary cynicism, rather than, God forbid, try to find a way forward!’

His eyes widened, and she realised she’d never really snapped at him before. The lingering hangover was clearly having some impact. He looked away, somehow sheepish. ‘They were right about one thing. I am a soldier. They’re not. I’m not even an insurgency expert.’

‘Only they will know their world well enough to know how to fight for it,’ she said, reaching for his arm again as she softened. ‘You don’t need to tell them what to do. You just… need to speak in the same language as them.’

His brow furrowed, but this time it was with thought, not anger. ‘Or find someone who speaks it.’

It was 0330 when Beckett’s console chirruped, ignoring all directives he’d given it to be silent in the night. Thawn had reacted first, but only with a low grumble as she’d rolled over. She’d been working so hard, he thought, that she instinctively reacted to any computer alert – but also knew every chime, every notification, by heart enough that even semi-conscious, she knew this wasn’t her problem.

Beckett rose from bed reluctantly, scrubbing his face with his hands as he stumbled sleepily to his desk. At once, he saw why the sound had been made, overriding his settings: the priority one message from Gateway Station awaiting his attention. Pre-recorded, at this distance. Security clearance: Sigma-12.

That woke him up. But he did his best to not wake Thawn as he fished around for his uniform in the dark, hopping as he pulled on a boot and bumping into a cabinet, rattling his collectables sat upon it. She gave another grumpy sound as she stirred.

‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, leaning over with a hand on her shoulder. ‘I just gotta – some paperwork’s come in. Nothing big.

‘Mrrn.’

Had she been awake, she would have probably seen through his lies. Half-asleep, he could get away with giving her a peck on the cheek and leaving her be. He needed to view this message from somewhere secure. That meant locking himself in StratOps for thirty minutes.

When he was done, he badly needed a drink. But it was early morning, so he had to settle for a coffee in the Round Table, a selection of PADDs strewn out in front of him as he searched and searched for an answer. No, an answer was too ambitious now. A starting point. Mere inspiration.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there when there was a rustle, and Jack Logan slid into the seat opposite him, a veritable vat of steaming coffee in his hand. ‘You look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders, kid.’

‘Me? I…’ Beckett looked up, blinking muggily, and knew at once he’d given too much of a startled reaction to cover much up. He should have gone back to bed, gotten more sleep, but he was too wired, and anyway, it would have meant lying to Thawn.

Logan looked like he hadn’t meant much by his approach, but now his gaze flickered between him and the PADDs, then back up again. ‘You okay?’

‘I… I’m fine. It’s nothing.’ Beckett reached to stack up his PADDs. ‘There’s just a lot of analysis work and…’

‘Woah.’ Logan lifted a hand. ‘You don’t have to explain nothing to me. I was just saying “hey.” You want me to leave you alone?’

‘No,’ blurted Beckett before he’d thought, but found he didn’t regret it. He hesitated, fidgeting with his spoon. ‘I dunno.’

‘If you’ll forgive how I sometimes can’t help but spot things…’ Logan gave a wry, apologetic tap of his cortical implant, ‘it looks like you got a hell of a message.’

‘If you saw that,’ Beckett said, more tensely, ‘then you know I can’t talk about it.’

‘Except I got the clearance.’ At Beckett’s blank, suspicious stare, Logan gave a faint smile. ‘You can check.’

He did, muttering, ‘The captain doesn’t have this clearance,’ as he flicked through files.

‘The captain didn’t work for Intel for years. They were happy to see the back of me but I got no doubt they’re keeping me on the books for a rainy day. Is it rainy?’

‘It’s… spitting,’ Beckett admitted, peering at the screen. Logan was right. He set his PADD down and glanced about the lounge, near-empty at this time of day. Then he leaned in. ‘The agreement between K’Var and Rencaris needs scuttling.’

‘I mean, no shit it’d be bad for us, bad for the Republic, if it went ahead.’ But Logan’s gaze was guarded. ‘There’s a reason they ain’t just told Valance to stop it?’

‘As if we’re politically allowed to order a captain to try to stop the Empire – nominally our allies – from making a resupply pact with a wholly independent world.’ Beckett rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s ignore that K’Var will use this to attack another ally. Command are abiding by the old norms like it’s twenty years ago, pretending nothing’s changed.’

‘So it falls on you. By hook or by crook, I’m betting?’

‘By…’ Beckett sighed, tossing his hand in the air. ‘They’ve not said “by any means necessary.”’

‘Nah. That’d expose them too much if you didn’t deliver.’

‘But I think I’ve got to deliver, Jack.’ Beckett’s expression folded, gaze going distant. ‘I don’t just mean for the good of the sector. I… there’s implications… I owe people…’

‘You ran up a line of credit with the division,’ said Logan, softer and more sympathetic as he watched the younger man, ‘and now they’re comin’ to collect. That’s the problem with an organisation that runs in favours an’ discretion as much as it does. It’s never worth getting indebted to them like that, kid -’

‘You’re alive because I got indebted,’ Beckett said, sharper than he meant. ‘How do you think Endeavour managed to follow that probe through transwarp? You think Airex packed twenty years of study into an afternoon?’

That brought a pause, Logan sitting back on the bench. His expression twisted as he chewed on this nugget, before he eventually asked, ‘Who knows about that?’

‘Nobody. Airex maybe suspects. But nobody really.’ Beckett didn’t look up from his notes.

‘Thawn?’

‘Nobody.’

By not looking up, he didn’t realise Logan had leaned forward until he dropped his voice and said, ‘Anyone said thank you for that?’

Beckett paused. ‘I didn’t do it for thanks.’

‘You’re owed ‘em anyway. Your superiors give you any starting point with this assignment?’

‘No.’ He scrubbed his face with his hand. ‘There’s so little known about the situation that I’m the only expert. So it falls to me to stop this alliance.’

‘Without, I expect, tellin’ Valance.’

‘She has to keep our reputation,’ Beckett found himself sneering as he scrolled through records on Brok’tan, as if they’d give him a charged phaser he could shoot at the Klingons’ negotiations. ‘So our hands are clean.’

‘Anythin’ I can do?’

Now Beckett looked up. ‘You’re out, Jack -’

‘Ain’t no such thing. They’ll call if it’s convenient.’

‘And I won’t.’ Beckett hesitated, surprised by his own forcefulness. Then he sighed. ‘If I think of anything, I’ll… I’ll say. But just this? It… helped.’

Logan gave a tight smile. ‘A word of advice?’

‘Sure. Because I have no idea how I’m going to do… anything.’

‘That’s the point. Don’t ask yourself “what would a super cool, awesome intelligence operative do?” That ain’t the point. Play to your strengths. You’re in this job for a reason.’

‘I’m in this job because of my father,’ said Beckett, fighting a scowl.

‘An’ I were in the job ‘cos I was an xB at a time I had no other choices. These are how and why they hook us in. It ain’t why they want us. Think about it, Nate: what was your biggest professional win?’

Beckett worked his jaw. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Think about it. Figure it out. You don’t need to tell me. But that’s how you do this job: playing to your strengths.’

‘And what about if I should do this? Lie to the captain? Go behind her back?’

Logan faltered at that, drumming his fingertips on the table. ‘These aren’t bad orders. They ain’t illegal orders. They ain’t even immoral orders. What happens to the Republic if this deal goes ahead? These are just the kind of orders Starfleet don’t like to say out loud.’

‘There’s a reason for that.’

‘If you don’t want to do it…’ Logan worked his jaw. ‘Find a way to say that. Make the most of havin’ an influential father. You got choices others don’t. But I can’t make that decision for you.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to -’

‘You’ve had one foot out the door for this whole job. You gotta think about why you took it. Why you want it. If you want it. An’ take it from there.’ Logan stood and picked up his half-empty mug. ‘See you later, kid.’

Alone, and with more questions than answers, Beckett sat with one drink, then another. Staring at the bulkheads, at his PADDs, at the gentle curves of Rencaris III out the window, didn’t help. It just meant ideas fizzed faster in his head, circling and going nowhere. So he did what he always did when he couldn’t move forward: pulled out his journal, that leather-bound, paper-paged hub of all his thoughts and considerations. Writing by hand always ordered things; he had to make decisions about what to write, which made them more real in turn.

He flicked to an empty page and picked up his pen. Only for his eyes to fall on the last notes he’d written and, brow furrowed, he read. And flicked back. And read more. Read all of his last entry.

And when he was done reading about his recollections and reflections from his trip the Rencaris Institute of History and Culture, he picked up his PADD, and went looking for more things to read.

‘Shuttle Galahad in position.’ Lindgren’s voice crackled through the bridge, calm and collected, as if the slightest misjudgement of her piloting would fly the shuttle and all aboard into Endeavour’s hull. ‘We have eyes on the relay.’

‘Confirmed, Galahad.’ Stood in the middle of the bridge, Valance nodded even though the repair team wouldn’t be able to hear her. ‘How’s it looking out there?’

Thawn’s voice piped through next. ‘Much as expected so far, Captain. We’ll know more when we’re closer. Forrester and I are going EV now.’

‘Understood. Stay in touch.’ Valance muted the comms and sank onto the command chair. ‘I hate this.’

Next to her, Kharth had her chin in her hand, looking rather bored. ‘Thawn is annoying, but I’m sure she can repair or replace the damaged conduits.’

‘Work like this should be done in a dockyard,’ said Valance, drumming her fingers on the armrest. ‘Right now, to do these repairs and maintain necessary safety protocols, we’re reliant on the very power systems we’re trying to fix.’

‘Then I guess we better please Governor Vhiemm fast.’

‘Captain.’ At Tactical, Logan turned with a hint of urgency that smothered any of Valance’s relief at the interruption. ‘A Klingon shuttle’s dropped out of warp and is being escorted into the system.’

‘Escorted?’

‘By the Rencaris defence forces.’ He now sounded more confused than concerned. ‘It looks above board. But they’re headed for the Suv’chu.’

‘We know they have other ships out here,’ Kharth pointed out. ‘I bet old Crazy-Eyes isn’t the only officer roaming the region, but Rencaris probably isn’t letting them stroll more warships into orbit.’

Valance looked at her. ‘Crazy-Eyes?’ she echoed.

‘Ledera,’ said Kharth like this was obvious.

‘Bridge; Thawn,’ crackled the comms again. The chief engineer’s voice was tinny now, reverberating inside her EV suit. The viewscreen shuddered before changing to show the feed from her suit’s camera, a slightly dizzying view of the exterior hull looking back up towards the saucer section. ‘We’re on the hull and at the relay. Some of these conduits we can repair with what we have. I’m going to patch those up and assess what needs replacing.’

Another hiss of comms, this one the click of a tongue from Forrester. ‘This could take all afternoon,’ the young engineer grumbled.

‘Then it takes all afternoon,’ Thawn admonished.

‘Great,’ muttered Kharth, and they settled in to wait.

Ten minutes later, the turbolift doors slid open to admit Beckett. His serious expression flickered at the sight of the repair work on the viewscreen, and he headed for the command chairs with raised eyebrows. ‘How’re they doing?’

‘Slow and steady,’ Valance assured him. ‘We have eyes on them here and Lindgren’s in the Galahad nearby. We’re taking every precaution.’ As they spoke, the low audio of Thawn and Forrester discussing their work faded into the background.

Kharth leaned around Valance to look at him. ‘You came up here to fret?’

‘I came up here to report,’ said Beckett, and handed Valance a PADD. ‘I’ve been going through comms chatter on the surface. Civilian stuff, public networks, media feeds. I think Brok’tan’s in with Vhiemm right now.’

Valance sighed as she took the PADD. ‘We knew they’d be meeting…’

‘This is aides and journalists musing on movement in the governor’s complex. We could be looking at a press conference from Vhiemm later today. They’ve moved one of his podiums to a certain room.’

‘Is that good news or bad news?’ Valance asked him.

‘If negotiations fell through, Vhiemm won’t announce it,’ Kharth pointed out, now on her feet. ‘They must have made some progress. It’s automatically bad.’

Beckett grimaced, tilting his head this way and that. ‘Can’t be sure, but I’m inclined to agree with the commander.’

‘Alright. Keep an eye on the media and -’ Valance was cut off by an alert siren, and her head snapped around.

‘Plasma surge at the conduit!’ reported Athaka at Ops, voice riddled with anxiety.

‘How?’ snapped Valance. ‘It was all down-powered -’

‘Residual charge from the storm,’ came Thawn’s clipped voice, though she was probably talking to herself and Forrester rather than the bridge. ‘Forrester, disconnect it from the junction –’

‘Galahad, stand by to pull them out of there,’ Valance instructed, eyes locked on the viewscreen as she watched almost from Thawn’s perspective at the two engineers rushing to action.

‘No,’ instructed Thawn. ‘This overloads and we’ve got more hull breaches. Forrester!’

‘The flow regulator’s seized – it’s not responding!’

A clear oath from Thawn. ‘Bypassing the regulator,’ she reported, the camera view shaky as the suited engineer knelt over an exterior control panel. Valance could make out very little other than thick gloves and blurry equipment. Behind her, Beckett had begun to pace. ‘Isolating the conduit –’

‘No good; it’s feeding back into the primary junction –’

‘Energy levels rising!’ called Athaka as the glowing section of conduit Forrester was bent over sparked.

‘Beam them out now –’

A thunderous pulse erupted from the conduit, arcs of energy exploding outward. For a moment, Valance saw the bright light, heard the grunt of impact, saw the camera spin away from the hull – then the viewscreen went dead, and alert sirens on the bridge became a cacophony as the deck shuddered.

‘That was an EMP pulse!’ reported Athaka, hands racing across his console. ‘Power to that section is down, energy levels fluctuating across the ship; Galahad’s dead in the water -’

‘The engineers, Athaka!’ Beckett snarled. ‘What happened?’

‘Tethers broke; they’ve been blasted off the hull.’ That was Kharth, who’d moved to Science to take over monitoring the engineers as it became abundantly apparent they had more than one problem to look at at once. Her breath caught. ‘Suits are compromised.’

‘Galahad’s in a flat spin!’ came the sudden warning from Logan. ‘She’s out of control; activating a tractor beam before she hits us -’

‘Athaka, beam our people back aboard,’ snapped Valance.

‘I – I can’t, Captain; power systems are fluctuating, and I can’t boost our sensors and transporters enough to get a lock and beam them aboard without the tractor beam failing!’

‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ demanded Beckett.

Valance raised a sharp hand to cut him off; the last thing she needed was an officer panicking about his partner. ‘Logan, stabilise the Galahad, and confirm Lindgren’s status. Kharth, monitor Thawn and Forrester. The moment the Galahad’s stable, we beam them back.’ That could take precious seconds, seconds she didn’t know whether her engineers had. But if the Galahad careened into the hull, she wasn’t convinced their emergency power systems would handle the breach, putting even more lives in danger.

Or so she told herself, as she made a snap judgement. In another world, Athaka had secured a transporter lock before Logan had taken the initiative with the tractor beam, and the situation was flipped. But she was in this world.

‘Galahad is stabilising,’ Logan called after about ten seconds, which was enough to feel like a lifetime. ‘Confirm Lindgren safe and sound aboard.’

‘Athaka, get me a lock on our engineers -’

‘I’ve – I’ve lost readings.’ That was Kharth, though she sounded confused more than horrified. ‘All suit readings. On both of them. Simultaneously.’

Valance tried to ignore Beckett’s ashen expression as she turned to her XO. ‘Explain.’

‘Their suits’ systems were failing, but they wouldn’t go at the exact same second…’

‘I can’t even see them,’ said Athaka, an edge of panic creeping into his voice as his hands flew over the controls. ‘It’s like they – wait. I have them! They’ve…’

His voice died. Valance’s stomach turned inside out, and she didn’t look at Beckett as she straightened. ‘Lieutenant.’

Athaka turned on the shuttle, gaze uncertain. ‘Captain, they’re on the Klingon shuttle. They beamed them aboard.’

There was a beat. Kharth muttered an oath. ‘They must have been watching us closely to pick up on all this.’

‘I’d use an official entering the system by shuttle as an excuse for a fly-by,’ muttered Beckett. Valance saw his hands had clenched into fists. ‘Is this a rescue, or…?’

‘Priority is to stabilise Endeavour,’ she said, cutting them off. ‘Get our power systems under control, get the Galahad docked. And hail that Klingon shuttle.’

She should have been more surprised when the connection went through, and the viewscreen changed to show the interior of a small personnel transport, and the smirking face of Captain Ledera.

‘Captain Valance. We meet again.’

‘Where are my people?’ Niceties had been sent off into space, along with her engineers.

‘You mean the two souls I’ve rescued? Safe and sound aboard my shuttle. You’re most fortunate General Brok’tan summoned me from my ship for discussion –’

‘I’m sending you details to beam them back over.’ Valance gave Athaka a curt nod. ‘I thank you for your vigilance.’

‘Let us not be hasty. I would hate to return your officers to you in anything less than perfect condition. I’m docking with the Suv’chu imminently; the doctors will look them over and we will make sure they’re well-hosted –’

‘I don’t have time for games.’ Valance tried to not clench her jaw too tight. ‘You have no reason to hold them. We have the facilities aboard -’

‘I see your power systems are fluctuating, likely due to whatever repair that went awry. We can take the burden of caring for two injured engineers off you for a while.’

Beckett took a step forward at that. ‘Injured -’

‘You’ll beam them back,’ snapped Valance, cutting him off, eyes locked on the viewscreen. ‘Right now.’

Ledera’s facade of a smile faded. ‘I don’t think I will.’

Without looking away, Valance said, ‘Commander Kharth, Commander Logan, prepare a boarding party.’

‘The Rencaris government will take a dim view of hostile action.’

‘Hostile action such as kidnapping my people? The Rencaris government aren’t stupid.’ She forced herself to take a moment. Ledera was unyielding iron in this; applying force would not make her bend. Someone would break first. ‘Or you let me aboard, Ledera, so we can discuss this further.’

Ledera cocked her head. ‘The mongrel plays at honour. Very well, Valance. Beam aboard and we will talk this over.’ She cut the comms, the screen going dead.

Kharth was on her feet at once. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘The Rencaris government made it perfectly clear we were to keep the peace,’ said Valance in a low, flat voice. ‘Right now, she has a stupid, if deniable story, about picking up our engineers and giving them help and claiming we overreact. If we send a boarding party, we might look like the aggressors. If I board, she has to back down.’

‘Or she has you as a hostage,’ Kharth pointed out.

‘Which isn’t a deniable story to feed the Rencaris government any more. Or Brok’tan.’ At Kharth’s dubious look, Valance pressed on. ‘He gave his word there would be no trouble from his people.’

‘Yeah, that worked.’

‘He’s not aboard. Sending me provides an escalation that neither Brok’tan nor the Rencaris government can ignore if Ledera doesn’t back down, but we’re not the aggressors. And that’s assuming I can’t talk her down.’ Valance raised a hand. ‘It’s not up for debate. The ship is yours, Commander.’

Kharth gave a sullen nod, then looked at Logan. ‘We’re still keeping that boarding party on standby.’

‘You bet your ass we are,’ he rumbled.

‘Captain!’ Beckett fell into step as Valance headed for the lift. ‘I’m going with you.’

‘Lieutenant, I appreciate your personal concerns here but -’

‘Ledera, daughter of Elrak, born December 2365, from a long line of warriors in service to the House of K’Var,’ Beckett reeled off without missing a beat. ‘She was with Dakor at Agarath; she was one of his captains, and she kept her ship in service to the house in the aftermath. It’s not just that she’s one of the anti-Federation malcontents in the house. We probably fought her at Agarath.’

For a long time, Valance had thought of the House of K’Var’s turn from Federation ally to potential enemy at the border as impersonal, at least to her. It was about rising geopolitical tensions, and the enmity one son of K’Var held for one Starfleet officer. She had not fully contemplated the fact that young warriors of the Empire, including of K’Var, had launched an attack on Romulan space during the fall of the Star Empire of Rator in mid-2400, and the survivors persisted as malcontents in Klingon society. While Rourke had been slaying Dakor, son of K’Var, on a mining platform in the Reman star system of Agarath, she had commanded Endeavour against Dakor’s ships and captains.

That was the real problem with Klingons, she thought. Not Kharth’s warnings about honour being a shifting and malleable construct, invoked by convenience rather than a consistent personal code. The problem was that the line between the personal and the political was blurry at best, even for ship captains and senior officials.

Beckett was still staring at her, eyes blazing, and pressed on. ‘Captain, I’ve been doing my job. I know more about Ledera or Brok’tan or anyone aboard the Suv’chu than you do. Bring me with you.’

Valance studied him for a moment, then looked back at Kharth. ‘If you haven’t heard from me in thirty minutes, you raise hell with the Rencaris government, and then you send in the cavalry. Beckett, with me.’

She’d wondered if she should come armed. Not with a phaser, but a detour to her quarters to collect her kur’leth might have left her feeling less exposed as the lights of the transporter beam faded and Valance and Beckett set foot on the decks of the IKS Suv’chu.

Last time, warriors had received her with quiet, respectful courtesy. The pair waiting now looked more rough and ready, and she suspected they were Ledera’s people.

‘This way,’ one grunted, and they were flanked all the way to the same room where Brok’tan had received her days ago.

‘Is the general back from the surface?’ Valance asked as they walked, but the question went unanswered.

Ledera had not been audacious enough to claim Brok’tan’s chair in his absence. Furniture in the hall had been pushed to the side, the young captain pacing a groove in the deck in the open space as she waited for them. Brok’tan had received her with food and drink and in relative privacy, but this time a cluster of warriors lurked around the bulkheads, a watchful audience, and there was no sign of food. No extension of guest-right.

Valance felt Beckett tense beside her as he spotted the engineers before she did. They were at a bench in the corner, out of the helmets and gloves of scored and battered EV suits. Forrester sat with her head in her hands, while Thawn knelt beside her, seemingly tending to a cut at her brow before she’d looked to the door at their arrival. Two burly warriors stood over them.

She had to swallow rising anger as she looked at Ledera. The entire point of being here was to force the Klingons’ hands without initiating violence. ‘Thank you for the rescue of my people,’ she said, trying to keep her voice calm, her words simple. ‘We can bring them home from here.’

Ledera stopped and turned to her. ‘It’s not going to work like that, Valance.’

‘You want to cut to the chase?’ Valance raised her eyebrows. ‘Let’s do that. What do you want here?’

Ledera’s lip curled. ‘Look at you. The stalwart Starfleet officer, and daughter of the House of A’trok. Come to save her people, armed with… diplomacy.’

‘I question your prowess as a warrior if your tactical appraisal is that a true warrior should single-handedly storm the ship.’

‘Not diplomacy, then. Taunts. Someone has your people trussed up, helpless, and you’ve brought a barbed tongue.’

Valance opened her hands, shaking her head. ‘No. I just know how you’re going to do this, Ledera. I’m less-than in your eyes, a half-breed, and not truly a Klingon. Anything I do, you’ll use as evidence of my inadequacy. As proof that I’m something I’m not even claiming to be.’

‘Then what are you?’ came the sneering reply.

‘Captain of the USS Endeavour –’

In three swift strides, Ledera had crossed the hall to Thawn. She grabbed the engineer by the metal ring of the EV suit’s collar and dragged her back. Thawn yelped, but even with her hands free was helplessly hauled onto her back across the deck.

Beckett’s hands were curled into white-knuckled fists. ‘Assault of a Starfleet officer is a violation of Federation law and thus a breach of the Second Khitomer Accords -’

‘Silence your dog, Valance,’ snapped Ledera. ‘This doesn’t concern him.’ She twisted Thawn around, forcing her to her knees, eyes locked on the captain. ‘I have one of your people here, helpless before me, and you bring words.’

Valance took a moment to steel her expression. ‘A boarding party might have broken our agreement with Rencaris to keep the peace. All you’d need is to claim I overreacted to a simple rescue of our people, and we, as a potential complication in your negotiation with the Romulans, are out of the picture -’

‘I didn’t do this to complicate the negotiations with Rencaris,’ Ledera spat. ‘And just by suggesting it, you prove you don’t understand the heart of a Klingon.’

Valance forced herself to shrug. ‘If you say so.’ A calm, collected attitude would buy time. It might also provoke Ledera into overplaying her hand.

‘And yet, noble Klingon blood runs through your veins, blood of which you’re unworthy -’

‘More noble than yours,’ interrupted Beckett, his voice lower and colder than Valance had ever heard it. ‘More noble than the daughter of Elrak, from a line of petty warriors bending the knee to greater houses -’

‘Beckett.’

But Valance’s snap to silence him wasn’t enough, as Ledera shoved Thawn away only to backhand the engineer. The blow was enough to knock her to her hands and knees, and when Thawn, groaning, lifted her head, blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

In her chest, Valance could feel both her hearts thundering even as she stood stock-still. ‘Commander,’ she called, voice low and careful. ‘Are you alright?’

Thawn gingerly touched her jaw. ‘I’m alright,’ she said, but her voice shook.

Ledera’s incredulous gaze turned back to Valance. ‘Pathetic! I thought if I hurt your people, you’d show the Klingon underneath. You can still show me, Valance.’ She gave a curt nod to one of her warriors, who advanced, drawing a sword – only to flip the kur’leth and extend it towards Valance, hilt first. ‘Fight me, and free your people.’

A slow exhale brought back ice, even as the blade glinted invitingly at her. ‘I’m not putting lives on to prove myself to you, Ledera -’

‘But there isn’t a Klingon underneath, is there?’ Now Ledera grabbed Thawn by her mane of thick red hair, forcing her head back. Thawn whimpered, and Valance had to snap her hand out to grab Beckett by the elbow.

‘Look at your Chief Engineer, Valance,’ Ledera carried on, voice a low sneer, her face close to Thawn’s as her dark eyes locked back on the captain. ‘She serves you. Trusts you. And you stand there, watching her bleed.’

The tension of iron-tight control was like a vice around Valance’s chest. ‘You cannot paint your actions abducting and abusing my crew as my dishonour -’

‘Even humans fight for the ones they love! Look at your whelp, there – I’d break him in half in a heartbeat, but still you have to hold him back!’ Ledera’s eyes flickered from Beckett to Valance. ‘I wanted to prove you unworthy of the Klingon blood in your veins, but you’re even less than I thought you were, Valance. Less Klingon, less human, something empty, hollow, broken -’

For a moment, Valance thought someone had yelled. But that was impossible, because she didn’t open her mouth, was totally silent as she moved even as her blood sang. Her hand released Beckett to wrap around the hilt of the extended kur’leth, and her advance on Ledera was not a charge, but a march. It was just as well, because Ledera barely had time to shove Thawn away and pull her mek’leth to meet the downward swing of the sword.

Steel met steel with a screech that echoed through the chamber. Ledera’s triumphant sneer faltered as she met Valance’s eyes and found no storm of rage, no Klingon battle-cry, just dark focus and absolute purpose. The captain’s next strike came with mechanical precision, and Ledera stumbled back, suddenly defensive.

Three more blows came in rapid succession, each strike perfectly placed to probe Ledera’s guard. This wasn’t the brawling of a warrior possessed by bloodwine and glory – this was a surgeon with a blade, methodically seeking weakness. Ledera had wanted the Klingon underneath Valance’s control. Instead, she’d found what that control had been containing all along.

‘petaQ!’ Ledera snarled, desperation creeping into her voice as she barely deflected another strike. “Fight like a-”

The chamber doors crashed open. ‘Enough!’

Brok’tan’s roar filled the chamber, and everyone froze. Valance’s blade had slipped past Ledera’s guard, and hovered, unmoving, a hair’s breadth from the younger Klingon’s throat.

The general advanced, flanked by the warriors who had received them before, and Ledera’s followers fell to one knee as he approached. ‘Captain Valance, I ask you to stand down,’ he rumbled. ‘Though I have no right to make that request. She came for your people.’

Valance blinked, and it was like colour began to seep back into her vision. Ledera stood before her, frozen in stance and expression, but she could see the fear in the Klingon warrior’s eyes, the realisation that her taunts had pushed, perhaps, too far.

Like an industrial machine resetting to its starting position, her sword dropped away from Ledera’s throat. She turned to Brok’tan, and when she spoke her voice felt colder, emptier – like it was hers, and yet not hers. ‘General. I’ve no need to kill her.’

‘You could have humiliated her a little,’ Brok’tan scoffed, gaze turning to Ledera, and his tone turned admonishing. ‘I call you here to hold council, and halfway through my meeting with the governor, word reaches me from Endeavour that you’ve abducted their people? I board, and my warriors tell me you’re holding court as if you rule in my stead, playing games with the lives of officers?’

Ledera hesitated – then dropped to one knee. ‘I was rescuing these -’

‘Do not lie to me!’ Brok’tan brought up a sharp hand. ‘No. Hold your tongue. I will deal with you later.’

Valance stared at the sword in her hand for a beat, then tossed it to the floor and turned. Somewhere in the mess, Beckett had gone to Thawn’s side and was knelt beside her, hand to her face. Upon Brok’tan’s arrival, Forrester had been released and had moved shakily to join them.

‘Are you alright?’ Valance asked her people again.

Thawn put a hand to Beckett’s wrist, stopping his fretting, as she looked up and gave a wan nod. ‘Thank you, Captain.’

I didn’t do anything to help, she thought, and looked to Forrester, who also gave an awkward nod.

Brok’tan watched, his chest heaving, fury evident. ‘Captain, I can only apologise for the actions of my people. To abduct your crew and use them in a theatre is unacceptable –’

‘The actions weren’t yours, General,’ Valance told him.

‘You would apologise if one of your officers acted so poorly. We owe you recompense. I assure you that Captain Ledera will be punished -’

‘No, she won’t.’ Their heads snapped around when Beckett spoke. He’d helped Thawn to her feet, but as they looked at him, he stepped away from her, expression twisting. ‘She’s a captain of her own ship. You need her out here. You’ll enact some so-called Klingon discipline and then she’ll go right back to doing whatever she wants, because she doesn’t ultimately answer to you, she answers to the sons of K’Var, and they’ll applaud her for what she did.’

Valance’s jaw tightened. ‘Lieutenant.’

‘And you won’t do anything to her, either, Captain,’ Beckett all but spat. ‘Because you want to keep the peace.’ He advanced on Ledera, who stood at his approach, lip curling. That didn’t stop him as he brought them almost nose-to-nose. ‘Make no mistake, Ledera: There will be payback for this.’

‘Beckett!’

But Valance’s admonishment fell on deaf ears as he carried on, voice a low snarl. ‘Because I know exactly who you are: a minor whelp of a minor family. I know how you fought the Sovereignty, only for them to get the better of your ship, leaving you the sole survivor, unable to even die like an honourable warrior, and left casting blame and holding Starfleet allies responsible for your failures.’

Now Ledera squared up again, eyes flashing. ‘You know nothing –’

‘I know you’re an honourless dog desperate to prove yourself, and I won’t only make sure that this is your undoing, I’ll have them singing songs about you as a warning to other young warriors,’ Beckett spat, jabbing his finger in her chestplate. ‘I promise you immortality, Ledera.’

Her hand came up to smack his wrist away. ‘Touch me and I’ll -’

‘You’ll do nothing.’ Brok’tan had moved before Valance could, but his interjection was also enough to force Beckett back. He looked to Valance, gaze clouded. ‘Take your people home, Captain.’

They were silent as Brok’tan’s warriors escorted the four of them out. It wasn’t until they were in the corridors outside the transporter room that anyone spoke, Forrester breaking the unbearable quiet with a somewhat forced chuckle.

‘Woah,’ she said, voice hoarse. ‘Ledera did not know who she pissed off when you went for her, Captain, huh? That was badass –’

‘It was necessary, at that point,’ said Valance. ‘Nothing more.’

As they were beamed back to Endeavour, she did not stop to reflect if the lie was for Forrester, or for herself.

Kharth didn’t venture to Valance’s ready room until an hour after the captain had returned from the Suv’chu, supervising the patchwork repairs the remaining engineers on duty had performed on this new damage.

‘We’re just about done,’ she reported as she stepped in, brandishing the PADD with the key updates. ‘But this kind of decides it, doesn’t it?’

Valance sat with her back to the door, facing the window and the gentle curves of Rencaris III below. She did not move or speak.

‘Valance?’ Kharth hesitated. ‘I heard what happened on the Suv’chu; Forrester said -’

‘What does it decide?’ Valance still didn’t turn, voice grating.

‘What?’

‘You said “this kind of decides it.” Decides what?’

Kharth frowned at the back of her head, shifting her feet. ‘I talked with Airex. Even a brief word with Thawn in Sickbay. We really need to get the ship in one of Rencaris’s docks if we’re going to keep on with repairs like this.’

‘Mn. Probably. I’ll arrange a meeting with the governor. Or try. I expect he’ll tell me to hold off until the opera.’

‘We’ve got other repairs we can do in the meantime.’ Gingerly, Kharth put the PADD on the desk. ‘So, about what happened over there -’

‘That’ll be all, Commander.’

She hesitated. Then stepped forward. ‘Valance, who gives a shit that you were about to beat the snot out of Ledera? In a bad way, I mean. I could have sold tickets to that.’

‘It’s hardly how a Starfleet captain should -’

‘I bet Rourke would have happily kicked her teeth in if he’d had the chance.’

‘He would never have been given the option. I was. Because I’m a Klingon.’ Valance turned sharply in her chair, her expression that dull mask of control that Kharth by now knew meant she was really troubled, and thought nobody could tell.

‘And you… took up a sword and nearly beat an enemy captain who’d abducted our officers, in a legal fight that would have secured their freedom without escalating violence in the eyes of the Rencaris government?’ Kharth’s brow knotted. ‘I know as your XO I’m meant to yell at you for getting in danger, but that doesn’t feel like what you’re getting at.’

‘It’s not.’ Valance stood. ‘Again, that’ll be all.’

Kharth still didn’t move. ‘It’s good to let loose a little,’ she ventured, knowing something was wrong, not knowing what angle to take, confident that Valance would happily say nothing to anybody if left to her own devices. ‘Sometimes it’s what you need to do -’

‘I said get out.’ At last Valance snapped, and the edge of anger did more to jolt Kharth back than the actual words.

Back on the bridge, jaw working in frustration at her banishment, Kharth stalked to Airex, stood at Science. ‘Talk to her,’ she hissed.

Airex glanced from her to the ready room door. ‘You pushed it?’

‘Of course I -’

‘You’ve got to give her far more time to calm down before you push anything,’ he said wryly. ‘She needs a chance to feel comfortable with her emotions before she’ll discuss them.’

‘She doesn’t discuss them,’ Kharth pointed out. ‘Giving her time lets her shove everything back in a box. Either you talk to her, or I’m going to Dhanesh; I mean it.’

He looked her up and down, and now his gaze flickered from her to the tactical console. Logan wasn’t there, Qadir on duty after the day’s ordeals, but the point was clear. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked.

‘Me?’

‘I know you and Logan went for a trip,’ he said, looking down at his work and assuming a not-very-convincing casual air, ‘and you’ve been… tense since.’

Despite the tightening in her chest, her lips curled at his tone. ‘Is “tense” code for “heinous bitch?”’

‘I didn’t say -’

‘I know your ways, Dav.’

After a beat, he gave an uncertain smile. ‘I just hope you have someone to talk to.’

‘It’d be a bit hypocritical of me to brush all of that off after telling you to go to Valance, huh.’

‘Why do you think I picked my moment?’ Airex scratched his nose. ‘Logan’s a good man.’

‘I know he -’ She stopped herself. ‘I’ll talk to someone. We don’t have to do this.’

‘Good. Or I’ll come asking questions.’

It was an awkward kind of banter, but the point landed. On another day, she’d have brushed him off, or at least lied until the conversation was over. Instead, the desire to not be a raging hypocrite brought her later to the bar at the Safe House, pulling up a stool beside a stern-eyed Caede.

‘I thought you’d find somewhere down there to drink,’ she said by way of greeting.

‘I prefer constant Starfleet surveillance when I’m off-duty to Rencaris surveillance,’ Caede grunted. ‘Something you’ll have to get used to when you begin the government’s big cultural legitimacy tour.’

Kharth groaned as she gestured to the holographic bartender for a beer. ‘I didn’t come down here to argue about that.’

‘Sorry,’ said Caede, not sounding sorry at all. ‘I’ll point out you’re propping up an oppressive, totalitarian regime out of mere convenience on another day.’ And yet, he had a swig of his beer and did change the topic. ‘I hear it was rough up there. Damn Klingons.’

‘That, I can get on board with. Thankfully Brok’tan brought his people in line. Because apparently they’re savages the moment the civilised one isn’t looking over their shoulder.’

‘We’re all savages the moment nobody’s telling us to be better. Apparently for our people, savagery just means total control of your life.’

‘Wow, “another day” came fast, huh?’ But she’d known what she was signing up for when she approached him, and near-snatched the beer bottle from the bartender’s grip when it was brought over. ‘Logan took me down to a Rihan-kholva on the main continent.’

‘Cute.’

‘Touristy. Messy. Fake.’

‘Sounds… awful?’ Caede frowned, clearly aware she was fishing for something, clearly not understanding at all.

She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure she understood. ‘Tell me they don’t do stupid shit like that in the Republic.’

‘What. Old rural traditions? Probably. In rural places.’ His frown deepened. ‘I’m not playing twenty questions with you, Kharth. Spit it out.’

‘I don’t -’

‘I’m not gonna pat you on the back and tell you that you are or aren’t Romulan enough of whatever.’

‘I just – it sucked! It was boring!’

Caede stared at a point on the wall, then rolled his eyes. ‘Are you having some sort of crisis of belonging ‘cos you, a city girl who grew up in a refugee shelter didn’t feel at home in some bumpkin farm festival gussied up for tourists?’

Kharth gave him an indignant look. ‘No! It’s not like that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because when you put it like that, it’s so obvious it makes me look like an idiot.’

‘They’re not your people,’ Caede said roughly, swigging beer. ‘Your people are – forget the refugee shelter – what, the comfortable middle class who either suck up to systems of power or are just about influential enough to be a real thorn in their sides?’

There was something thoughtful behind what she would normally take as a jab. ‘I suppose.’

‘Then if you want to connect to our people – or find out you can’t connect, or… or whatever… you need people who are like you.’ He glanced around before leaning in. ‘There’s a group of students I’ve made contact with, part of the anti-government resistance movement here on Rencaris. One of their leaders is the guy who got arrested the other day.’

Kharth’s gaze clouded. ‘Caede, don’t tell me you’re operating from a Starfleet ship to aid enemies of the Rencaris government -’

‘One: they haven’t been arrested or anything, they’re just people. Two: so what if I have? If I’m going to get thrown off this ship because I helped Romulans push back against governments like Rencaris’s, then it’s worth it. What damn use are you, anyway, crying about how sad a farming festival made you, while agreeing to help this government look legitimate by swanning around with the elites at the opera?’

She leaned back, jolted by the venom in his voice. ‘I wasn’t pretending to be “of use.”’

‘Good, because you’re not. You don’t connect by thinking like people. You connect by doing things with people. Maybe you lost some essential spirit of Romulus or bullshit like that;  don’t know, don’t care. But I can’t connect with these kids. They’re not soldiers, they’re not about to fight-fight. You? I reckon you’re a lot like them in a bunch of ways, except you had to grow up.’

After being the bluntest person on the ship for several years, Kharth was growing less and less fond of Caede, she thought. ‘Yeah, because I was forced to. I’m not helping you turn these students into some resistance army.’

‘Then come talk to them. And see what they can do.’

‘I’m a Starfleet officer, Caede; I legally can’t help incite rebellion against the lawful government of -’

His noise of disgust was palpable, and he slammed his beer bottle on the bar. ‘Fine. Forget it. Stupid of me to ask Starfleet to really stick their necks out, huh?’

‘Caede, there can be other ways we -’

‘I said forget it.’ He stood. ‘Go back to helping legitimise a government that wants to control what people say and do and think, what our people say and do and think. Because that uniform you worship so much? Out here, it’s not a symbol for hope, or whatever Starfleet tells itself. It’s an excuse to do absolutely nothing.’

‘Caede -’

But he was gone, storming out of the bar, and all Kharth could do was sit, scrub her face with her hands, and wonder if there was any possible way she could do anything right by her people here at Rencaris.

Beckett was in Sickbay just as soon as he’d finished debriefing Kharth, a process he’d resented sitting through. He stormed in to see Forrester sat on a biobed, out of the EV suit and just in the base layer, a medical staffer checking her over, but a quick sweep of the room showed no sign of Thawn.

‘Starik!’ He couldn’t help but snap as the CMO exited his office, and Beckett stormed over. ‘Where’s the commander? What’s happened? I swear to God, I don’t care that I’m not legally next-of-kin or anything, you’re going to tell me -’

To his great surprise, Starik reached out as he closed the distance, and put a hand on his upper arm. While the Vulcan’s grip was iron-tight, there was a firm reassurance alongside the restraint. ‘Beckett.’ Starik’s voice was low. ‘Commander Thawn is in a private room with Nurse Li. We are abiding by protocol for officers who have been imprisoned and abused.’

Despite the worry already worming through him, Beckett felt light-headed. ‘Abused -’

‘Commander Thawn arrived with injuries inflicted by people, not by the accident. They seem superficial. We have to be sure.’

‘Seem –’

‘Lieutenant Forrester insists that “nothing more” happened than several blows to the face and body by their captors. She has been already cleared, but Commander Thawn insisted we see to her subordinate first. Policy simply dictates we take due care.’

Beckett’s lip curled. ‘And let me guess, for this oh-so-sensitive protocol, we don’t send you –’

‘Nurse Li is qualified. I am not.’ Despite the plain jab at his Vulcan behaviour, Starik made no show of rising to the bait. Nor did he drop his hand. ‘You are distressed. You are experiencing a sense of helplessness. You are lashing out. Had we not instituted such protocol, you would accuse us of not taking this matter seriously. Taking it seriously has, however, raised your anxiety.’

‘I…’ Beckett blinked, the fizzing feeling behind his eyes beginning to abate as Starik unkindly diagnosed it. ‘Yeah. I guess.’

‘You will wait?’ The grip loosened an iota.

‘I’ll wait.’ Beckett nodded, swallowing bile. ‘I’ll wait. Thanks, Starik.’

‘Distress under such circumstances is natural. The situation was chaotic. It is not only by Captain Valance’s efforts that Commander Thawn and Lieutenant Forrester are returned safely, but by tremendous chance, also.’ The door to one of the private rooms slid open, Nurse Li emerging, and Beckett watched as she gave Starik a nod.

‘I would presume Commander Thawn has been cleared,’ the doctor said, releasing Beckett’s arm. ‘I will permit you to see her while Nurse Li and I discuss our recommendations to Counsellor Dhanesh.’

Beckett fair flew across sickbay to the door, giving a vague call of, ‘Glad you’re not held captive by a crazed warlord, Tes!’ to Forrester before slipping inside the private room.

With all Starik had said, he’d been braced for worse. The room was gently lit, but not oppressively dark, and he’d half expected the lighting to be ominously low, as if brightness would shine too harsh on suffering. Thawn sat on a biobed, pulling on her jacket. Medical care had tended to the cuts and bruises, leaving her looking nothing more than a little dishevelled.

But her eyes lit up as she saw him, and she stood so he could race over and wrap his arms around her.

‘That,’ Beckett croaked, ‘was too close. We need to stop this whole “rescue mission” routine we got down.’

‘It was just supposed to be repair work,’ she said into his shoulder, voice muffled before she pulled back. ‘I’m sorry I scared you.’

‘Never mind me – are you okay? Starik was talking about protocols, and when you took longer than Forrester -’

‘I didn’t take longer than Forrester, they just saw to Forrester first.’ She hesitated. ‘And I may have a few more flags on my file about being taken prisoner by hostile forces, so Li had some follow-up questions.’

‘This is what I’m talking about with rescue -’

‘At least one of those occasions, I rescued myself.’ But she raised a hand to his face, fingers tracing across his cheekbone as her eyes searched his. ‘Hey. I’m okay.’

‘I know, I know…’ Beckett swallowed, the bitter taste not going away. ‘I just worried.’

‘I can tell the worry, but you’re – you’re furious, Nate, and I’m sorry -’

‘I’m not angry with you!’ Surprise, confusion, and a hint of indignation at the idea meant this came out sharper than he meant it. ‘God, no. I’m furious at the Klingons.’

‘Ledera’s a renegade -’

‘Bullshit. She’s a captain in this attacking fleet. She targeted us twice now; the first time seems clearly against Brok’tan’s designs on the region, and the second time is a flagrant disregard for his orders. And until or unless he does a goddamn thing she’s a threat – and his inaction will make him one, too.’ His hands slid down to take hers, brow furrowed, nearly stumbling over himself as he talked.

‘Maybe,’ said Thawn carefully. ‘But Captain Valance -’

‘Has bought into Brok’tan’s schtick of reluctant nobility, even though he’ll twiddle his thumbs about Ledera and is also trying to set up the Empire with a beachhead in the sector so they can invade the bloody Republic, our allies. He’s not some cool Klingon uncle, he’s the enemy.’

‘I don’t know if we can afford to think like that. The situation with the empire is complicated.’

‘I don’t know if we can afford to not think like that.’ He felt not just her eyes on him, but the gentlest nudge of her thoughts against his. There was more he wasn’t saying, but rather than push, she was simply drawing attention to the unspoken, that she knew it existed, whatever it was.

Beckett sighed. ‘I have orders to ensure the Klingon-Rencaris agreement doesn’t go ahead.’

Thawn’s expression dimmed. ‘Orders from Intelligence.’

‘Look, you can put pressure on me to share these things,’ he said in a stumble, ‘but then you’ve got to keep your mouth shut, okay? When this stuff comes in, either I lie to you, or you lie to the others; that’s how this has to work.’

‘I can keep my mouth shut with the others,’ she said simply. ‘You’re not about to go assassinate Brok’tan, are you?’

Beckett’s nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t think I could. But no. No, I have a line of inquiry to sabotage the negotiations.’

‘Nate… Endeavour’s still in bad shape. We can’t afford to get kicked out of the system. Especially not after today.’

‘I know. If I do this right, our fingerprints aren’t anywhere near this in a way which makes us look bad.’ He gave a half-smile with a cockiness he didn’t feel. It felt good to pretend, though. ‘Sometimes this job can be more cloak, less dagger.’

‘Okay.’ Thawn bit her lip for a moment, then sighed. ‘I’ve never seen you this angry.’

The cocky smirk faded. ‘They’re supposed to be our allies. Legally, they’re supposed to be on our side. Instead, they came for us. For you. For no reason. I don’t know what Ledera even fucking wanted out of that situation, except to toy with Valance, who should have taken the opportunity to rip her to shreds. Instead, Valance is too busy playing chicken with her own sense of fucking Klingon fucking identity, or is paying respects to an alliance and relationship that isn’t worth the paper it isn’t written on -’

‘Okay, okay, okay.’ Her grip on him became a little more frantic, more fretful as furious words out. She clutched his hands before pawing at his collar before putting a fingertip to his lips. ‘You’re right, okay? You’re right.’

That made him pause. ‘Wait. I am?’

Thawn’s gaze clouded. ‘I take offence to being abducted, but they took Forrester, too, and for, like you, said, no reason. The empire’s been a lousy friend.’

He’d read about Endeavour’s clashes with the Hunters of D’Ghor at Archanis, when the empire had dragged its feet dispatching forces against its own renegades in defence of their own allies. They’d never had much reason to talk about that military campaign.

He squeezed her hand. ‘You’re free to go?’

She wore the ghost of a tired smile. ‘Told to take at least eighteen hours off duty. Then? I get to repair what we broke.’

‘Hm,’ mused Beckett, kissing her on the forehead. ‘You’re good at that.’

The ordered clamour of Rencaris journalists faded when Valance and Airex slid into the ground vehicle and shut the door behind them. The tour of the Forgotten Gardens, one of the oldest heritage sites on Rencaris III dating back to the colony’s founding, had seemed harmless on paper. Vhiemm had made sure the two Starfleet officers did not merely take in the sites, however, escorted by representatives of his administration performing honeyed propaganda.

That was less likely to affect the pair themselves. But it put on a good show for the journalists tipped off that Starfleet leadership were coming to pay their respects to Rencaris culture and history, with one of Vhiemm’s cabinet members there to give the most government-positive spin.

Vhiemm had insisted they travel from the Gardens back to the capital by land, in service of more media opportunities, but Valance had drawn the line at his offer of one of his own vehicles. Endeavour had deployed them with one of their own land vehicles, dusting off one of the few suitable for diplomatic purposes such as these.

It meant that Valance could slump back in the rear seats and loosen her jacket as she sighed, ‘I don’t know if nodding politely and saying nothing is worse.’ Here, she could express apprehension away from the watching eyes of the Rencaris government.

Sat across from her on the rear benches, Airex raised a cautious eyebrow. ‘I don’t believe we have a good option. What are you to do, start a public fight against their propaganda?’

‘I’m not sure being complicit in upholding this government is worth the price -’

‘We need time. We need repairs. It’s still a long way back to Gateway,’ he reminded her. Through the dimmed windows, Rencaris III’s woodland began to soar past as they accelerated. Soon it would be rolling greenery, then the suburbs of the city, then the towers of Vedrex. ‘This is better than actual resources or direct political concessions. There was always going to be a price.’

‘Mn.’ She propped her elbow against the door, eyes going to the window. ‘And the accident has only delayed us more. The opera’s tomorrow; we have to get access to the shipyards.’

‘Then consider today a win. We’ve shown good faith in the face of Vhiemm’s requests.’

‘What about the people of Rencaris who don’t like Vhiemm? But who see us, Starfleet, coming here and parading around with this government that beats and arrests them if they oppose him?’

‘I think,’ Airex said carefully, ‘those Romulans never looked to Starfleet for moral leadership in the first place.’

‘The Republic -’

‘Will benefit, actually, from Rencaris setting foot on the stage of local government. It’s much, much harder to maintain an iron control of a population when people and ideas flow into a society.’

‘Mn,’ she grunted again, eyes still on the view out the window, and said nothing.

It might have been ten minutes before Airex spoke again, his voice light. ‘The incident with Ledera -’

‘Is over,’ she found herself saying before she’d even thought if she wanted to discuss it with him.

‘There was nothing unreasonable about engaging her on her turf; that’s a perfectly rational diplomatic move -’

‘I didn’t do it because it was diplomatic,’ Valance said, gaze snapping to him at last. ‘I did it because I was furious. She got under my skin. It’s pathetic.’

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then, ‘Your crew were in danger -’

‘It wasn’t about them. It wasn’t about that. I was furious, yes, but I lashed out because…’ Because I heard in her the same things people have thrown at me. That Isa threw at me. Valance looked back to the window. ‘It was about me.’

Airex said no more, and the journey passed in silence. Back in the capital, there was one last perfunctory ceremony – nothing more than an obligation to shake Vhiemm’s hand on the steps outside his manor and say how compelling she found the Forgotten Gardens in front of a camera – before they could prepare to beam back aboard Endeavour and, she hoped, leave the whole sorry day behind them.

‘Kally to Captain Valance.’ The comms officer’s chirping voice through her badge threatened to cut short that escape. ‘We’re ready to beam you back, but we’ve just had word from the Suv’chu. General Brok’tan is inviting you aboard.’

She exchanged a glance with Airex. ‘Inviting me?’

‘It seems to be a, uh, social invite? He issued it earlier, but you were busy, so he said he’d want to see you when you’re done down there. If you’re free.’

Airex shrugged. ‘I’m sure your schedule can fit it in later -’

‘Do the report about today,’ she told him, and looked to her combadge. ‘I’ll see him now, Ensign. Have them beam me over.’

Returning to the site of her indignity was not ideal, but it felt preferable to Airex’s gentle, insistent, needling help. She knew that with his failure, he’d likely defer to Counsellor Dhanesh. She did not need more well-meaning Starfleet officers insisting that her feelings were valid.

The Klingon warriors stood before the Suv’chu’s transporter pad were dour-faced, but she recognised them as Brok’tan’s men. Politely, they led her through the halls of the warship that she was growing to know so well.

This time, she was not led to the great hall aboard the Suv’chu. Instead, she was led to a smaller, shrouded chamber. Footsteps were muffled by the furs and skins sprawled across the deck, and an open fireplace was built into a bulkhead. A heavy set of doors led to further rooms, but one glimpse at the low seating, the intimate space, and Valance realised these were Brok’tan’s private rooms.

The general himself sat before the open fire, a pewter tankard in his hand, gazing at the flames. His broad shoulders looked heavy, the flickering flames casting deeper shadows on the folds of his ageing face. He did not look up at her, even when the door slid shut behind her.

‘Captain.’ His voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel. ‘I’ve been reading about you.’

Valance had to stifle a sound of annoyance as she padded towards him. ‘You won’t understand me, or what I’m trying to do here, by reading about my battle-honours for Starfleet -’

‘What about for the empire?’ He looked up now, and extended a hand to the heavy, wooden, high-backed chair opposite. ‘Two years as a warrior on the qa’chaQ. As first officer on a KDF warship.’

‘In the exchange programme.’

‘When nobody else in Starfleet would see your worth.’

That was not how Valance remembered it. As a young officer on the USS Derby thrust into temporary command, she had made a brash choice that cost lives. She’d been banished to the hinterlands after on a backwater Starfleet assignment. ‘I’m not sure the KDF saw my worth either. It was just… something different.’

She expected Brok’tan to argue, but he simply nodded, eyes returning to the flame. After a moment’s contemplation, he pressed, ‘Was different so bad? So unwelcome?’

‘It was not… what I wanted. I wanted to be a Starfleet officer.’

Another nod. When he stood, he looked as if the shadows weighed him down. ‘What do you drink, Valance? By choice. It is not Bloodwine.’

‘I… enjoy raktajino.’

A scoff. ‘You do not have to make a Klingon request to appease me. We have resequencers.’

‘No, General – I actually, sincerely, like raktajino.’

‘That might be your only admission of liking something about Klingons. About yourself.’ He left her with those words and the firelight for a little, shuffling to the control panel on the wall to summon her a hot drink. It was an uncomfortable wait, not for the silence, but for what he had left her to chew on.

‘I formally apologise on behalf of the House of K’Var for what occurred with Captain Ledera,’ he said when he returned, placing a hefty mug of steaming, fresh raktajino on the solid armrest of her chair.

She had to scoff this time. ‘Lord Torkath tried to destroy my ship near Boreth. I don’t think the House of K’Var does apologise for abducting my officers.’

‘Lord Torkath does not rule this house. Nor does he command this front. I speak for the House of K’Var here. And I say that it was beneath us.’ He shook his head as he eased back onto the chair. ‘I should have let you beat her bloody.’

‘It would not have helped.’

‘It might have taught her a lesson. It might have taught you both a lesson.’

Valance’s jaw was tight as she sipped the drink. ‘I appreciate and accept the apology, General, and the hospitality, but I don’t think I need advice on -’

‘Your hearts warring with each other?’ He leaned back in the chair, weary. ‘Perhaps not. Much as it is my duty to guide any strong warrior, what is more pressing is that people such as you and I – respected officers of our respective powers – can talk. And that a voice in Starfleet such as yourself does not come away from Rencaris thinking that Ledera speaks for the Empire, and I speak for dying, ancient, naivete.’

‘We don’t have two hearts,’ Valance pointed out. ‘We have one eight-chambered -’

‘And yet the poets have disagreed for centuries,’ Brok’tan said levelly.

‘Perhaps. Regardless of poets, I think Chancellor Toral would like Captain Ledera’s approach more than yours.’

‘I think you know better than to presume Chancellor Toral is the only voice the Empire has. Our hearts war with each other, too, Captain. It is part of the Klingon way.’

Valance set the mug down and leaned forward. ‘Forgive me, General. You are here to establish a strategic foothold so your house can better invade and annex a Federation ally. Should I think your way of softer, more contemplative violent conquest is better?’

‘I think the Federation has been naïve to think the empire will be a peaceful ally. It is not our way. But I also think the Federation is naïve to think they must always be peaceful. History tells us that sometimes peace cannot be secured with lofty words or noble hearts. It is secured with a sword.’

‘How does invading the Republic secure peace?’

‘It does not,’ Brok’tan allowed. ‘But an alliance with Rencaris secures us a foothold when the time comes to confront the Free State.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘What does the Free State have to do -’

‘Indeed, the government whose intelligence agency orchestrated one of the greatest atrocities on Federation soil. There is one neighbour the Federation has where their respective fleets have nearly come to blows, and it is not the empire. This is the naivete of which I speak.’

‘I think it’s disingenuous to pretend you want Rencaris as an ally because you might want to fight the Free State, and that’s not what your superiors -’

‘My superiors and I want the same thing: a strategic foothold in the region. Some of them want it to launch the invasion of the Republic. Others, not merely myself, know that a strategic foothold in the region makes us responsible in the region. It means we have a stake. It means we have something to lose. It means that we have a vested interest in the future of this sector. That future is not necessarily served by all-out invasion.’

She watched him, jaw tight. ‘Superiors,’ she echoed at last.

‘Dakor is not Lord Torkath’s only brother,’ was all Brok’tan said.

‘Hearts in conflict with each other,’ she mused. ‘You cannot convince me to back off from trying to secure an accord with Rencaris simply because, if the House of K’Var does, the more stable elements of the house might prove victorious.’

‘I do not expect you to abandon your duty at all. But to understand the way of the warrior. Ledera thinks she knows the sum of it: to fight your enemies with clear eyes and full hearts. She forgets its subtler threads: to love your comrades. To rule wisely. To lead responsibly. To do what is best for your people.’ Brok’tan nodded at her. ‘You understand that more than you think.’

‘It does not make a Klingon special to care for their people -’

‘It does not. But we aren’t ashamed of it. We aren’t ashamed of fighting for them.’ He tilted his head quizzically. ‘I did not expect Starfleet to be.’

‘I’m not ashamed -’

‘Yes, Captain, you are. You are ashamed of both your hearts, or so you think. One Starfleet, one Klingon. Except you think the Klingon heart is nothing but fire and fury, and the Starfleet heart nothing but sense and reason. As if my people – our people – do not watch with careful intent to determine how to achieve the goal that makes our blood sing. As if Starfleet – humanity – does not love, and love deeply, so all the careful walls and structures protect… something.’ He pressed a hand to his chest, lips twisting wryly. ‘When all is well, Captain, the heart beats as one. Anything else is discord.’

Discord sounded a little too close to broken, and Valance sat up sharply. ‘Perhaps not all is well.’

‘It is not, and -’

‘And I accept your apology, and understand your political position, General, but again, I cannot change my path on the off-chance the non-bloodthirsty contingent of your faction -’

She stood, but so did he, and his bulk and intent stopped her short. ‘You lash out and flee. Which heart is telling you to do so, Captain?’

Valance swallowed. ‘This is not about my heart.’

‘It is always about our heart.’ He dropped his hand. ‘But you owe me no explanation. I do not apologise if I over-stepped. It is clear my words have landed. All I ask is you understand that they stem from a place of the deepest respect, and are an expression of hope that you and I, Karana, daughter of Jodmang, of the House of A’trok, can continue a relationship of like-minded souls. Even if we stand on opposing sides.’ His lips curled wryly. ‘That is a Klingon way of looking at it. But surely that is also a Starfleet desire?’

Hearts did not need to always be in conflict.

Brok’tan extended a hand and, taking a shuddering breath, Valance clasped him by the wrist.

‘Thank you for your hospitality, General.’

‘Go see to your people, Captain. Love them fiercely. Fight for them fiercely. It is the way of both your hearts.’

The Vedrex Opera House was a monument to Romulan artistry and architecture, its angular spires and emerald-lit facade dominating the city’s skylines. Tonight, the ancient building would set the stage for two performances: the Fall of D’taleth, and Governor Vhiemm’s carefully orchestrated political performance.

Hovercars and diplomatic shuttles descended like choreographed trapeze artists towards the building’s main entrance, where a veritable gauntlet of media representatives had assembled. Imaging drones buzzed overhead, breaking away from the hovering surveillance network that always dominated Vedrex’s skies, their lights setting a constellation of flashes against the twilight. The Rencaris State Information Bureau had ensured maximum coverage as reporters from every approved news outlet on the planet jostled for position behind ornate barriers by the doorway.

Beckett peered through the cockpit canopy of the Outrider, the Waverider class serving as the captain’s yacht at this diplomatic event. ‘Do we think Vhiemm realised he could use tonight as a propaganda coup?’ he drawled, glancing back to the others.

Thawn gave him a wan smile that even Valance thought was a little performative, but the captain didn’t give them time to break out into bickering.

‘Get the quips out of your system up here,’ Valance said, adjusting the collar of her dress uniform. ‘Tonight has to go well.’

‘Of course,’ muttered Kharth. ‘We wouldn’t want to upset the authoritarian bastard rulership.’

Airex tilted his head towards her, eyebrows raising. ‘Or you just enjoy the show?’

To Valance’s relief, that seemed to make her subside. The night was simple, in many ways: get through a performance at the opera. But one wrong step, and Endeavour would not only be cast into the hinterlands of the Midgard Sector, but Rencaris would be thrown into the arms of the House of K’Var. Brok’tan’s reflections on the political state of the house was not enough comfort against that.

The Outrider settled on the landing pad with barely a tremor, Lieutenant Tyderian flying their descent perfectly. Through the canopy, they could see Vhiemm already in position at the top of the grand staircase, resplendent in traditional Romulan formal attire, his shoulders nearly gargantuan in their angular proportions. Two steps below him stood his cadre of officials, arranged with seemingly mathematical precision by rank.

‘The Klingons are here,’ noted Beckett, nodding to the cluster at one side of the entrance. Even from here, Brok’tan’s commanding presence was unmissable. Valance’s throat tightened, however, at the sight of Ledera by his side.

‘So much for disciplining a renegade,’ grumbled Kharth.

Beckett looked to Thawn, voice dropping. ‘You okay?’

‘She had me in her grasp for no more than fifteen minutes,’ Thawn pointed out. ‘I’ve had worse imprisonments.’

‘You get that’s not much reassurance, right?’

‘Time to join the performance,’ butted in Valance as they heard the distant hiss of the Outrider’s landing ramp opening. ‘Remember: everything we do out there will be captured by those drones, and broadcast across the system by morning.’

‘Morning?’ echoed Airex. ‘How very lax.’

They had barely stepped into the brisk evening air before the drones swivelled towards their ship, drawn to the Starfleet delta insignia like moths to a flame. The lead drone bore the emblem of the Rencaris Information Ministry, Vhiemm’s personal mouthpiece.

‘Captain Valance!’ called a Romulan reporter, pushing forward as the party descended the ramp. ‘Is the Federation preparing to formally recognise Governor Vhiemm’s administration as the successor to the Star Empire in the region?’

So it begins, she thought, arranging her features into diplomatic neutrality as she led her officers through the gauntlet of cameras and the waiting governor, whose practiced smile did not quite reach his calculating eyes.

‘I’m just here to enjoy the opera tonight,’ she told the journalist with a polite deflection. It was the line they’d agreed to stick to, and it would work for now.

‘Captain Valance!’ Vhiemm extended a polite hand as if waving them welcome to the whole planet, his whole domain. ‘I’m delighted you could finally make it.’

As they ascended the steps, Valance’s gaze met Brok’tan’s. The general inclined his head, a firm but clear gesture of respect between warriors. Beside him, Ledera’s hand tightened visibly on the hilt of her ceremonial dagger.

‘Captain,’ Brok’tan rumbled, and turned his eyes to the others, lingering particularly on Thawn. ‘I am glad you and your crew are well.’ Ledera audibly scoffed, but fell silent at Brok’tan’s cold glare.

Vhiemm slid forward. No doubt he enjoyed two factions competing for his approval, but he could not have them openly fighting before the opera. ‘The Grand Hall awaits,’ he said smoothly. ‘Let us not keep the performers waiting.’

Inside gleamed with polished obsidian floors that reflected the emerald chandeliers suspended from vaulted ceilings. Ancient Romulan battle standards hung between pillars carved to resemble warriors, their eyes seeming to follow guests across the room. Once, those warriors had been afforded open respect in this culture, Valance mused, before the cloaks of shadows and subterfuge had settled around the Romulan people.

Crowds moved forwards; anyone who was anyone in Rencaris society wanted to be here tonight. If they could not brush shoulders with the exotic Starfleet and Klingon guests, they could be seen near them, and that was nearly as good as social currency. Wait staff flittered to and fro offering drinks and canapés. Vhiemm positioned himself at the centre, close enough to be pictured with anyone, but maintaining the illusion that anyone from any faction had to come to him.

‘Ooh, emerald? Don’t mind if I do,’ cooed Beckett, snagging two flutes of fizzing drink from a passing server. Thawn looked dimly expectant, only to roll her eyes when he downed one and took the other more gently. Then his eyes fell on the smaller gaggle of press allowed inside. ‘Want me to turn on the charm?’

Kharth scoffed. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘Let him go,’ said Valance. ‘It throws them something without me having to deflect a dozen hard political questions I can’t answer.’

‘Your wish, Captain, is my command,’ said Beckett, giving her a cocky bow before he turned and sauntered towards the cluster. Valance had always thought of him as somewhat artfully dishevelled, though never in complete control. Only now did she see the gleam of his smile, the perfect folds of his uniforms. Whether Beckett liked it or not, he was born for this. And right now, he seemed to like it.

‘Ladies, gentlemen, and other distinguished gentlefolk of the press,’ Beckett announced, loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to be uncouth. ‘I trust someone here can tell me if this vintage is from the famed Gal Gath’thong vineyards? My father, Admiral Beckett, always said they produced the finest in the quadrant.’

Kharth gave Valance a furious look. ‘Did he just -’

The name-drop worked, a crowd all but mobbing Beckett immediately. ‘Lieutenant Beckett, son of Admiral Alexander Beckett -’

‘Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence -’

‘The very same,’ said Beckett with an artful smile. ‘Though I’d prefer to be known for my own accomplishments, rather than my family connections. Much like Rencaris itself – forging an identity independent of the former Empire, wouldn’t you say?’

It wasn’t that the reporters bought it. But they knew they could sell it.

Back at the cluster of Starfleet officers, Thawn watched him, expression a mixture of exasperation and admiration. ‘He’s incorrigible.’

‘He’s going,’ growled Kharth, ‘to accidentally imply Admiral Beckett approves of Rencaris -’

‘Give him some credit,’ said Airex soothingly. ‘He’s not an idiot. Ah, there’s Doctor Talarin and the representatives of the Science Institute.’ He nodded to a small group of Romulans in formal attire, but here, everyone made it clear where they belonged, each of them bearing a small silver insignia of the institute. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

Airex’s departure was followed by the arrival of more officials of Vhiemm’s government, and soon enough Valance was regretting she’d been left with Kharth and Thawn as backup. None of the women were the most socially adept – though quickly, she was reminded Thawn was a natural at formal etiquette.

Yes, Rencaris was remarkable. Yes, they were very excited by the opera ahead of them. No, I don’t know what the Klingons will make of the opera; you’ll have to ask them…

‘I studied comparative mythology at the Academy,’ came Beckett’s voice drifting through the crowd, ‘and the legends of Sotarek the Navigator have fascinating parallels with ancient Klingon tales of Kahless’s voyages… it’s remarkable how our cultures’ histories intertwine, sometimes violently, sometimes harmoniously.’

‘Are you suggesting there’s harmony between Rencaris and the House of K’Var?’ a reporter asked, eyes gleaming.

Valance’s gaze snapped around, her prior reassurances to Kharth sounding flat to her own ears as Beckett all but offered a promising soundbite up on a platter.

But Beckett gave a casual, airy wave of the hand. ‘History is complex. Tonight is about cultural appreciation. But perhaps during intermission, I could share some historical research I’ve been conducting. The archives on Endeavour contain some fascinating records from twenty-third century engagements that haven’t been widely discussed.’

Brok’tan and Ledera, meanwhile, were amidst a thick throng of the Rencaris Defence Force’s senior officers, and Valance gritted her teeth to realise she was stuck with an agriculture minister while Beckett sold them downriver. She slipped away to try and intercept, but then the ceremonial gong sounded, signalling five minutes until the performance.

Vhiemm all but used transporter technology to appear at her elbow. ‘Shall we proceed to our seats, Captain? I’ve arranged for your officers to join us in the state box. The Klingon delegation will be… nearby.’

The group reconvened, and as Valance poured reassurance into Vhiemm’s ear, she could see Thawn move to intercept Beckett and take his arm with more force than affection.

‘What exactly are you doing?’

Beckett’s smile didn’t waver, and Valance thought she heard him say, ‘My job.’ Then he placed his hand atop hers with a winning smile, and sounded more like the brash charmer at the press when he said, ‘Come on, I hear the soprano in the second act can shatter dilithium with her high notes.’

The massive bronze doors to the opera hall swung open. The performance was about to begin.

The opera’s first act reached its crescendo, the lead soprano’s voice soaring above the orchestral swell as she portrayed the Romulan senator betrayed by her most trusted general. Behind her, holographic projections of ancient warbirds engaged in battle, their destruction rendered in spectacular detail across the domed ceiling of the opera house, before the music ended and the lights dimmed for intermission.

In the state box, Vhiemm rose first, ebullient. ‘A powerful first act, wouldn’t you agree, Captain? Necessary sacrifice in the service of one’s people: a forever potent theme.’

Valance simply nodded. Romulan opera was a little too rife with cultural references and allusions she’d missed to do anything but enjoy the music. ‘An impressive production, Governor.’ She glanced to double-check the presence of her people: Kharth with a sombre expression beside her, Airex a row ahead, already chattering enthusiastically to Doctor Talarin, Thawn behind her – but alone.

‘Where’s Beckett?’ she asked Thawn, voice dropping as the audience stood and shuffled for the doors for refreshment.

‘He mumbled something about “a pressing biological necessity,” and I didn’t ask follow-ups,’ Thawn admitted.

Vhiemm ushered them back into the reception hall, but at once, Valance could feel the shift in atmosphere. Several officials stood in tight clusters, talking in urgent, hushed tones. At once, a slew of the reporters, media drones hovering above them, descended on Brok’tan and Ledera, though Valance couldn’t make out the words in the noise.

‘Something’s happening,’ warned Kharth, brow furrowed.

As if on cue, Beckett slid out of the crowd to join them, his expression one of practiced innocence that immediately raised the hairs on the back of Valance’s neck. ‘Sorry I missed the end -’

Before Valance had to decide whether she’d challenge him, Thawn did, eyes narrowing. ‘You did something.’

‘I…’ He looked like he was considering lying. ‘I just got chatting with some of the local press on my way to the bathroom. We were talking Romulan-Klingon history. Quite fascinating, really.’

‘What did you do?’

Voices rose from the knot around the Klingons.

‘…no idea what you’re talking -’

‘That is outrageous –’

Beckett’s smile was icy. ‘Made everyone aware of the ancestral link between Rencaris and the House of K’Var regarding atrocities committed in this very system in the Klingon-Romulan war of the late-23rd century. And by Rencaris forces in territory that was, back then, K’Var.’

‘This is slander!’ Ledera was snarling at a knot of reporters. ‘House K’Var has no such blood on its hands!’

‘Oh,’ breathed Beckett, self-satisfied as he watched from afar. ‘But you do. And Rencaris has blood on its hands of over a hundred thousand people under the House of K’Var’s protection, deliberately targeted in the retributive strikes.’

Vhiemm had been surrounded by the press, too, and Valance could see him looking tense, frustrated. His body language made it plain he would much rather brush all of this over and return to the opera. But this was out, now. It was the story.

‘What do we do?’ said Kharth. ‘Shall I get Airex?’

‘No,’ Valance said quickly. ‘Let him keep talking with Talarin. That’s a critical angle for tonight. We let this play out.’ But she turned to Beckett, gaze clouded. ‘You should have told me you were going to do this, Lieutenant.’

His mask of innocence didn’t budge. ‘I was talking history, Captain.’

‘Then you and I will talk more history after tonight. In the meantime… keep up the public faces. Our official line is that we have no official opinion about ancient history between foreign powers.’

It didn’t take long after the Starfleet contingent had split up before Ledera, of course, made a bee-line for Valance.

‘You knew,’ growled the Klingon captain, barely keeping a diplomatic mask intact. ‘Your Federation lap-dog released this information with your blessing!’

Valance raised an eyebrow. Cameras were filming. ‘Lieutenant Beckett is an historian on my staff,’ she said, and it wasn’t strictly a lie. ‘I don’t control my officers talking about their work in such a way. I’m sorry if this is an uncomfortable revelation, Captain.’

‘You’ve done this to undermine us,’ Ledera hissed, stepping too close with her voice too low to be picked up by eavesdroppers. ‘Linked us with an historic atrocity –’

‘If I didn’t want to be linked with historic atrocities, I would simply try to not serve people who committed atrocities in the past. But it looks to me as if you were a victim of an atrocity, too, Captain. I’m sure General Brok’tan has an answer.’

The gong went. Vhiemm looked more than eager to usher everyone back in for the second act. His glance towards the Starfleet contingent was less welcoming this time; he knew the role they’d played in this disruption, and couldn’t thank them for it.

Valance could cope with that. She was less comfortable, though, with the tired, burdened gaze of General Brok’tan.

‘Captain Ledera.’

The second act was, to Beckett’s eyes and ears, much the same as the first: betrayal and secrets, all in a cycle where they were necessary and good, but also tragic and doomed. Perhaps the theme was that they doomed individuals but upheld the state? This was a level of Romulan political culture about which he was not an expert, from the exact wrong era of history for him.

That was fine. He was now playing in a better era of history. One where he did know what he was talking about.

Perhaps Brok’tan had given Ledera orders to steer clear of anyone, but as the crowd came back out into the reception hall, she was lingering near the doors. Brok’tan stood amidst journalists, fielding questions, having used the last hour of the performance to presumably rally and consider his message, his response. Beckett could barely hear him, but he caught the key phrases: comments about a shared future, and how the past did not have to define them.

All very good. All very fair. And entirely too productive for Beckett’s purposes.

Ledera looked at him with a curled lip, and had they been somewhere less public, he might have worried. She would probably gut him without hesitation. ‘It’s you,’ she growled. ‘The historian.’

‘I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe I’m just an historian,’ said Beckett, and was rewarded with a flicker in her gaze to suggest that, actually, she had believed that. It suited her, he thought, to think of him as a soft intellectual who had come up with dusty, unhelpful lies. ‘But I didn’t do this to hurt your people.’

Ledera scoffed. ‘You did this to drive a wedge -’

‘General Brok’tan is fixing things as we speak.’ Beckett waved a hand towards the knot of journalists around the aged Klingon. ‘I wanted to share a point of interest I had about the past with the people of Rencaris and, yes, I thought I could disrupt proceedings between you and them. But it looks like it wasn’t enough.’

‘We are… more determined than that.’ She had no idea what he was driving at.

‘You are. I’m impressed.’ Beckett nodded. ‘You’re not held back by blood spilt a hundred years ago. Even the blood of thousands your house was duty-bound to protect. Who doesn’t have some sort of skeleton in the closet like that, after all? I expect nobody even remembers it.’

Ledera made a face. ‘There are songs still sung of that day. Of the blood shed on Q’alah. It is considered, in K’Var, a day of utmost failure and shame. Of our enemies, and of us, in protecting them.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Beckett lied softly. ‘That makes General Brok’tan’s response here all the more impressive.’

‘He… is our leader.’

‘But he’s so effortlessly deflecting it. You should listen to him in front of the press. It’s water off a duck’s back to him. Historic wrongs, blood feuds between your house and Rencaris – nothing matters so much as getting this treaty done. Whatever the cost.’ Beckett gave a soft, impressed laugh. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d guess he knew about this already.’

Was that too much? he wondered as he left Ledera, heading back to the cluster of Starfleet officers. But his profile of Ledera did not include thinking her either very subtle or very clever, and the best lies were the ones people were already predisposed to believing.

Thawn caught his arm at the periphery of the crowd. The gong would go soon. ‘The captain’s pissed,’ she warned him.

‘I’m sure.’ Beckett sighed. ‘She wouldn’t have signed off on this. But it’s going to work, Rosara.’ He looked at her. ‘I told you I’d do this.’

Her gaze was more cautious – more worried. He’d done this, set this in motion, and she hadn’t seen it coming. Her grip on his arm tightened. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Normally, that was bravado. This time, he was starting to suspect he was right.

Ledera was stewing, though. He could see the muscle working in the corner of her jaw, and the moment she rejoined Brok’tan on the way back to the theatre, she was talking to him, shoulders hunched, gaze intense. His body language was sharper, sweeping her away, gesturing her off. And still she tried, again and again.

The final act of the opera might have changed in tone. Perhaps it had something to say on the nature of betrayal, the cost of secrecy. Beckett’s eyes were not on the stage, though; not on the lead soprano with her stirring voice, or the production’s impressive use of holograms to give the stage show depth and drama. He looked to the next box over, as Brok’tan tried to watch and Ledera continued to lean in to him. And talk. And talk.

Had he pushed too hard? Too little? Just –

‘Because I am not a dog who has forgotten our fallen!’

Even amidst the swell of the orchestra, the thunderous bellow of Ledera echoed around the theatre as the Klingon warrior shot to her feet, looming over her superior. Brok’tan was looking up, glowering with fury but trying to get her to sit down, calm down, shut up –

‘And you would rather dishonour those who were slaughtered by these dogs for petty politics -’

The opera didn’t come to a sudden halt, but a Klingon standing and yelling in the middle of the theatre was enough to, eventually, silence the singer, silence the orchestra. The lights of the show kept flashing, carrying on with events no longer pouring out through body and song. Some staffer, perhaps misunderstanding the cue, changed the auditorium lighting as if the final performance had finished, turning eyes away from the stage and towards what had become a towering fight between Klingons.

One show was over. The next had just begun.

‘You knew!’ Ledera’s accusation thundered around the theatre.

Beside Valance, Governor Vhiemm threw her a desperate look. She knew he was pleading for her to intervene somehow, to be ‘Klingon enough’ to stop the chaos. But Valance knew there was nothing she could say or do to bring this confrontation to a swifter end.

General Brok’tan had spent an hour being brow-beaten by his subordinate, only for her to finally, publicly, explode. The broad-shouldered, ageing warrior gave a sigh that rumbled across the auditorium, and did not, Valance suspected, calm the younger woman down.

‘It is a fact of life that the ancestors of Klingons and Romulans across the border have fought,’ he began levelly.

‘So we should ignore the great dishonour and slaughter they inflicted on our kin decades ago?’

‘And so I was not aware of this specific history!’

With Valance no use, Vhiemm slid along the rows of seats towards the ancillary box. He could not approach the Klingons easily, so stood somewhere near Brok’tan’s elbow, a small, inconsequential shape amidst this towering rage.

‘Perhaps this could wait until after the performance -’

‘I do not believe you,’ Ledera snapped at Brok’tan. ‘You are an opportunist and a politician, who has shown he cares more for the feelings of our foes than the honour of our own warriors –’

‘That’s enough,’ Brok’tan said flatly. Valance’s back tensed. The general had tried to appease her; now the only thing that could be done was to force her back down.

‘And even here, you prefer to appease the Romulans than hold them accountable for what they did -’

‘Even here I will be a guest! We will be guests and not stir the bones of those who’ve lain dead a hundred years!’

‘Whose bones you dishonour with this mewling appeasement!’ Ledera spat on the floor before him.

Even the Romulans looked like they knew this went beyond the normal level of Klingon argument. Valance’s voice dropped as Kharth leaned in. ‘That’s not good.’

‘Really?’ Kharth drawled. ‘I was just hoping we’d get three more acts of this.’

‘And I,’ Ledera was thundering on, ‘must make you answer for their dishonour.’ She snapped something in Klingon, then turned on her heel to leave. The effect was rather ruined by them both being boxed in among the rows of seats, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ledera simply lunged up to stride across the backs of the seats for the door.

Finally, a hum of chatter ran through the theatre, and Valance watched as Vhiemm and Brok’tan spoke in low, agitated tones. She glanced back at Kharth.

‘That was a challenge,’ Valance explained. ‘On the basis that Brok’tan isn’t fit to represent the interests of the Klingon warriors here at Rencaris.’

‘That’s good, right? If the Klingon leadership is falling apart…’

‘Right.’ Valance bit her lip. The show was plainly over; already guests were heading for the exits, and there would be no ushering them back to their seats to take up the final fifteen minutes of the performance. The Klingon representatives to Rencaris were in shambles, but now so was Vhiemm’s night of great success, parading around those supplicants who wanted his favour.

‘It’s got to be now,’ she muttered to herself, and left a confused Kharth behind as she surged into the crowds. She found Vhiemm and Brok’tan in the corridor outside, the general giving gruff but not insincere apologies – but plainly making for the exit.

Vhiemm let him go, and gave her a look that would have been more venomous, she suspected, had they been alone. ‘Captain. Your rivals clearly have matters to discuss. Who knew that your young officer discussing ancient history would cause such a stir, hm?’

She did not bother to claim innocence. It wouldn’t help. ‘I expect the House of K’Var will need to consider its options more broadly, Governor, if the sentiments expressed by Captain Ledera are shared elsewhere.’

‘I expect she and others will make sure they are shared,’ Vhiemm said with tired eyes that bore a hint of accusation.

‘Surely it was nobody’s intention to ruin the evening. The show was lovely.’

‘Lovely and, as you say – ruined.’

‘Then perhaps,’ said Valance, straightening a hint, ‘we can give the press a better story to end the evening on. I’m aware that the Rencaris Science Institute is very eager for Endeavour to share much of our findings from our exploratory missions in recent months?’

Vhiemm tensed. ‘Your exploratory missions through regions of Romulan territory we have known for centuries -’

‘But not in their current condition.’ Valance kept her smile measured. ‘Opening up vast new options in trade and research for Rencaris. It’s not a pact with the House of K’Var confirming Rencaris’s independence, but that seems like a lofty goal now. No? My Chief Science Officer has been hearing all evening from the director of the institute how eager she is.’

‘And she has spoken with me,’ Vhiemm admitted through gritted teeth. She could see him making calculations. He’d been able to turn down such a price a week ago, because back then he was being courted by the Klingons. Now that arrangement was looking vanishingly unlikely to come to pass.

‘You receive that data. Cement Rencaris’s place in trade and research in this part of the sector. And Endeavour can complete repairs in one of your dockyards.’ And you get a win. A win you’re going to need after tonight.

Vhiemm looked sickened. ‘Perhaps we can announce that. Once the main fuss from the evening has passed. Once the Klingons leaving in a state is not the first word on everyone’s lips.’

‘I’ll be here.’

She let him go run damage control, and not long after, her officers had joined her from the box. They, Starfleet, were no longer the main curiosity of the evening, with Romulans muttering in hushed awe of the mess the Klingons had made of the show. That suited Valance well enough, and she turned to her team as they arrived.

‘I think we’ve pulled this one off,’ she said, keeping her tone guarded. ‘Vhiemm’s agreeing in principle to a different trade: research records for the shipyard access.’

Thawn’s shoulders slumped with relief. ‘We need that if we’re going to safely finish the repairs. And we can be done within just a few days if we get it.’

Airex nodded. ‘I think the director will be delighted.’

‘The Klingons?’ Kharth glanced between Valance and Beckett.

‘There was a chance they could have moved past this revelation,’ said Valance. ‘But Ledera’s rejected that. Now it’s a matter of Rencaris historically dishonouring K’Var, and vice versa. I expect a member of the family itself will have to weigh in on either side. Whatever happens next won’t happen fast.’

‘If Brok’tan survives this challenge,’ said Beckett, looking supremely unconcerned.

‘We should hope he does,’ Valance chided. ‘Do we want Ledera as our enemy?’

‘She’s just proven considerably easier to deal with than Brok’tan. I do, actually, want our enemies to be as stupid and impulsive as possible, Captain.’

I don’t want them to be enemies. ‘We’ll have to see what happens there. I’m going to stay and make nice with Vhiemm, put on a public show. Airex and Kharth will stay. Beckett, Thawn; you’re done for the night.’

She looked relieved, but he frowned. ‘I can see this through -’

‘I said you’re done.’ Valance straightened. ‘I’m doing you the courtesy of acting like you didn’t ambush me tonight, Lieutenant. Don’t push it.’

‘I don’t -’

‘It was a nice show,’ said Thawn decisively, taking his arm. ‘Let’s find a recording of the ending back on the ship.’

Kharth watched them go, brow furrowing. ‘You know, he probably did the right thing,’ she said once she was sure they were out of earshot.

‘Maybe,’ said Valance. ‘But my Chief Intelligence Officer just sabotaged local negotiations without saying a word to me. Which means he’s following someone else’s orders.’

‘Are we surprised?’

‘No,’ sighed Valance. ‘And I don’t have to like it. I fear he’s done something very dangerous by disrupting the balance of power among the local K’Var forces. And I could have told him that if he’d discussed it with me first.’

Airex adjusted his cuffs, watching Romulan dignitaries head for the main reception hall still. ‘It was a nice show,’ he said, transparent in changing the subject.

‘It was,’ Valance allowed. ‘What I understood of it.’

‘She betrayed him, and then he rewarded her with loyalty, which just meant he was close enough to betray her, except she’d done it for the state and he’d done it for himself and told himself it was for the state – what’s not to get?’ The corners of his lips curled.

‘It was very traditional.’ Kharth sounded distantly thoughtful. ‘It’s not about betraying people for the state, though. That’s very Cardassian. It’s about guarding yourself and your soul. And the enrichment of letting people close enough to betray you, even if that betrayal is inevitable.’

Valance raised an eyebrow. ‘Is it inevitable?’

‘In the same way as death. Sometimes death is the betrayal.’

‘So what’s the message?’ Airex’s brow furrowed. ‘Let people close anyway, even if it hurts?’

‘Actually…’ Kharth shifted her feet. ‘Let in more people. Letting in only one person gives them all the power. Two people? Then you hold each other accountable. Bear witness for each other. It wasn’t just the senator and the general. It was him, too. The rebel leader. Balance.’

Valance chewed on that for a moment. ‘No matter how subtle I think your people are, Kharth, I forget how little I truly understand.’

‘No wonder,’ said Kharth, but when Valance braced for a retort, she continued, thoughtfully, ‘This is just a show. A performance. Not the opera – this opera house. Tonight. Vhiemm, Rencaris. There are real people here. But we’ve not seen them yet.’

Valance’s gaze went past her to the main reception hall, where it looked like Vhiemm himself had finished the bulk of rallying the public. Now, perhaps, they could wrap up the story of the chaotic Klingons, and give a new story for his administration.

She nodded them onward. ‘Let’s see if we can finish the show, at least. With an ending which suits us, for once.’

‘You were right, and I was wrong.’

Caede sat at the bar in the Safe House, and peered up at Kharth – still in her dress uniform, freshly beamed up from the opera – with a suspicious gaze. ‘Opera’s pretentious and boring?’ he ventured.

‘Our people need help.’ Loosening her collar, she slid onto the stool beside him. ‘And Starfleet’s negotiations aren’t giving them that. Not right now.’

‘It’s not the mission,’ said Caede, with more consideration than she’d expected. ‘But that doesn’t make it any less of an endorsement of an overbearing, totalitarian regime. Got sick of people pretending there are no problems down there?’

‘Oh, there were problems down there. It’s just nobody was talking about the ones which really mattered.’ Kharth signalled for a beer, but once the bottle was in her hand, took a while to stare at the label before she had a drink. ‘It was all about the powerful doing what they could to stay powerful. Romulan. Klingon. Even us.’

‘I can’t give you a pat on the head to make you feel better, Kharth -’

‘I can’t directly help a group of anti-government activists move against the Vhiemm regime,’ she cut him off. ‘But maybe I can help you help them.’

Caede sucked his teeth performatively. ‘I don’t know, Kharth; that could get you in trouble with the boss, and you’re such a respectable –’

‘Beckett just torpedoed the Klingon-Rencaris relations tonight. Valance is picking up the pieces and profiting, because she has to, because Vhiemm now desperately needs friends. I can’t piss off Vhiemm myself. But all I need is a little bit of deniability, and he can’t afford to be mad at Starfleet, or Rencaris is suddenly totally alone.’ She shifted to face him. ‘Beckett gave us capital to spend. Valance is spending it on the ship, which is her job. I want to spend what’s left over to actually make a difference in this place.’

Caede watched her for a moment, then pulled out a PADD from his jacket. ‘It’s only gone 2300 hours in the capital.’

‘The opera was cut short.’

He stood. ‘Go change. I’ll meet you at transporter room 2.’

The Fifth House bar was quiet when they eventually entered. Out of dress uniform, in run-down civvies, Kharth found herself moving at once with the easy confidence of someone who’d spent enough time in bars like this. It wasn’t a dive, but it was still where people went if they wanted to speak freely or be alone.

Caede directed them to the group led by the one he’d identified as Dhael. They sat at a table with books spread before them, drinks in hand, and their eyes were wary as the officers approach. Caede had explained that his militant approach burned them last time.

‘Commander Kharth.’ Dhael stood. ‘The Centurion said you wouldn’t come.’

‘Shows what he knows,’ Kharth scoffed, pulling up a chair. ‘He also said all you were doing was making some new protest art.’

The students froze. Dhael’s voice was careful. ‘We study traditional -’

‘Cut the act. I saw the recordings from when Sullis was arrested. Most people’s eyes were on him, not your banners, right? The ones with patterns which, when viewed from the right angle, showed the faces of other political prisoners?’ Kharth’s lips curled. ‘Smart. Subtle. And completely missed by the government, because they cared more about Sullis being disruptive.’

The students exchanged glances. Caede started to speak, but Kharth tapped him with her foot.

‘Art is… permitted,’ said the young student Venril with caution.

‘Art is powerful,’ Kharth corrected. ‘I spent the entire evening at the opera, watching the government of Rencaris try to pitch itself as the arbiter of Romulan culture, even for a message and story they couldn’t even begin to understand. They’re afraid of underground armies, but they know how to fight those. They don’t know how to fight ideas. Questions.’

Dhael glanced at Caede. ‘The Centurion said we needed to take direct action.’

‘The Centurion is telling you to fight the way he knows how to fight. That’s also how the government knows how to fight. Rule one of warfare is to never fight your enemy on their terms. You fight on yours.’ She leaned forward. ‘You’re already doing it. Poetry readings that are really rallies. Art installations. But you’re isolated. Limited.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

Kharth glanced at Caede. ‘The Republic has networks. Activists, people who’ve done this for years on a dozen worlds. They can help you reach more people, spread your message further. And when Vhiemm’s government tries to crack down, you’ll have support. Allies. Ways to get your people to safety if needed.’

The students exchanged looks. ‘This is sounding like open resistance,’ Venril said hesitantly.

‘I’m talking about smart resistance. You want to change minds? Show people what Rencaris could be? Then do it. Use your art, your poetry, make people question. Make them think. Make it impossible for Vhiemm to keep pretending he speaks for all of Rencaris.’

Dhael sighed. ‘It’s less dangerous than trying to fight.’

‘And with what you have, it might actually work. The Republic can help. But you have to be smart. No martyrs, nothing like what Sullis did again. No rushing in. Spread your networks, spread your message. Make it so when you do step into the open, you have support.’

Understanding was dawning in their eyes. ‘How do we start?’ said Dhael.

Kharth nodded to Caede. ‘He can connect you with the right people. And you’ll be doing it your way. Not his.’

When they left, the students’ conversation had shifted. Still poetry and art, but with purpose, now, plans. Hope.

As they stepped onto the cold streets of Vedrex, Caede muttered, ‘I still say they need combat training.’

‘That’s because that’s your way of fighting. It’s also closer to mine. But they’ve got to fight their way. You can’t make an army out of nothing. You’ve got to find what the army is, and help them be… whatever the hell they are.’ Kharth drew her jacket closer around her shoulders. ‘The Republic knows how to make this work.’

‘I guess it does.’ He glanced at her. ‘Look at you. Becoming a believer.’

‘Believer is a strong word. I got sick of doing nothing. They still might just get themselves locked up with the key thrown away.’

‘They might. You only take up fights you expect to win?’

Kharth sighed. ‘Just leave me out of the report to the Republic for now.’

‘Why? Someone might mistake you for someone who wants to make a difference to the Romulan people?’ But Caede inclined his head. ‘They listened to you. That was good stuff.’

‘Sure. Good stuff. Let’s head back.’

It was late by the time they beamed back aboard Endeavour. She should have headed to her quarters, headed to bed. But her feet took her further down the corridor of Deck 2, deeper into the halls of senior officers’ rooms, even as she told herself that what was beginning to burn in her could wait until tomorrow. All she’d do was disturb him.

But when the door slid open and Jack Logan, sleepy in underwear and an academy t-shirt, greeted her, she knew she had to seize the drive to actually make decisions that had settled on her tonight.

‘Opera costume changed,’ Logan drawled, rubbing his eyes.

‘I took a detour after. Can I come in?’

‘Uh. Sure.’ He stepped back, calling for dim lights, and stood with myopic confusion as she entered. ‘It’s 0100, Sae.’

‘This could wait,’ she admitted, walking past him to pace. ‘But I’ve had an evening of getting my ass kicked for how passive I’ve been, and I’m trying to turn that around, which means I try to turn it around for you.’

He slouched to the breakfast bar and slid onto the stool, rubbing his eyes again. ‘You realised you were an ass to yell at me for taking you somewhere quaint?’

‘I was, in fact, an ass to yell at you for taking me somewhere quaint.’ She winced. ‘You’ve put up with a lot of me being an ass, haven’t you.’

‘Won’t pretend I didn’t know it came with the territory. But this one were a surprise.’ He straightened. ‘Did it occur to you that I took us to this quaint, rural little festival ‘cos I might like it?’

‘…no.’

‘Felt a bit like home,’ mused Logan. ‘Rural towns are much the same in most places. Sure, we don’t wear masks in fall in Kentucky, but… I can’t so easily go to the little township gatherings we do throw anyway. Not lookin’ like this.’ He gestured to his face, his arms, the implants marring his skin. He glanced up, grimacing. ‘Easier to sneak in as a tourist someplace it don’t really matter if they clock me and want me out of town.’

Kharth bit her lip. ‘I didn’t think about any of that.’

‘Well, no. You didn’t ask. An’ you were busy pretending you don’t have a problem as part of the Romulan diaspora. ‘Cos then you’d have to do something about it.’ He sounded tired, and tired in a way which made her back tense.

She was silent for a moment, and in the end, all she could say was, ‘I’m sorry.’ It sounded small, insufficient. It probably was. But it was also all she had.

He gave a tired nod. ‘Thank you.’

‘I… should have let this wait until morning, shouldn’t I.’

‘Probably.’ Logan shifted his weight. ‘Look, I knew what I were lettin’ myself in for, chasing you and all. I can get over this. But not in the middle of the night.’

She could apologise. She could explain. And even if he accepted it, understood it, that wouldn’t undo the hurt she’d inflicted by being so turned inward she’d ignored the feelings of the one person who’d actually tried to make this process of reconnecting with her people easier. Fun, even.

‘Okay,’ said Kharth, feeling a lot colder than she had even in the night-clad streets of Vedrex. ‘Can we do… lunch, sometime?’ Again, her voice sounded small.

And because he was patient, because he had known ‘what he was letting himself in for’ with her, his lips gave a faint curl. ‘Drinks after duty shift tomorrow?’

She gave a small, pleased nod. ‘Maybe I can tell you about the opera. The good bits.’

‘I’d like that.’

It wasn’t much, she thought as she left him. Neither was Endeavour’s deal with Vhiemm to use the shipyards. Neither was her work with Caede’s little band of students. Neither had been her fleeting spark of a sense of connection, of thwarted belonging, to Romulan culture stoked by the opera house.

It wasn’t much. But it could be enough. If she let it grow. Helped it grow.

It was the evening after the opera when Valance found Beckett sat alone in the Round Table. She slid into the booth’s opposite bench and set a PADD on the table.

‘Ledera defeated Brok’tan in ritual combat this afternoon. The Suv’chu has left the system.’

He’d settled down with a bowl of noodles, and clearly decided a conversation with the captain demanded enough decorum that he had to take a break from eating. Beckett stabbed his chopsticks in the pile of food and reached for the PADD, but his read was perfunctory. ‘I know.’

He’d likely just monitored enough of the public Rencaris channels to pick up reports, rather than established spies everywhere. The implication he had eyes enough to know things before she, Endeavour’s captain did, rankled, however.

‘I expect you’re pleased with yourself,’ she said.

‘Shouldn’t I be? With a little research, one chat to the press, and one conversation with an idiot Klingon, I kneecapped the Rencaris-K’Var relationship. In a way the rest of our mission couldn’t, wouldn’t.’

‘You shouldn’t have ambushed me with that -’

‘You’d have tried to stop me.’ The need for decorum apparently faded, and Beckett reached for his bowl. ‘It’s uncaptainly to try to sabotage these sorts of negotiations directly. The Starfleet way was to try to offer a better deal, not just tear down the ones around us.’

‘I was working on it.’

‘Captain, I’m working really hard to not pass comment on your mission.’ His voice gained a hint of pleading. ‘Don’t challenge me on mine.’

‘If you had a problem…’

‘Of course I had a problem.’ Beckett scowled. ‘Ledera abducted my girlfriend for no damn reason at all, and Brok’tan wasn’t going to do a thing about it. She was still his trusted representative at the opera, for God’s sake. Ledera was a threat to us and her superior wasn’t reining her in, and we were still acting like just because the Suv’chu weren’t shooting at us, they weren’t a threat to us. Of course I had a problem.’

Valance leaned forward. ‘Brok’tan is why Ledera stopped on the Suv’chu. She can’t just claim his generalship in a ritual combat, but the loss will massively damage his standing in K’Var. The house’s leadership is going to have to step in. By setting Ledera against him, we’ve destroyed a reasonable, moderate voice in a Klingon house that otherwise hates us.’

Beckett frowned and began counting off on his fingers. ‘You could have defeated Ledera on the Suv’chu; even if you wouldn’t kill her, you could have kicked her arse so badly that nobody would listen to her. Brok’tan reined her in, then kept her close. So why should I be sorry he’s fallen from grace? All he did was provide cover for the unreasonable, violent, and expansionist elements of his house. If he were a moderate voice, he’d have stopped them.’

‘We don’t know what he stopped.’

‘No. I do know that he would have negotiated a good deal with Rencaris, which would have endangered our actual allies in the Republic.’ Beckett shrugged. ‘You shouldn’t be sad about that. I’m sorry you feel like I went behind your back: I did. But I’m not sorry I did this.’

He’d grown into his role, she thought. For a time, she’d had him as her Chief Intelligence Officer largely to keep the young, promising officer close, to keep giving him responsibility so he’d flourish. He’d been a valuable part of her crew on Pathfinder and a talent she wanted to keep cultivating. But somewhere down the line, his work had stopped merely being that of the analyst and advisor. Somewhere down the line, someone had given him a taste of the clandestine operations of his division, and he’d developed a fondness for it.

More than a fondness. A talent. Enough to unleash on the Klingons with relish after Ledera had struck at them.

A week later, Endeavour’s repairs were done. Access to the Rencaris shipyards was enough to let Thawn do her work in safety and security, and considerably faster, and Airex had assured Valance that all it cost them were survey records and scientific studies that Starfleet was happy to share with locals anyway. It would still, perhaps, shore up Rencaris’s position this deep into the sector, allowing them to master the rampant changes of the Mesea Storm or the geopolitical shifts of local systems.

But it was better than helping an invasion of the Romulan Republic, and it was better than the direct legitimisation of Vhiemm’s government. She would not, Valance thought, miss the place.

A day back into their gentle return to Gateway, Kharth slid into her ready room with a gloomy expression. She tossed a PADD on Valance’s desk. ‘Just got word from the Scylla.’

Frowning, Valance read the PADD. ‘Feserell.’

‘K’Var came back. In force. They’ve secured the northern continent and are setting up a resupply outpost. No telling what they’re doing with the locals,’ Kharth sighed. ‘Guess they got their beachhead in the sector after all.’

Valance thought of Brok’tan insisting that if K’Var had a stake in Rencaris, they had a stake in the Midgard Sector’s stability. Was that the case for a more distant world they’d had to seize a foothold on through force of arms? Had Brok’tan even been correct in his assessment that more Klingon territory in the sector would moderate K’Var, not encourage them?

Had they achieved anything other than horse-trading in their operations on Rencaris, unable to affect whether people would die – merely which people died?

‘I expect,’ she said at last, ‘that Captain Borodin and his Republic allies will have to venture out there. See the state of affairs.’

‘I’d expect so.’ Endeavour still needed to return to Gateway. Neither woman was that satisfied with standing idly by in such a crisis, but they both knew that in the ship’s condition, that was non-negotiable. Kharth shifted her feet. ‘What’re your plans today?’

‘My plans?’ Valance made a face. ‘Finish going through these reports. Continue my own reports to Gateway – Harrian wants to keep picking my brain about what we saw at Rencaris. Sleep.’

‘Anything in there before “sleep?”’

Valance looked up. ‘Here to worry about my wellbeing, Kharth?’

Kharth scoffed. ‘No. Dhanesh has just been suggesting you and I do a bit more direct work and mentorship with the up-and-coming young command officers.’

‘We’re not doing enough?’ Valance sat up at that. She’d reached out to several, even held flight sessions with Lindgren.

‘Take that up with Dhanesh. He suggested we meet a half-dozen of them in the Safe House for drinks tonight. That kind of bullshit… professional-social mentor thing. And, really, they want you, the officer who carved a career path to the captain’s chair since the Academy. Not the security officer who turned out alright.’

It was strange, sometimes, to think that she was in a role she’d pursued for over twenty years. That she’d achieved her life’s ambition. Getting Pathfinder had come at such a cost that Valance couldn’t consider it an unmitigated victory, and taking command of Endeavour had been emotionally complex at best.

She didn’t much want to sit down with junior officers and try to convince them that the burdens of command wouldn’t hollow them out. But it’s what she would have wanted from her captain when she was them.

‘Fine,’ Valance sighed. ‘But you don’t get out of it.’

Kharth scoffed. ‘Yeah, I never thought you’d let me go even if you didn’t need me.’

The reports filled up the rest of her day. Thawn’s updates were nothing if not thorough, and Harrian had sent extensive, almost excruciating follow-up questions to her initial summary of events at Rencaris. Endeavour was the first Starfleet ship to see the system up close throughout history, but the squadron’s strategic operations officer had perhaps an inflated sense of just how much she’d seen, or an optimistic one.

She took dinner in her ready room, and decided the young officers would have to put up with her still in uniform, arriving a little late by the time she was done and heading for the turbolift. The bridge was quiet, run by a set of junior officers which included Stevens, making Valance frown as she padded past the command chair.

‘You’re not coming to the Safe House, Lieutenant?’ she asked quizzically.

Lieutenant Stevens looked up like she’d asked if he wanted her to throw him out of an airlock. ‘I – no, Captain! That’s alright. Commander Kharth put me on shift here, it’s fine.’

‘Alright. We’ll talk another time?’

Stevens was one of the more promising young officers of the watch, and would have been high on her list for this meeting Dhanesh had organised. Perhaps, Valance wondered as she took a turbolift, something different had appeared in her schedule for the likes of him, perhaps including Lindgren: the officers with experience under their belt already, who didn’t need guiding about these early stages, but supporting as they transitioned to senior officers, full of –

‘Surprise!’

The adrenaline that shot through her veins at the shouted welcome from the crowds of the Safe House made, for a split second, a surprise party indistinguishable from a violent ambush. A beat later, Valance had taken in the smiling crewmembers, the decorations spilling from the ceiling and bulkhead. The wide table with its spread of food. The cake.

Her eyes landed on Kharth as her crew laughed and clapped at her astonished reaction. ‘You.’

Kharth was advancing with a wry grin, and reached to clap her on the shoulder. ‘As if I’d let you drag me into that kind of meeting.’

‘This was your idea?’

‘Airex’s. Dhanesh thought it was great.’

‘Good,’ said Valance, blinking. ‘Because it’s less embarrassing if I point out to you my birthday was nearly three weeks ago.’

‘Yes,’ Kharth allowed, ‘but we were also limping our way through hostile territory and it didn’t feel very celebratory for the big four-oh.’ Another clap on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Valance. Have some cake.’

Broken. That was how Ledera had described her when she’d remained ice-cold even in the face of mortal threat to her crew. Empty. Hollow. Less Klingon, less human.

Yet, here she stood in the beating heart of her crew’s personal and social lives, surrounded by officers she trusted and respected. Surrounded by her senior staff, who all looked a little abashed at putting on such a fuss for their standoffish captain, but committed, nevertheless.

Kharth, somehow marshalling people with enough dryness to drain a river, but still pushing drinks and cake into people’s hands like it was a threat. Dhanesh and Logan, getting her whatever she wanted to drink, chattering and joking like they were squash court friends –

– but then, she did train with Logan, play sports against Logan, as two of the only people aboard who could physically match each other. She had been letting Dhanesh into her office for cups of tea and conversations after difficult moments.

Then there was the Vulcan politeness of Starik, the respectful nods of Caede, and she expected little more than that from either man. But it was followed by the younger officers and their well-wishing and then, embarrassingly, everyone’s gifts.

A novelty mug from Kally that read Today is a good day for coffee. A new tennis racket from Logan, while he specifically joked about it helping her swing. The astonishingly thoughtful gift from Thawn of a highly detailed model of the USS Antares, the first ship Valance had served on – which also had a projector built in and functioned as a desk clock. Lindgren had dug out some old pictures and records from the last Endeavour and their crew, a reminder of days long gone by that Valance quietly admitted made her heart give a bittersweet pinch.

Dhanesh gave her a beautifully bound, physical journal with a handcrafted pen, and smilingly told her to use it when she had something to say but nobody she wanted to say it to. Caede was more awkward, handing her what he said was a ‘ceremonial’ Romulan dagger but was, she thought, actually a military combat knife – and frankly, she preferred that.

Kharth handed over a badly wrapped package that turned out to hold an intricately tooled leather scabbard – ‘Your kur’leth was looking a bit shabby’ – and explained she’d found a science officer who did leatherworking as a hobby. Airex was a bit abashed and uncertain with his gift, but the copies of old Trill starcharts was beautifully presented.

‘I was a pilot,’ she reminded him in a quiet, awed voice. ‘Of course these are incredible.’

Last, hovering around the edges, was Beckett. He hadn’t wrapped anything, and her heart sank a little when he brandished a bottle of blood wine, all a very staid and predictable gift for a half-Klingon officer, and exactly the sort of thing she’d grown to hate over the years. But there was a note tied around the neck, and she read it while buying time to keep her expression studied.

‘For when dealing with Intelligence Officers becomes too much.’

Their eyes met. Beckett winced as he shrugged. She knew a peace offering when she was offered one.

‘Thank you,’ Valance said, dropping her voice to let this be a personal moment as the crowds of her crew swam around her, happy and relaxed and, she suspected, blowing off steam after Rencaris as much as celebrating her. ‘You know, I had word from Gateway this morning. Someone up there is delighted with your work.’

The corners of Beckett’s eyes creased apologetically. ‘I hope you’re getting some credit -’

‘Everyone’s done exactly what they’re supposed to do,’ she cut him off. Her superiors considered her to have handled Rencaris well, particularly by securing diplomatic agreements with Vhiemm once the deals with K’Var collapsed. But even Rourke seemed quietly satisfied with that collapse, orchestrated more behind the scenes.

‘It’s not about credit for me,’ Valance continued, ‘but you. You’ll get word soon enough. You’re being promoted, Beckett.’ She took the bottle, taking advantage of his gobsmacked expression. ‘You’ve impressed people. They’ll want to see more from you. I hope you’re ready.’

She’d been furious when she’d realised he’d gone behind her back. She was still angry, she thought – but turning around to face the rest of her crew was like turning from the dark to the light. They would need a speech, and she would need to give it, but they didn’t expect her to be like Rourke, affable and easy about it. She could keep it simple, and still they would cheer and clap and mean it.

There were holes, still. Faces she half-expected to see in the crowd, even if she knew they couldn’t been there. People she’d lost in the past. People who’d moved on.

But Kharth took the bottle of bloodwine from her to set on the gift table, and Airex pushed a full champagne flute into her hands, and Captain Karana Valance advanced on the smiling crowd of the crew of the USS Endeavour, her crew.

And towards whatever would come next.