For all their vigilance and preparation, the cold still slipped through gear and gritted teeth and found skin and bone. They had been on the ridge for an hour now, wind howling over the jagged edge of ice to bring snow swirling up in between them. Warming relief had flooded through Kharth when they found the metal hull, not because this was a once-in-a-century find but because she could magnetise her boots to stand steady. It would take a lot of bad luck for a slip to turn into a tumble down the slope to the sharp edge, but she felt more comfortable with the reassuring clunk of each step setting firm.

Arys was the one who’d found the hatch, the Andorian unperturbed by the ice and snow and wading easily against the push of the frozen wind. He’d not started with the handle, at once drawing his phaser to set a low-powered beam across the seal and blast away the ice. Only then had he tried to unlock the hatch, and it had been Kharth who’d helped him, stronger than either the willowy Doctor T’Sann or the distracted Ensign Beckett.

‘This is definitely an Akraana-class, Doctor!’ Beckett called over the howling wind, giddy despite the cold. ‘The prow’s buried but you can see the curve of the hull there.’

‘Don’t worry, Nate.’ Only the smile of T’Sann’s eyes could be seen, his scarf wrapped high to guard his face. ‘This is it.’

Kharth clenched her jaw as she and Arys finally hauled back the handle with a shriek of metal not manipulated in centuries. It would have been easy to make a comment or even think one, but for once her colleagues’ enthusiasm didn’t grate. This was too important.

Within was only darkness, and the quick shine of a torch showed they’d be walking on bulkheads. The ship had embedded itself at an angle centuries ago. Despite the ready eagerness of T’Sann, Kharth went first, swinging through the hatch and across the ladder to let her boots find a magnetic hold on the makeshift floor. She took an experimental gulp of stale air. ‘It’s fine. Stinks.’

‘Stinks,’ Beckett protested, scrambling down after T’Sann. ‘You’re the first person to set foot here in two thousand years -‘

‘And it does stink,’ said T’Sann, stopping beside Kharth. He pulled down his scarf, his grin a shining beacon in the dark. ‘But it’s what we’ve been after: the Koderex.’

Beckett clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done, Doctor.’

‘It’s not over. Congratulate me when we find the archive. Or all we have is a relic.’

Kharth had studied what records had survived an exodus, two thousand years, and an apocalypse of the ships that had brought the Romulan people from Vulcan to their new home hundreds of light-years away. Those which had survived the centuries had been lost in the supernova, destroyed or in whereabouts unknown to the Federation. Since the green-lighting of the operation to here, the frozen Neutral Zone world of Mirankail, she’d gone over the images from the Vomal, the exodus ship once a living history museum in orbit of Romulus. She’d never visited as a child, such an exceptional cultural artifact taken for granted until it was too late.

Now she stood within even more hallowed halls, hearing her breathing echo off the bulkheads of the Koderex, the most mysteriously lost ship of the exodus.

Where T’Sann had shrugged off Beckett, he reached to clasp her shoulder. ‘It’s only the beginning, Saeihr.’ She smiled at him despite herself, and as one they turned to the aft of the ship. This was nothing but a dead hulk until they knew the state of the computer core.

After navigating the treacherous frozen surface, moving through the Koderex was child’s play. Climbing gear made it easier to pass between sections and decks, and at every hatch Arys had to melt the ice and work the manual override. Taking point, Kharth was careful with each step on ancient metal that might give way underfoot, but these ships were built to last and had remained sturdy in these inhospitable conditions. So on they moved through shadow and ice, until Arys cracked open one vast, double set of doors, and in the darkness within, their torches shone off the distinct casing of an ancient Romulan computer bank.

‘Jackpot,’ Beckett breathed with all the solemnity the moment deserved and his choice of words did not.

Kharth glanced back at T’Sann, and saw his expression set. ‘Let’s work,’ the archaeologist said. ‘Check the integrity of the structure, and try to find the power banks so we can jack in.’

‘It’s been centuries,’ murmured Arys. ‘Are any of the data chips even going to be intact?’

‘This was meant to carry the weight of a people for however long it took,’ said T’Sann as he approached the main controls, completely dead. ‘This is a little longer than the builders intended, I grant you.’

‘Huh,’ came Beckett’s voice echoing through the chamber. His head was already stuck in a panel he’d cracked open, studying the components within without touching. ‘This isn’t the power supply. But this set of data chips look intact.’

‘Hull integrity was only broken in specific sections, and interior emergency bulkheads seemed secure,’ said Arys, and shrugged. ‘That makes it dry down here and at least somewhat temperature-regulated.’

Kharth had been ignoring them, following what she recalled of the designs before her eyes landed on a section of panelling deeper past the main controls. ‘Here,’ she said, hunkering down to pop a panel. She swore under her breath. ‘Completely dead power cells.’

‘That’s not surprising,’ said T’Sann, and glanced to Arys. ‘Lieutenant?’

‘Of course, Doctor,’ said the Andorian, and approached Kharth to unsling his pack and pull out the field battery.

‘We don’t need to restore power to everything. The main interface will do. I’d rather not physically jostle or remove anything if we don’t have to, but we’ll see if the systems are working enough for us to download something,’ T’Sann continued, checking the controls as Kharth and Arys rigged the device.

‘Or even interface,’ Beckett pointed out, going to join him. ‘They might be perfectly intact, but we’re still looking at very old software.’

‘Quite. In an ideal world, we can leave this place untouched, and depart with a perfect download to let the wreck become someone else’s research site.’

‘And someone else’s political mess,’ said Kharth through gritted teeth, halfway through hot-wiring a connection between two devices with no compatible input or output. Then she had it, and even though she’d expected it, the whir of equipment springing back to life after long centuries still made her heart race. It was hard to tell if this was trepidation or excitement.

‘Alright!’ Beckett punched the air. ‘Screw you, fifteen hundred years of being a total wreck. I was afraid this was gonna take some long-haul repairs.’

‘It might still,’ T’Sann warned, but his hands were already racing over the controls. A cracked screen flickered to life, and he leaned in, squinting as he worked. ‘But so far we are very lucky. The initial interface is functioning.’ He glanced back at Beckett. ‘Check those chips again, give me a reference for something that looks at least physically intact.’

Kharth moved to join T’Sann as Beckett scampered off happily. ‘This beats spending weeks trying to repair this,’ she murmured.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, lips curling as he gave her the briefest glance before focusing on his work. ‘You’re not getting fond of Mirankail’s climate?’

‘I love being at risk of losing fingertips.’

‘There are ways to stay warm,’ said T’Sann, but before she could interrogate that, Beckett called out a reference number, and he tapped the interface. ‘Let’s see if this is working enough to find you…’

Kharth felt her breath catch, and her next shiver did not come from the cold. Before her eyes, the ancient interface in a dialect of the Romulan language she barely understood flickered and sputtered, but got to work at T’Sann’s command. Then a new window opened, and a scrolling file of intact text spilled out before them.

‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘It’s here.’

Arys padded up to join them. ‘Are we the first people to see this in hundreds of years?’ he asked, gently reverential.

‘The Koderex’s archives were not exclusively unique,’ said T’Sann calmingly. ‘This, for one, looks like some sort of building record that might exist on Vulcan or have a copy on another ship. This in itself is nothing. What it means is that the Koderex’s archives are, in at least some part, accessible.’

‘Hot damn,’ Beckett’s voice echoed behind them. ‘Do you want more chip references, Doc?’

‘There’s no point doing this one at a time. We know the system is capable of retrieving a file,’ T’Sann called back. ‘That doesn’t mean every chip is intact, that connections are intact.’ He turned his focus to the interface, tapping more commands. ‘I’ll run a check on the archive file integrity. We’ll see how much of the database the system thinks it can access.’

‘This feels mundane,’ Arys murmured, and at Kharth’s sharp look, the young Andorian shrugged with an apologetic wince. ‘We’ve tracked this transponder signal across three star systems, crossed a frozen mountain ridge to get to this wreck, and here we stand in a lost, ancient ship, hoping we don’t need to run a system defrag.’

Beckett’s laugh took her by surprise; she would have thought the A&A officer, so long committed to the hunt for the Koderex, would have taken the moment more seriously. Perhaps the tension was getting to him, but he still came over to punch Arys in the arm. ‘You’re funniest when you’re not trying to be funny.’

‘Lieutenant,’ Arys chided gently.

‘Okay. You’re very rarely funny, sir.’

Kharth scowled at them. ‘Cut it out, both of you.’ Arys looked like he was going to make some petulant complaint about Beckett starting it, but a low oath from T’Sann dragged everyone’s attention to the monitor, its shining emerald interface the brightest source of light across this ghost ship’s hollowed brain.

‘Twenty percent,’ he complained, gaze raking up to the massive server banks lining the bulkheads. ‘Only twenty percent accessible. We’ll have to take the lot.’

Arys straightened. ‘Take it?’

‘I assume your superiors don’t want to dispatch a team of experts to restore full power to this archive system, painstakingly repair every single component, and then try to interface with the software to copy and download the whole archive?’ T’Sann shook his head. ‘The runabout’s cargo bays will be enough to contain the servers.’

Kharth looked at Arys. ‘We’ll head back to the runabout, Lieutenant, and bring it closer so we can use the transporters.’ She turned to Beckett. ‘Check that we’re bringing intact components aboard, and use your tricorder to isolate a signal for us so we can beam it across in sections.’

Beckett grimaced. ‘That’ll be quicker than waiting for a team of expert engineers to fix this up,’ he accepted, ‘but I really don’t like putting these components under this physical stress. We have no idea how delicate they are.’

‘We are the experts,’ T’Sann called back. ‘We’ll be careful, Ensign. The alternative includes leaving the Koderex here for weeks on the assumption nobody has noticed us here. We cannot wait, and we cannot leave without the archive.’

‘Who’s going to follow us?’ Beckett squinted.

Kharth grimaced, but looked to T’Sann. ‘Karlan?’

‘I’m sure,’ he said, turning to her. ‘We will check to make sure we’re transporting over only intact chips. It’ll take a few hours, but that’s nothing in the grand scheme of how long this has waited to be found.’

She nodded, but as Beckett turned away with a huff and Arys started back the way they’d come, she lingered, seeing the fatigue in T’Sann’s eyes. With the younger officers a distance away, Kharth brought a hand to his arm. ‘I know you wanted to find everything intact. This is still something.’

‘No.’ But the corners of his eyes creased, and now Karlan T’Sann’s smile was brighter than the ancient computer screen shining behind him. ‘It’s still everything.’

Nerillian was a craggy, unwelcoming world across whose surface harsh winds howled and snuck through to every crevice and gap. Rourke assumed life for the first refugees settled here some fifteen years ago must have been deeply unpleasant until the discovery of rich veins of metal deep in the rock. Where refugee hubs like Teros and Vashti had struggled to eke out an existence, the Romulans of Nerillian had turned modest wealth into modest living that now saw most of their people living in a sturdy underground complex. They could fuel and power themselves, sell the metals they didn’t need, and while it did not make them prosperous it did not make them suffer.

It also made them more independent and ordered in their self-sufficiency, which was why he and Hale now sat in a broad, subterranean conference room across from representatives of Nerillian’s ruling council. Only a stretch of table separated them from the other two factions.

One of them was speaking now, the green pallour of his Romulan skin more stark under the fluorescent lighting. ‘…our primary focus here, Ministers, is what assistance we can render Nerillian. Infrastructure, supplies,’ said Kerok, a minor diplomat of the Star Empire. ‘Not evacuation.’

‘If we come to our people,’ said Nerillian’s First Minister, meeting her fellow Romulan’s gaze levelly, ‘and tell them we have negotiated for aid with the Empire but have not arranged a possible return to Imperial space, they will not be happy.’

Kerok ground his teeth. ‘I will do what I can. But repatriation is not the subject here.’

‘Don’t worry, Kerok,’ drawled the figure to Rourke’s left. Where the Romulans of Nerillian wore hard-wearing jumpsuits and Kerok came in the simple, dignified finery of a diplomat, this last Romulan was adorned in the battered, colourful attire of a spacer with ambitions. ‘They don’t want you to succeed at a repatriation deal. They just want to pretend they argued for it.’

First Minister Asare glared at the speaker. ‘You are here as a courtesy, Vokden. Do not overstep your bounds.’

‘I’m here because the reality of your situation benefits my being here,’ said Vokden, who liked to call himself and his crew a company of independent contractors. Rourke preferred to think of them as pirates and thugs. ‘And the reality is that if too many of your people are repatriated, you’ll lose your workforce and this settlement won’t be self-sustaining any more. Just let the agenda note it was discussed, and move on.’

Hale had explained to Rourke that Vokden and his people had a ‘complex’ relationship with Nerillian. Their associations with the Romulan Rebirth Movement were an open secret, and as the biggest bruisers across three star systems, they were as much a protection racket as they were escorts and security for trading operations. Vokden was, she’d assured him, smart enough to know he couldn’t kill his golden goose, and prickly and invested enough to make matters worse if he wasn’t given a seat at the table.

While Rourke understood what Vokden called the reality, he wasn’t sure he agreed that being a pirating prick who wasn’t so stupid he’d burn planets to the ground was complex. Nor was affiliation with an extremist faction. Still, he leaned in to Hale beside him, and dropped his voice. ‘So this is going well.’

She did not answer, addressing First Minister Asare with a polite smile. ‘The Federation is prepared to explore options in providing Nerillian with industrial mining equipment. That could off-set the disadvantages of any population loss.’

Representative Kerok looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. ‘I will talk with my superiors,’ he said at length. ‘So perhaps we should table this until tomorrow.’

First Minister Asare shrugged. ‘If you wish. That would bring us to the end of the day’s agenda, however.’

Vokden sat up. ‘What, we’re not having another ten rounds? I was promised a circus.’

Rourke narrowed his eyes, but it was Hale who answered, voice crisp and polite. ‘Captain Vokden, you’re here to provide expert insights on the security of the region,’ she said, which Rourke thought a staggeringly polite way to speak to the biggest threat to local safety. ‘Your irreverence may do well on your bridge, but the Federation was assured you would take this seriously.’

Vokden’s expression twisted, but Rourke shifted in his seat to face the Romulan pirate, and he settled with a grumble. ‘The Federation remains about as fun as I expected.’

Rourke met his eyes. ‘Let’s spend more time together, Vokden. I’m very fun.’

First Minister Asare lifted her hands. ‘We’ll reconvene tomorrow. And hear from Representative Kerok about the repatriation.’ Kerok still looked unhappy, but the group broke, entering the slow shuffle towards the door of low conversation and finishing off the hot drinks that ended any meeting.

Rourke and Hale stood, and he raised his eyebrows. ‘We’re going to provide industrial mining equipment now?’ he murmured.

Hale gave that polite smile he knew was for onlookers. ‘I expect not. The threat of it empowers Nerillian, which means the Star Empire will offer more to avoid rehoming the residents. Nobody in this room wants these refugees crossing the border.’

‘The refugees might want it,’ Rourke pointed out.

‘Then we’ll have to make sure their lives here are better.’ She glanced to the door, the broad figure of Chief Kowalski waiting beyond as their security escort. ‘To the shuttle?’

Under the terms of negotiation, no starships were to enter the Nerillian system during the proceedings, with no side particularly trusting another to bring weapons into orbit and behave. This left the Federation, Star Empire, and even Vokden’s forces beyond the star’s gravitic pull, sending smallcraft to ferry representatives back and forth.

But before Rourke could respond, Kerok had broken away from his low, urgent words with First Minister Asare at the door and approached them, the Nerillian leadership looking on from the entrance with what Rourke thought was a look of gentle amusement.

‘Come on, Hale,’ Kerok was muttering the moment he was close. ‘I thought we were helping each other in this.’

‘We’re helping the people of Nerillian,’ Hale said coolly. ‘The Federation is happy to consider an investment to improve their industry. It offers significant benefits.’ She tilted her head at him. ‘See what your people say, and we’ll talk tomorrow, Kerok.’

The Star Empire’s diplomat made a low, annoyed sound. ‘Fine. We’ll -’

‘Hold on,’ came Vokden’s drawl, loud enough to cross the room, cutting off the discussion and stopping First Minister Asare, halfway out the door, in her tracks. Rourke’s back stiffened as he turned to face the pirate. ‘I think it’s best we all stand here for a moment. Because this charade has gone on long enough.’

Asare looked frustrated, if guarded. ‘Vokden, this is no time for theatrics.’

‘I agree. Time for action.’ Vokden lifted a handheld communicator. ‘In about ten seconds, Minister, you’re going to be warned my ship has just decloaked in orbit. In about twenty seconds, you’re going to agree to let me invite the Imperial and Federation representatives aboard as guests.’

Rourke’s brow furrowed. ‘You were complaining about us wrapping up early ‘cos you were stalling for time, weren’t you,’ he said derisively. ‘If we’d had a cuppa quicker and left, you’d be here looking like an idiot -’

‘That’s not important,’ said Vokden quickly, ‘and you are still here, so don’t be cute, Captain.’ Behind Rourke, First Minister Asare’s communicator buzzed, and she tilted her head at the low message he couldn’t hear. Her expression suggested she had, in fact, just been told Vokden’s old warbird had decloaked in orbit. ‘I’d hoped these meetings would go how they usually do – both sides just want to look good but not do anything. Seems I need to send a message to the Federation and the Star Empire on who’s the real power in these systems.’

Kerok had stiffened. ‘Vokden, don’t be a damn idiot. The Star Empire will never capitulate if you abduct a diplomat.’

‘No, they’ll tell me to kill you, and still not send a serious amount of firepower to hunt me down in territory I know better than them,’ said Vokden amiably. ‘So don’t you want to make a better deal?’

Hale opened her mouth, but Rourke gave her a quick shake of the head and stepped forward. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, trying to sound neutral. ‘What are you hoping to get from this?’

‘Oh, now you stop sneering at me,’ said Vokden, delighted. ‘Less funny when your ship’s a good twenty minutes out and my warbird’s in orbit, here to blow you up if you try to get clever.’

‘You won’t get away with this.’

Vokden waggled his communicator with a smirk. ‘Already doing so. How about you surrender happily now, so I don’t have to threaten the people of Nerillian? That’s the Starfleet way, isn’t it?’

Rourke glanced back at Hale, back at Kowalski now in the door with his hand on his phaser, then back to Vokden. ‘It’s a Starfleet way,’ he agreed.

And couldn’t have been more delighted that his combadge chirruped at that exact moment, and Commander Valance’s voice came filtering through for all to hear.

‘Endeavour to Rourke; we are one minute out from Nerillian’s orbit and on an intercept course for Vokden’s ship. Is everything alright down there?’

Vokden’s expression soured. ‘Hold on…’

Rourke smirked and shrugged. ‘Your last-generation warbird is in pretty serious need of maintenance, and your showboating with your cloak the last two days meant my science officer got pretty good at detecting your tetryon emission rate. My people have been tracking your ship for hours, with explicit orders to intercept if you did… well, this. Turns out this time, I was stalling.’

Vokden turned away, communicator to his ear, and had a low, urgent exchange with what sounded like his bridge.

Rourke raised his voice. ‘I’d suggest you beam up and run. Your Romulan Rebirth Movement put a bomb on my ship six weeks ago and decided to publicly crow about it. Now I’m back, and I can beat your shoddy cloak. You want to stick around while my crew gets payback?’

Vokden looked back, expression twisting. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with your old ship.’

‘Maybe not. I bet you’ve got friends who did.’ Rourke’s gaze was cold. ‘Stick around and we can talk about them. Or you can see the new ship in action.’

A beat passed. Then Vokden lifted his communicator, uttered a quick command, and disappeared in a blaze of transporter light.

‘I’m glad you were stalling,’ said Hale quietly, ‘or I don’t think I’d ever forgive you if you’d said “you’ll never get away with this” in earnest.’

‘I’m a traditionalist when I’m putting on a show,’ he said to her with a smirk, then turned to the other representatives. ‘I apologise for my ship violating the territorial agreement,’ he said politely, sobering. ‘We will of course withdraw the moment Vokden does.’

Asare folded her arms across her chest. ‘I think we can be forgiving under the circumstances, Captain. Might I suggest, with this latest development, that your ship remains and Representative Kerok brings his vessel in closer?’

Kerok looked flustered. ‘That sounds preferable.’

‘I’ll tell my people to set a patrol pattern once they arrive,’ Rourke said firmly. ‘Perhaps we can meet in an hour, First Minister, to discuss the security matter. Once Vokden’s been chased off.’

Asare inclined her head. ‘If you’ll indulge me a moment, Captain,’ she said, approaching the conference room’s wall display, ‘I’d like to watch him leave.’ With a few tapped commands, the data from Nerillian’s detection grid came up on the screen, a split between sensor and visual feed.

‘We’ll help make sure your sensors are sophisticated enough to scan through the cloak,’ said Rourke, watching on the visual display as the image of the old warbird, collected from an orbital satellite, shimmered in the darkness of space before vanishing. ‘Though I’d be surprised if Vokden’s stupid enough to not try to repair the flaw.’

‘If he can,’ said Kerok. ‘Spare parts for last-generation cloaking devices aren’t easy to come by. Off he goes, at least.’

‘For now,’ said Asare, jaw tight.

Rourke knew she was right, but any tension in his chest was loosened when, only heartbeats later, the sleek shape of Endeavour came into view on Nerillian’s display. ‘We’ll make sure you can protect yourself, First Minister,’ he assured her. ‘We’re the ones who’ve disrupted the status quo, after all.’

The others left, but Hale lingered with him by the display, watching him with a raised eyebrow. ‘I see the honeymoon period isn’t over,’ she said, nodding to the screen.

‘I was afraid it was a rebound,’ he admitted, ‘but what can I say?’ He gestured at the image of the new Endeavour and her graceful, classic lines of an Obena-class starship that captured all the dignity of Starfleet’s finest years. ‘I might be ready for a new commitment.’

October 2399
Four Minutes After the Accident

Lieutenant Juarez sprang out from the command chair as Rourke, Valance, and Thawn burst out of the turbolift. ‘Detonation detected on Deck 6, Section 11. The hull was breached and further sections of our plasma conduits have overloaded.’

Thawn was in her seat at Ops in a heartbeat, swinging the trail of her dress out of the way as she sat. ‘Emergency forcefields are in-place at the breach,’ she confirmed. ‘Secondary explosions at Sections 12 and 13 of Deck 6, Sections 12, 13, and 14 of Deck 7…’

‘What happened? Did a plasma manifold rupture?’ said Valance, scowling at her panel.

Rourke lifted a hand. ‘The “why” can wait a hot minute. The EPS itself?’

‘Power levels are spiking across those sections; the primary detonation disabled the coolant system,’ Thawn rattled off.

‘The warp core?’

Thawn gave a small hiss of frustration. ‘Reactor chamber integrity is falling but I – I’m not sure why.’

Rourke hammered a button on his armrest. ‘Bridge to Engineering; what the hell’s going on down there?’

Cortez did not sound like she had much time to talk. ‘What do you think, Captain? We’ve got a coolant leak and reactor heat levels are rising…’

Rourke cast a look at Thawn, who tapped more buttons at Ops in frustration. ‘I’m not reading anything about a coolant leak,’ she said indignantly. ‘Our plasma conversion sensors must have been damaged.’

‘We’ve got our hands full down here,’ Cortez’s voice came back. ‘Rosara, bypass the damaged systems and get me power down here so I can start venting plasma and bringing our heat down…’

Valance had stood to join Juarez at Tactical, and now she looked up with a level gaze. ‘Captain; warp core temperature is spiking. I recommend a precautionary evacuation of everyone except the bridge and engineering teams.’

‘Hey, no -’ Cortez sounded like she had to cut herself off from this objection being more personal. ‘We’re venting plasma and I’ve put those redundancies into the power grid; if Rosara can just restore power to my systems I can fix this…’

Thawn was already hammering away at her controls. ‘I don’t understand; the EPS grid on the other sections adjacent to the primary detonation is switched off, looks like a… a maintenance order…?’

A howling in Rourke’s ears made Cortez’s words of protest a dim and distant drone, and he got to his feet as if the deck was in danger of falling away from under him. He looked at the frustrated, helpless eyes of Thawn, then back to the Science station. ‘Lieutenant Juarez, if the warp core’s going to breach, how soon do crew need to evacuate to get out of the blast radius?’

Juarez’s gaze was steady. Without a direct responsibility to avert the catastrophe, he’d known his place in all of this. ‘If intervention methods fail to slow the overload, an escape pod needs to launch in the next six minutes, seventeen seconds.’

‘I can slow it -’

‘Commander Valance, give the order. All non-essential personnel to the pods.’ Most of his crew had been in the lounge, sheltering under the direction of Graelin and Kharth. That put most of his crew near the biggest emergency evac section aboard for exactly this sort of crisis. But getting gathered crowds and scattered individuals into escape pods was not an instantaneous process.

Valance looked him in the eye, that steady and reassuring presence that let him know caution was no vice. ‘Aye, Captain.’

‘Even if I can’t stop this,’ came Cortez’s desperate, clipped voice, ‘we have more time than that.’

It was unclear, Rourke thought, if her assertion was a professional prediction or a personal hope. Still he said, ‘I’m counting on that, Commander. Because we’re staying aboard to try to save the whole damn ship, and I’d like a window to get the hell out of here if we fail.’

December 2399
Six Weeks After the Accident

‘Trying to put me out of a job, Captain?’ Ensign Harkon said cheerfully as the runabout Uther Pendragon rose through the grey skies of Nerillian’s atmosphere. ‘Keeping the ship in orbit so I don’t have to fly you back and forth?’

‘I think transporter systems threatened that chauffeur job two hundred and fifty years ago, Ensign,’ Rourke pointed out with a good-natured smile.

Behind him, Chief Kowalski leaned away from the tactical console and nodded. ‘All scans confirm Vokden’s D’varian has left the system.’

‘We spooked him well enough. He won’t pick a fight he can’t win,’ said Rourke. ‘If he comes back, he’ll come at us sideways.’

‘He doesn’t need to come at us.’ Hale stood in the doorway, bracing on the frame at the slight rumbles of the smallcraft moving through the atmosphere. ‘He might not have exactly what he wanted, but he’s won enough today.’

‘Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but Endeavour sent him packing,’ called Harkon. ‘That’s a win.’

‘We can offer Nerillian whatever we want, but they need to be able to keep it and protect themselves,’ said Hale. ‘We included Vokden in the negotiation to make him a stakeholder in improving the region. Because otherwise, burning Nerillian to the ground is no less profitable for him than Nerillian becoming self-sufficient and driving him off.’

‘Didn’t much like including the Rebirth Movement in all this,’ Kowalski grumbled.

‘Vokden wears the label but doesn’t have strong links through the network. He uses it so he doesn’t look like a pirate,’ said Rourke.

‘Sure,’ said Kowalski. ‘He looks like a terrorist and a supremacist instead.’

Rourke looked up at Hale and saw her lips thin. She was as frustrated as the Starfleet officers, he knew, but she didn’t have the liberty of demonising Vokden. For her, he had to be a problem that could be solved.

‘Regardless,’ said the diplomat at length, ‘how we deal with Vokden will set the tone for all everything we do here in the NZ.’

Rourke lifted his hands. ‘Let’s let heads cool. Us, Korak’s people, on Nerillian. Everyone’s going to have to re-evaluate if we’re increasing security.’

‘I don’t know if it’s too soon to say this.’ Harkon leaned back as the runabout broke atmosphere, and the view through the canopy swiftly transformed from swirling grey to inky black. ‘But at least we get to cool our heads in slightly more comfort than on the old Endeavour.’

If the stars were shining silver dust scattered on black velvet, their new starship was the diamond at the heart of the display. As he had back on the surface, Rourke leaned forward to take in the view of the tiny glint growing larger on the approach. ‘There are some advantages.’

‘Twice the size, twice the crew, twice the fuss,’ murmured Kowalski. ‘We’ve gone from the dagger to the broadsword.’

We’ve gone from an iron fist in a velvet glove to an actual beacon, thought Rourke. ‘I’ve spent enough of my career serving on one weapon or another,’ he mused. ‘Change is good.’

Harkon looked back at Kowalski, eyes dancing. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy the bigger family quarters with Lieutenant Veldman, Chief.’

‘I’m not saying there aren’t perks. But I like to have a bit of edge while we’re on the edge. People out here still came for us, still killed some of ours, still tried to chase us off,’ Kowalski reminded her. ‘I’m not ready to unclench my fist yet.’

‘Don’t worry, Chief,’ said Rourke. ‘We’re here to make things better, but we won’t let down our guard. Not with the likes of Vokden pushing back.’

‘I know,’ said Kowalski, sounding a little abashed. ‘Not saying any one of us is going soft, Captain, or that we’re not allowed to enjoy the new ship, Ensign. I recognise what a gesture it is – to the people of the NZ and to us as a crew – to be sent a big new ship like her. But we were attacked.’

‘When you’re a galactic superpower, half of diplomacy is measuring a response when someone bites your extended hand,’ mused Hale. ‘But this is very much why Starfleet – why a crew like yours – are attached to this mission. And not just diplomats like me.’ She wore a wry smile, and Rourke looked back with a flicker of gratitude. None of them in the cockpit would underestimate her, but a gentle self-effacement was enough to help balance the moment, let the Starfleet officers feel like they still had control, and weren’t expected to risk and lose their lives only for distant policy over which they had no say.

Harkon brought the runabout around to the new starship Endeavour’s shuttlebay without difficulty, the smallcraft descending into the cavernous space housing the fourteen other vessels still in residence. They set down next to the empty docking space that normally housed the absent King Arthur, and Rourke, Hale, and Kowalski alighted into the hustle and bustle of Chief Koya’s deck crew bursting into action as Harkon ran through the post-flight sequence.

‘I’m going to meet with my staff,’ Hale said to Rourke. ‘See what Cy has to say about our legal footing if we’re escalating the situation with the Rebirth Movement.’

‘For my money, they’re escalating with us,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ll be on the bridge. If the D’varian so much as sneezes on our sensors, I’ll update you.’

Kowalski turned to them. ‘Sir, Ma’am, considering what’s just happened, I’ll be increasing security escorts from here.’

‘Of course, Chief,’ said Rourke levelly, ‘but I’d rather not escalate to the Hazard Team.’

He left them there, and headed alone for the broad corridors of his new command. After a career on border cutters, patrol boats, and gunships, especially as a command officer, the Obena-class USS Endeavour still felt a little too grand. Kowalski hadn’t been exaggerating much when he described her as twice the size of her Manticore predecessor, and she used the space. No more did Rourke feel he was stalking the halls of a warship dressed up to look less like she’d punch the unsuspecting in the face. Cool steels and blues had been swapped for warm burgundies and browns, bronzes and golds, with narrow passageways linking through a compact network exchanged for what felt like boulevards down open streets in comparison. The Manticore had been designed in an era where Starfleet wanted to jealously defend what it had with as little wasted as possible on comfort – of its crew, or onlookers. The Obena’s whole purpose, with her design so reminiscent of the classic Excelsior, was to remind the galaxy that Starfleet was there to help. This had not aided the class’s popularity in recent years.

The bridge was larger, too, with a tactical arch nestled around the three command chairs and more of a slope on the descent to the Ops and Helm consoles. Room to breathe, was how Lindgren had described it upon arrival, but it held less of the coiled tension of before, a bustle of readiness rather than a buzz of restraint.

Commander Valance stood from the central chair at his arrival, hands clasped behind her back. ‘Welcome back, sir. I hope our intervention wasn’t too rash.’

‘Trust me, Commander, your timing was perfect,’ Rourke said as he assumed his seat. ‘Vokden’s long gone?’

‘We saw him leave the system and there’s no sign since. But there’s no telling if we’ll be able to keep following his trail now he knows his cloak needs repairs.’

Rourke looked up at Juarez at Tactical. ‘I assume you planned for this possibility, Lieutenant?’

‘Of course, sir,’ said Juarez with a grin. ‘I’ve got the whole profile of his ship scanned and analysed from aft to stern. But there’s no telling until he tries to slink back.’

‘He won’t,’ offered Graelin from Science. ‘Not with us and the Imperial warbird in orbit.’

Rourke tried to not glare at his science officer. ‘It’s premature to assume we’ve seen the last of him.’ He looked back at Valance. ‘Any word from our wayward historians?’

‘The King Arthur reported in three hours ago. They’re apparently heading back.’

That could mean several things, but the only difference was how to manage the storm Doctor T’Sann was in danger of stirring amidst these already troubled waters. ‘Alright. Valance, liaise with Juarez on the updated detection methods for the D’varian. Get the shuttles on patrols through the system, and tell Lieutenant Whitaker to set up the Black Knights on a CAP at the outskirts.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You think they might enter the system cloaked, but keep their distance?’

‘Maybe. But more importantly, it gives the King Arthur a smoke-screen when they return. If we’re lucky, Kerok and his people won’t think much of one of our runabouts showing up on their own distant mission.’

‘There’s no reason,’ grumbled Graelin, ‘for them to expect to be kept abreast of our mission operations.’

‘Sure,’ said Rourke. ‘But I don’t want to lie to them today when I might have to come clean tomorrow, depending on what T’Sann and Lieutenant Kharth have dug up.’ He lifted a hand at Graelin’s expression. ‘We can argue about the Koderex once we know what we’re dealing with.’

Graelin looked like he might argue, then settled down. ‘I’ll work with T’Sann on arrival and make sure we have everything archived and analysed as quickly as possible.’

Valance stepped in then, affirming his commands before swinging into action to set up the system’s security. Rourke still caught the exchange of looks between Lindgren and Graelin, the former concerned, the latter reassuring. Surely, Rourke thought with a tight jaw, she’s smarter than this.

But he had more to fret about than his Comms Officer’s personal judgement.

‘He still seems angry with you,’ Lindgren observed when the turbolift doors slid shut behind her and Graelin at the end of their shift.

‘You might have noticed by now that Matt Rourke is good to his friends, and otherwise he holds a grudge,’ Graelin pointed out with a grimace of a smile.

She watched him for a moment, anxiety fluttering in her chest. There had been little chance or time for anything between them to grow beyond flirtations and entanglements in the past six weeks, recovering from the loss of one ship and beginning a new journey on another. She’d blamed these tensions for the way Rourke and Graelin growled at each other, but now she was starting to breathe again, she couldn’t keep turning a blind eye.

‘That makes it sound like he has a reason to be angry. Even if it’s not legitimate,’ she said gently.

He ran a hand across his hair, always perfectly styled, everything about him forever crisp and presentable and carefully selected. She was normally better at seeing through masks, but couldn’t pierce his, leaving her in the awkward position of being curious about something that was not yet her business.

‘I have preparations for data storage to start if the King Arthur’s coming back,’ said Graelin, and she braced herself for a deflection. ‘But I can crack on with that tomorrow. Let’s get a drink at the Safe House.’

Other men, less interesting men, asked for her time with rippling apprehension – or, in Nate Beckett’s case, frivolous irreverence – that braced for rejection so hard she gently resented how much they asked her to manage their feelings. Graelin’s choice to state, not ask, could have grated, but instead she found it refreshing.

Lindgren gave a slow smile. ‘If you like.’

Endeavour’s main lounge was expected to not just provide a leisure space for the crew, but potentially host guests, delegates, and dignitaries in comfort and luxury. Rather than the stark, waiting-room aesthetics of mess halls on smaller ships, the Safe House boasted real hardwood floors along with the warm furnishings of the rest of the ship and a décor, from art deco fixtures and pictures to the music and attire of the holographic band on the stage, that evoked more of a speakeasy bar. It had a comfortable buzz at this time of the afternoon, just after the main shift but before the evening’s relaxation had really swung into action, and Graelin led them to a booth and ordered synthaholic cocktails from the holographic waiter who appeared almost immediately.

He loosened his collar as the waiter left, and this time when he ran a hand through his hair, left it mussed. ‘You want to know what grudge Rourke has against me.’

She shifted in the booth. ‘I’m not looking to pry. I know you served together. But you suggested this animosity between you would level out.’

‘I thought it would. Looks like I was wrong,’ he admitted with a sigh. ‘We were on the Achilles together under Admiral Beckett. That alone’s enough to earn you a black mark in the eyes of Matt Rourke.’

‘Doctor Sadek was on the Achilles.’

‘Rourke and Sadek have been friends since the Academy. I didn’t know them when I came aboard. I did know Beckett – Captain Beckett as he was. And I had the temerity to not join Rourke on his journey of becoming vastly disillusioned by the man. I thought he would have moved past that by now, but he still jumps down my throat at any given opportunity.’

She pursed her lips. ‘Admiral Beckett seems to be a polarising individual.’

‘I know you’re friends with his son, so I expect you’ve heard all sorts. And probably from the captain, too. I’m not going to defend Beckett on any way he’s hurt people. But I’ve committed the mortal sin of not condemning him with every breath.’ Graelin leaned forward. ‘We wouldn’t be here if Beckett didn’t back this operation. Rourke and Valance would be facing courts martial after Teros and Tagrador, and we wouldn’t be sitting on a shiny new ship. Did you know it was Beckett who made sure the Tianwen was renamed Endeavour? He might be a difficult, cantankerous son of a bitch, but he has our back.’ He slumped back with a sigh. ‘I dare to recognise the nuance, and that’s inconvenient for people.’

Lindgren softened. ‘It is a lot easier if a distant admiral can be blamed for all sorts of problems. But you also like to square up for a fight with the captain.’

‘I do,’ he allowed. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t. But he looks at me like I’m about to rat him out to Command and spout the most conservative rhetoric from an admiral’s office. So I get argumentative.’

‘Which makes him suspicious, and makes you angry, and it’s a cycle,’ she said gently. ‘Maybe if you cool your heels, in a little time he’ll see you’re not the enemy.’

‘I’d expect him to see it now,’ grumbled Graelin. ‘Did you know – no, that’s bragging, I’m sorry.’

She tilted her head. ‘What?’

‘It’s petty,’ he sighed. ‘And a little self-aggrandising of me.’

‘Come on. I’m not going to judge.’

He shifted his weight. ‘I convinced the admiral to drop disciplinary measures against Kharth and Rhade. But I did this so the crew could move forward. Not so Rourke would be grateful. If he wants to treat me as this bogeyman symbol of the admiral… so be it. But I won’t take it lying down.’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t say I’m proud of how I always acted on the Achilles. The admiral did a lot for me and for my career, and I’ve needed contacts to get by in Starfleet. But Rourke wasn’t a saint, either. I remind him of bad times. It’s that simple.’

She tilted her head. ‘You think he’s blaming you for something that’s his fault, too?’

‘I’m not here to spread rumours,’ he said hastily.

The waiter arrived with their drinks, and even though it was only a hologram who couldn’t gossip, she stayed silent as the glasses were set down, fixing her gaze on him and using the best weapon in her arsenal: silence.

He shifted under her gaze, chin tilting up an inch, and leaned forward as the waiter left. His voice dropped. ‘You know that your eyes are incredible.’

Her stomach did a loop-the-loop, and she tried to keep her composure even as she felt her cheeks warm. To her annoyance, the flicker at his lips suggested he’d spotted it. ‘They usually help when I want people to answer questions.’

‘Answering questions isn’t what I want to do.’ He took a slow sip of his drink, not breaking eye contact, and despite herself she broke first with a small, flustered smile. His composure remained as he set the glass down. ‘I don’t really care for this cocktail.’

She bit her lip, looked at hers, still untouched, and hesitated.

‘Leave it,’ said Graelin in that low, confident voice, and after a hundred months of a hundred hesitant, tiresome men she could normally twist around her fingers – usually so she could make them leave her alone – she found herself pulling her hand back from the glass.

He stood from the booth, tidying his collar again, eyes still on her. And when all he did next was raise an eyebrow questioningly before turning away, she followed.

October 2399
Twenty Seconds After the Accident

The only reason Kharth didn’t hit the deck was because she caught herself on the bar. The world still spun away wildly, dragging her senses with it, her grasp of up and down, sound and sight and sense. By the time they were back, she’d braced herself and the emergency lighting had sprung to life, a klaxon ringing in her ears.

By instinct, she pushed away from the bar and started for the throng of officers near the stage, where she’d last seen the captain. All around her the crew were scattered, downed by the surging deck, and gathering their wits or seeing to their comrades, but she stalked past them, heart leaving her throat only when she saw Rourke get to his feet.

He noticed her, but she watched his gaze keep scanning the crowd for further thudding heartbeats until he found who he was looking for. He took four long strides to a knot of staggered people and extended a hand to help – nearly haul – First Secretary Hale to her feet.

None of them exchanged words as they came together, Hale giving the slightest nod to confirm she’d been bumped but unharmed, Rourke acknowledging Kharth with a tight expression before he hit his combadge. ‘Rourke to bridge; report!’

Juarez had been a little surly when he’d drawn the short straw for bridge duty during the party, but any resentment was now gone. ‘Captain, there’s been a detonation mid-ship and we’ve dropped out of warp. At least one hull breach and forcefields are up, but we’re having problems with the power systems here…’

‘Are we under attack?’

‘Negative; no ships detected on sensors and whatever happened, it wasn’t weapons fire. The problem isn’t a threat out there, the problem is the damage.’ There were some officers who might have been uncertain when sensors weren’t cooperating. Relief and pride flooded Kharth at Juarez’s confidence, because few people aboard were more qualified to assert what was and wasn’t an attack.

‘Go to red alert. I’m on my way,’ Rourke said at once. By now other members of the senior staff had gathered, and he gestured briskly. ‘Valance, Thawn, you’re with me. Cortez, get your ass down to Engineering.’

Cortez looked like she’d been on an elastic band, so quickly did she about-face. ‘On it!’

Kharth tilted her chin. ‘Captain -‘

‘Juarez can handle things from the bridge. You and Graelin need to run things down here. Keep people secure and safe, patch them up, until we know what’s happening.’

She knew what that meant. The lounge made a good disaster shelter, so without releasing dozens of panicked and bruised officers into a crush in the corridors, non-essential personnel staying in place was procedure. It also put them near escape pods. Still she squared up. ‘Sir, if we’re under attack, my place is with you.’

He stepped in and dropped his voice. ‘If we’re under attack, your place is with the crew. And I need you to ensure First Secretary Hale’s safety.’ His gaze gave the slightest flicker in Graelin’s direction, and Kharth’s chest tightened. Of course Rourke didn’t trust his new second officer with this.

She didn’t know what it meant that he trusted her. But then he’d swept off, Valance and Thawn in his wake, and already Graelin was bouncing up to the stage to start giving orders of everyone staying in place, checking on the people next to them; instructions to stay calm which weren’t going to calm anyone down.

Kharth turned to Sophia Hale, jaw tight. ‘Stick with me, ma’am,’ she said at last. ‘But we’re going to check up on everyone.’ She’d find Sadek in the crowd as soon as she could, go from group to group to make sure the crew were sound of body and mind while Graelin led from on-high.

She preferred to act within the crowd than atop the stage anyway.

December 2399
Six Weeks After the Accident

‘Moving the chips wasn’t ideal.’ In the dim light of Endeavour’s archaeology lab, far bigger and more impressive than its predecessor, the main source of illumination was the holographic display in the centre. Nate Beckett stood before it, arms folded, the data feed analysing the team’s findings from the Koderex scrolling numbers and code across his face and chest, his frown a cavernous shadow in the gloom. ‘I’ll be doing my best in the restoration process, but there’s no telling what we’ve lost.’

‘It was necessary,’ said T’Sann briskly. ‘Endeavour’s movements have been observed since we entered the Neutral Zone. My movements have been followed by the Romulan Rebirth Movement, whom we know have been observing the ship after… everything. Not to mention whatever attention we’ve drawn from the Star Empire. We couldn’t leave the Koderex behind.’

‘A secondary team of computer and restoration experts,’ said Beckett slowly, ‘could have rendezvoused with us at Mirankail and we could have conducted a proper extraction.’

‘Nate.’ T’Sann turned to him with a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve been on this search for a long, long time. I promise you that I’ve done nothing to risk this.’

Kharth lifted her hands, gaze sweeping across the far side of the display to where Rourke and Graelin stood. ‘The point is, sir, that we’ve successfully recovered as much of the Koderex’s computer archives as we could.’

‘Regardless of condition,’ muttered Beckett.

Rourke’s expression was as guarded as she’d expected. ‘We need a better idea of what we have here. You’ve told me what we think is on the Koderex. Before we figure out what comes next, I need to know.’

T’Sann tilted his chin up. ‘The Daystrom Institute would be happy to-’

‘We don’t need to wait that long,’ said Graelin smoothly. ‘Ensign Beckett will give you his full cooperation in restoring and preserving as much data from these chips as we can acquire. In fact, Captain, I’d ask for any skilled personnel you can spare to be put on this project as soon as possible.’

Rourke raised an eyebrow at that, then shrugged at Beckett. ‘I’ll send Lieutenant Thawn to-’

‘That’s not necessary, sir,’ Beckett rushed. ‘I bet you’ll need her for Nerillian matters. I’ll grab Athaka.’

Rourke shrugged again. ‘Let me know what we have here as soon as you’ve got answers. Big picture, small details – you’ve brought a live grenade aboard, and we’ve got no control of when it’ll explode. Warn me how big the blast will be.’

Beckett cocked his head. ‘Sir, come on – sure, this could be a bit of a problem, but we’re talking about some of the oldest lost histories of the Romulan people. This is an opportunity.’

‘One step at a time,’ Kharth cut in, because she knew Beckett wasn’t going to keep arguing his point with an actual Romulan. ‘We’ll let you get started, Ensign, Doctor.’

She left with Rourke and Graelin, the captain’s shoulders big and tense the moment the doors shut. ‘Come with me,’ he grumbled, leading them to a turbolift.

Silence permeated the journey, until Kharth shifted and said, ‘Beckett and Arys performed well in the field. Even together.’

‘I should expect as much,’ said Graelin a bit snidely. ‘They’re professionals.’

‘They’re fairly inexperienced and were in a high-stakes situation, even if nobody was trying to kill us,’ she pointed out. ‘They both kept their focus where it was needed – Arys with his experience and expertise getting us to and through the Koderex, Beckett in following the trail.’ Kharth shrugged. ‘I say this because we’re about to be up to our eyeballs in politics, and under the circumstances, young officers doing their jobs is a good thing.’

‘I’ll see how Beckett performs in restoring the chips,’ Graelin said. ‘If relocating them has been as damaging as he’s afraid, he shouldn’t have let it happen.’

She frowned at him. ‘That was my call. I agreed with Doctor T’Sann. Don’t take it out on him.’

‘I’m going to trust the experts on how this artifact has been handled.’ Rourke’s interruption came in a low rumble. ‘We need to prepare for what comes next.’

Before the new Endeavour had left Starbase Bravo, further refits had been undertaken to prepare her for assignment to the Neutral Zone. This included an expansion of the diplomatic facilities on board, giving First Secretary Hale a permanent office and work space, including room for the handful of staff she’d now been able to bring aboard.

Normally, Cyrod Brigan acted as Hale’s chief of staff and the threshold guardian against those seeking her attention. Kharth had seen the Trill stand his ground even against Rourke himself, but today the captain did not give him so much as a look as he stalked past the desks towards Hale’s office.

‘Captain,’ Brigan protested, getting to his feet. ‘Come on -’

‘Is she in a meeting, Cy?’

‘No, but -’

‘Then this is more important.’

Sophia Hale kept her office tidy and welcoming, neither falling too far into the comfortable opulence potentially offered by a large starship nor being performatively ascetic. But she was deep in work when the three of them all but barged in, and Kharth caught a flicker of frustration cross her face as she had to switch off the piano music in the background and push her screen away to regard them. ‘Captain…’

Rourke lifted his hands at her warning tone. ‘I thought you’d want to know. It looks like the Koderex mission has recovered…’

Kharth sighed as he hesitated. ‘We recovered enough, ma’am,’ she said, and bit her lip so she didn’t glare at her captain.

But Hale’s gaze flickered between them before settling on her. She stood, voice softer. ‘Well done, Lieutenant. That is an astonishing find.’

‘Thank you.’ It took effort to not sound pointed.

‘I anticipate by the end of the week we’ll have a grasp of the scope of the recovered data,’ said Graelin, slipping into the exchange like a knife between the ribs. ‘There’s no need to be like targs in the glassblower’s in the meantime about the Lieutenant’s job – which was ably done, Captain.’ Kharth felt the manipulation, felt him highlight how Rourke was complaining about something close to her heart while he supported her, but seeing the trick didn’t render it ineffective.

‘Exactly what was contained in the Koderex’s archives is only half the fight, I fear,’ sighed Hale. ‘The fact the Koderex has been found at all, and the fact its records have been physically removed and are in Federation hands, will invite all Romulan factions to stir up trouble if they find out.’

‘They all have a claim to it,’ Kharth said reluctantly. ‘And would be legitimised by possession.’

‘Not merely of the data itself, but the original records,’ agreed Hale.

Rourke set his hands on his hips. ‘The last thing we need right now is for the factions to compete with each other and resent us for holding this.’

Kharth swallowed bitterness. ‘I’d been thinking about this.’ She tried to sound neither angry nor self-conscious, the mixture of both swirling within her an unpalatable cocktail. ‘I thought the Federation could maybe arrange for a site of study within the old Neutral Zone to be made available. A world held by no individual power, where Romulans could visit to study the archives. Maybe some day recover the Koderex itself and bring it there.’

‘They’ll only question our right to make that decision,’ said Rourke.

‘That’s why I thought maybe the Fae Diwan could be contacted to facilitate this. Maybe even run the place,’ she pressed. ‘If the Federation – if this mission – cares so much about the future of the Romulan people, the Koderex is a chance for them to rediscover their roots, find a sense of pride and community in our oldest knowledge, after all that’s been lost.’ She was careful with her words, careful to not, in any of this, refer to the Romulans as us.

‘You don’t need to suggest we don’t care, Lieutenant,’ Rourke said in his grumpy, warning tone. ‘I’m mindful of the practicalities. We might now have to expend a lot of resources securing Nerillian, if Vokden’s out there waiting to strike. And secure the Empire’s help. That doesn’t give us much freedom to dictate the terms of this… folly.’

‘Then let’s try to resolve the situation on Nerillian as smoothly as possible,’ said Hale. ‘Which means, Captain, we need a proposal for the planet’s safety.’

‘I have a meeting next to brainstorm,’ said Kharth. ‘We’ll have options by the end of the day.’

‘Also,’ said Graelin, ‘we can sit on the knowledge of the Koderex. Nobody off this ship knows about it.’

‘Doctor T’Sann won’t let you bury it,’ Kharth warned. ‘It’s his life’s work.’

‘You worry about Nerillian now, Lieutenant,’ Graelin said coolly. ‘I’ll worry about T’Sann.’

‘If his discretion can last until we know what we have,’ said Hale, ‘I’d appreciate that. If I can help by having a word with him, of course I will. But otherwise, I suggest we let Commander Graelin and his team get to work on the archives, and the rest of us turn our eye to Nerillian. This isn’t just a duty to help those people – it’s a chance to win the goodwill of the Empire, and it sounds like we’ll need it.’

Rourke still looked frustrated, but Hale caught Kharth’s eye as they left, gave her a small nod, and it went some way to soothing the hurt from her captain treating her mission as an inconvenience. She was conscious of the hornet’s nest she’d dropped on his lap, but the trail to the Koderex had been long. The ice and snow of the sunken wreck lost for centuries had left her frozen enough. Tracking it to that forlorn world in the depths of the empty reaches of the Neutral Zone, its atmosphere sufficiently ionised to make picking up the transponder signal a matter of luck as much as skill, had been a marathon of a mission. But she was mindful still that this path had started on Teros, and her feet were still bloody from that stumbling start amid the ruins of her shattered former life.

This mission needed finishing for the ghosts of her past as much as the future of her people.

It meant for once she was relieved to next be in a meeting with Valance, Thawn, and Dathan down in the CIC to discuss the security of Nerillian, because not a single one of those women was going to ask or care about her personal life.

Even better, Kharth arrived to find Valance in what sounded dangerously close to an argument with Lieutenant Whitaker, the newest pilot aboard and leader of Endeavour’s small flight of Valkyrie-class starfighters. Whitaker was tall, classically handsome, and prone to bouts of acting like he knew it, which she thought a naive and dangerous move with Valance.

‘Simply put, ma’am, I need more pilots,’ he was saying as the doors slid shut behind Kharth. ‘If you want me to run a CAP for more than a single shift.’

‘The Flight Control Department is overseeing patrols of the system by shuttlecraft already,’ Valance said, studying the holo-display of the Nerillian system more than him, only the faintest quirk of an eyebrow betraying her opinion. ‘Those who can fly shuttles are doing so.’

‘Begging your pardon,’ Whitaker said with an indignant tilt of the chin, ‘but junior officers from other departments can be seconded to fly the shuttles around. Give me four more pilots and I can have the Black Knights in the air all hours of the day.’

‘Barring refuelling and maintenance,’ Valance said, still not looking at him. ‘You’ll fly in staggered pairs anyway, Lieutenant, not the whole flight. Our setup isn’t designed to deploy all four fighters at once for a sustained period.’

‘Ma’am, if you understood the intricacies of this sort of piloting -’

It wasn’t that Valance interrupted Whitaker, or even that the young man shut up. But the XO straightened in a way which made the eyes of Kharth, Thawn, and Dathan all fall on her, and she turned to face him, expression ice cold even as he carried on indignantly.

Kharth slid up beside Dathan. ‘How long has he been chewing boot-leather?’ she murmured.

‘It’s Whitaker,’ said Dathan levelly. ‘He eats boot-leather for breakfast and swears he spits out roses afterwards.’

When Valance did speak, she barely had to raise her voice to shut him down. ‘Lieutenant, I flew Valkyries on escort missions during the collapse of the Romulan Star Empire, not a million light-years from here on assignments of considerably greater scale. You may be the flight leader for the Black Knights, but you’re a junior officer, you answer to Lieutenant Arys before you should ever bring anything like this to me, and your role in this operation is nothing more than providing an extra set of eyes and muscles as Endeavour deploys her entire strength to protect and guard this system. Your fighters are an addition to this process, not the core.’

Whitaker grimaced. ‘We’ll have to spend some time grounded -’

‘As will the shuttles. The patrol plan compensates for this. First, I invite you to familiarise yourself with it better, and understand your role as a part of it, not the tip of the spear or whatever ridiculous Academy-level understanding you have after spending too much time in your flight squad and not enough time in strategic operations lectures. Second, I remind you that you were not even invited to this meeting, and I have been more than courteous in letting you speak your mind.’

There was a moment as Whitaker worked his jaw, and Kharth leaned forward as she saw his flash of youthful defiance. ‘I think that’s your cue to thank her for her time and piss off, Lieutenant.’

‘Lieutenant Kharth is less courteous than me,’ Valance said, but for once she didn’t sound disapproving; Kharth knew full-well she’d just been used as the stick and didn’t mind too much. ‘You’re dismissed, Lieutenant. Report to Lieutenant Arys for your deployment orders.’

As Whitaker left, it was Dathan who shifted in the taut silence. ‘Is this the wrong audience to make a comment about pilots?’

‘Young pilots,’ said Valance, watching Whitaker go with a flash of frustration before she turned back. ‘It’s the same with young officers everywhere; they’re desperate to prove themselves. But pilots tend to get a longer leash, so they have more opportunity to be visible… and they know it.’

Kharth looked up at the holo-display of the Nerillian system, the CIC’s software running continuous analysis of the ongoing threat level. Her eyes flickered around the CAP instructions. ‘I see you’ve covered Arys’s ass.’ At Valance’s raised eyebrow, she shrugged. ‘He’s got room to give Whitaker an extra couple pilots if he deems fit. Meaning he doesn’t have to say “no” and look like the bad guy – that’s on you – but if he wants, he can give Whitaker an ounce of what he wants and look like the hero who backed him up against you.’

‘I suppose,’ said Valance, completely failing to fool Kharth. She knew the XO had something of a soft spot for dutiful, polite Arys, talented and driven but not flashy. After the last weeks stuck on a runabout with him, Kharth had come to approve of his understated competence, too.

‘So that’s the CAP sorted,’ Kharth pressed on. ‘What’s next?’

Dathan slid in then, lifting a hand to expand the holo-display and focus on the starships in the system, Endeavour and the Star Empire’s warbird, the Tesore. ‘With the Empire helping us, we’ve broken the system down into sectors so we can keep a consistent presence. By sensors alone we can monitor most of it, but the patrols let us keep a long range and check anywhere the D’varian might try to hide. I’ve been observing the Tesore’s deployment, because we’re not exactly sharing our homework, but I see no reason to question the thoroughness of their surveillance and patrols. We’ve got a good blanket over Nerillian.’

Valance nodded. ‘Good. What about finding the D’varian if they’re cloaked?’

Thawn shrugged. ‘If the D’varian doesn’t find or correct the misalignment in its deflector grid, then we should be able to detect them just as we did before. If they do, it depends entirely on how effective they are.’

‘So they could be under our noses right now,’ sighed Kharth, ‘and we wouldn’t know.’ She looked at Valance. ‘What’s Kerok and the Tesore saying about this? The D’varian is an old imperial ship, the Tesore has to have records on her. If we had the full systems profile, it’d surely be a lot easier to pierce the last-generation cloak?’

‘I doubt Representative Kerok is about to give us that,’ Dathan pointed out.

‘It would make it considerably easier,’ Thawn said tentatively.

Valance sighed. ‘I’ll speak with Hale. Let her decide on how we broach this. But Kerok has operational command on the Imperial side and is a diplomat. He cares a lot more about the bigger picture – like not handing over technological secrets – than this one world.’

‘The big picture says it looks bad for the Star Empire if one of their old warbirds is used to turn this world into a crater,’ said Kharth.

‘We’re not at that binary choice yet.’ Valance planted her hands on the holo-display. ‘Even if we found the D’varian and blew it up, the security of Nerillian has been shaken by Vokden turning hostile. He ensured the planet wouldn’t be attacked, and while it was an extortion racket it was stable. Assuming for the moment the Star Empire won’t lift a finger if it doesn’t have to, where are we at in fortifying Nerillian in the long-term?’

Dathan sighed. ‘If Nerillian is protected for a period while it builds greater industrial infrastructure and uses its surplus to increase local trade, that would make regional powers stakeholders in protecting it. But that’ll take time.’

‘We can try to better train and outfit the militia,’ suggested Kharth. ‘Prepare them to defend themselves.’

‘We’re still in a… nebulous position when it comes to explicitly arming Neutral Zone residents,’ Valance pointed out. ‘Even for self-defence.’

‘Then let the damn Star Empire supply the weapons, I don’t care.’

‘Suggesting we rely on the Star Empire for anything they haven’t already committed to is counter-productive in this meeting.’

Thawn looked at them all with a narrow, but deep furrow of the brow. ‘Is there a reason we’re not discussing the standard defence protocol for the refugee hubs?’ She shrugged at their glances. ‘Planetary shielding.’

‘That won’t protect shipments,’ Kharth pointed out.

‘Let Nerillian establish security escorts as part of trade agreements. This keeps the planet itself safe,’ said Thawn. ‘Or, and I know we’re not inventing favours the Star Empire will do us, if we provide the planetary shielding, can the Empire not splash out for some escort vessels? They don’t have to provide a flotilla to protect a whole world, but they can offer some muscle for freighters?’

‘I’m not that familiar with the construction needs for the planetary shields,’ Valance admitted. ‘Can we do it?’

‘It wasn’t something we could easily offer Teros – offer before – because we were much more limited in what resources the old Endeavour could give,’ said Thawn, faltering only briefly at the mention of the old refugee hub where Kharth had grown up and Lieutenant Connor Drake had died. ‘Not to mention Teros had considerably less-developed infrastructure than Nerillian to keep such equipment operational. But we have a vastly greater capacity for humanitarian support these days. Obena-class ships supervised the establishment of the hubs fifteen years ago; we can outfit Nerillian now.’

Dathan gave a low, wry chuckle. ‘Here we all are, forgetting we have a lot more arrows in our quiver with this bigger ship.’

‘Real mistake of the Rebirth Movement to blow up our old one; now we’re back, bigger and better,’ said Kharth dryly, but she looked over at Valance. ‘A construction project like this will need Commander Cortez involved.’

She watched as Valance hesitated, saw in the briefest flicker the inner war: that she didn’t want to give Kharth insights on her private life, that she knew Kharth and Cortez were friends and so Kharth knew plenty anyway, that regardless of any of that they were in the company of Thawn and Dathan. At last, Valance simply gave a short, stern nod. ‘Put together a project proposal, Lieutenant Thawn. Everything we can bring to bear to fortify Nerillian. If the captain and First Secretary sign off on it, of course Commander Cortez will be on the project.’

But as Kharth glanced back at the studiously neutral face of Dathan and the gently worried face of Thawn, she knew that Valance was fooling absolutely nobody.

October 2399
Nine Minutes After the Accident

‘Core temperatures are still rising.’ Adupon braced his hands against the main console before the warp core, the intermix chamber no longer the peaceful cloud of blues but a swirling vortex threatening the faintest hints of purples and blacks as the delicate process within began to come undone.

‘We’ve vented thirty-six percent of the plasma from the conduits on this section,’ protested Forrester, who cut an almost comical figure, stood amid a crisis in her cocktail dress. ‘That should cool it down.’

Cortez stood at the centre of the maelstrom, reports hammering in from her engineers as she watched the data on the pool table console tumble in. To most people’s eyes it was raw numbers, but for her, the digits came together like pieces of mosaic. She did not care for the picture. ‘We’re missing something.’

‘Boss!’ Chief Lann’s head stuck out over the railing to the upper level. ‘Magnetic interlocks are damaged. We’re leaking way more coolant than we thought.’

‘That’s not possible,’ said Forrester sharply. ‘If the detonation was big enough to damage the magnetic interlocks, it should have overloaded the power conduits across four decks -’

‘And blown half the ship to hell in about ten seconds,’ Cortez finished, lifting a hand. ‘Worry about that part later. Can you compensate, Chief?’

‘I’ll try.’ Lann didn’t sound too optimistic, moving from the upper level to slide down the ladder to join them.

‘Commander.’ Adupon’s eyes were on her. ‘If we’re going to evacuate, we need to go now.’

‘That’s only if we can’t stop this,’ Cortez said sharply. She did not add that maybe they could delay a breach, or jettison the warp core far away enough that the ship and escape pods weren’t caught in the blast radius. Those all accepted a different level of failure, and she wasn’t there yet. ‘If any of you want to go, then go.’ Her eyes were on the console, but she felt the exchanged glances between the three engineers, and heard them stand firm.

‘I’m cranking down the flow on the antimatter and deuterium injectors,’ came Forrester’s voice a moment later. ‘It might not be the source of the problem, but if we slow the reaction rate, it can buy us time.’

Lann came up beside Cortez at the pool table. ‘It might sound counter-intuitive, boss, but we should increase the coolant flow.’

‘You’re right,’ she said, hammering the controls. ‘If Forrester can slow the reaction levels, even we lose a percentage of the coolant through the leak it might be able to handle -’

‘Comman-’

Adupon’s shout was lost in the thundering cascade of shrieking metal, in the roaring sound from deep beneath them, beneath the intermix chamber, as something within the guts and belly of Endeavour sundered.

‘Oh shit!’ Forrester had to grip her console tight to stay upright. ‘We’ve lost a section of magnetic fields on the antimatter injector coils. The intermix is destabilising.’

Adupon had been thrown back from his console at the shuddering of the deck, and now he staggered towards Cortez. ‘Commander, we have to eject.’

Cortez’s heart crawled into her throat, choking any response. A thudding second later came the chirp of the comm systems, and Rourke’s voice echoing around them as if the captain had melded with the ship itself, his presence emanating from the smoke and steam in the smouldering engine room.

‘Engineering, report!’

Cortez tasted blood as she spoke. ‘We’ve lost antimatter containment, which is further destabilising the intermix chamber.’

There was only the faintest hesitation in Rourke’s voice. ‘Is it time?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Cortez said instead. ‘The magnetic interlocks shouldn’t have ruptured, and I built in redundancies in the power grid to stop exactly this, to stop our magnetic fields failing like this –’

She could feel the eyes of her engineers on her as she rattled not to an answer but through why the now shouldn’t have been, why it defied what she knew of her ship. But it was not Adupon, her trusty right hand who cut her off; nor was it Rourke, the commander who needed to know his next move. The voice over the comms was softer, unusually softer, and it stopped Cortez in her tracks to hear Valance speak like that in public, on duty, in a crisis.

‘Isa. It’s time, isn’t it?’

Cortez swallowed her heart, and looked up at the battered, bloody figure of Adupon. ‘Lieutenant. Eject the warp core.’ He gave a stern nod and turned away, and she found her eyes turning to the ceiling, as if she could look at the bridge dead-on. ‘You should set us on a course further away from the escape pods and evacuate yourselves, sir; there’s nothing more for you to do from the bridge and I can’t guarantee the warp core will be far enough away when it does go.’

‘There’s not much for you to do from down there, Commander,’ Rourke pointed out.

‘We’ll make sure the core’s underway. Go, sir. We’ve got this.’ Go, and take her with you, Cortez didn’t add.

The line went dead, and she barely needed to give her engineers further instructions as they swung into action. This was the sort of disaster every engineer prayed they’d never face, and so it was the sort of disaster they trained for. Though none of this should have happened – the damage shouldn’t have dispersed like this, the power grid shouldn’t have failed like that – this last part, at least, ran like clockwork.

‘Ejection systems ready!’ Adupon shouted over the hissing of steam from below.

‘Computer!’ Cortez planted her hands on the pool table console to brace herself, and not against the surging of the deck. ‘Prepare to eject the warp core; authorisation Cortez-Sigma-478.’ The warning flashed up on her display, demanding her final confirmation.

‘You got this, Boss,’ Lann rumbled across from her.

She hadn’t even realised she’d hesitated. ‘Get out. All of you,’ said Cortez, voice low but urgent enough to carry, and only as they raced past her to the doors did she hammer the command and run.

And Endeavour lurched under her, writhing in rebellion as she ordered her ship to tear out its own heart.

December 2399
Six Weeks After the Accident

Light spilled from the screen as the data scrolled by, but it brought no true illumination. Curled up on a comfy chair in a corner of the expansive XO’s quarters, Cortez’s iron-grip on the PADD hadn’t loosened in hours. Diagnostic records and accident reports flew before her gaze, both with their raw data and the following analysis, but shadows remained.

They were not dispersed when Valance appeared at the bedroom door and gave a quiet, ‘Computer, low lighting. How long have you been up?’

Cortez blinked at even the faint glow from the ceiling. ‘What time is it?’

‘Just before 0600. You need sleep, not to obsess.’

‘An accident killed four people and decommissioned our ship. No, an attack. That sounds like something I should obsess about.’ Cortez did not look up.

Valance scrubbed her weary face with a hand. ‘We’ll find the people responsible. You’re fixating on the technical part of the attack itself; that’s different. It’s their fault, not yours.’

‘The detonation was on Deck 6, Section 11, immediately adjacent to an EPS junction on Section 10.’ Cortez launched herself to her feet even as Valance walked past, heading for the replicator. ‘That should have overloaded an entire network of EPS conduits, at best disabling the power grid of the entire ship but more likely causing critical breaches across half the hull. We would have lost the ship in seconds.’

Valance stopped before the replicator, keeping her back to her. ‘I know,’ she said at length. ‘I read the reports.’

‘So why,’ Cortez pressed on, ‘had plasma flow been rerouted away from that junction?’

‘Raktajino,’ Valance mumbled to the replicator, but she didn’t pick up the materialising mug right away, still not turning back. ‘We know why. Baranel was running maintenance.’

‘I gave Baranel the night off for the party, and he wasn’t scheduled to tweak that section anyway -’

‘Computer records showed his authorisation on the plasma rerouting before the detonation -’

‘Minutes before -’

‘Are you actually suggesting the reason our ship didn’t immediately blow up is foul play -’

‘…and if I were covering my tracks, then who better to pin this oh so convenient unscheduled maintenance activity on than the dead engineer?’

‘Isa!’ The mug steamed on the replicator pad beside Valance. Perhaps a dose of caffeine waking her up more would have softened the snap, but now her voice rang out across the gloomy quarters, enough to jerk Cortez upright. ‘I don’t know why you’re fixated with finding a further conspiracy or a reason for you to blame yourself, but you need to let this go.’

Cortez bit her lip. ‘A reason to blame myself,’ she echoed.

‘I don’t…’ Valance’s shoulders slumped with guilt. ‘I don’t think you’re being conspiratorial. I think you spent weeks – months – bleeding into the problems with the ship’s power distribution network to fix it. To stop an accident like the original one from happening again. And then this happened. You understand that they’re not the same thing, right?’

‘Yes,’ Cortez said tersely. ‘I get how a terrorist attack by the Rebirth isn’t the same as fight that went badly, or a mistake by the engineering team. That’s not what this about.’

The weight of guilt increased, and Valance softened. ‘Then explain it to me.’

Cortez blew out her cheeks. ‘You can blame this on the Rebirth. Let responsibility fall with them and the security on Starbase Bravo. You’re the XO; your responsibility is the crew and the mission. Your responsibility is moving forward.’ She brandished the PADD. ‘But I’m the Chief Engineer. My responsibility is the ship; the literal ship. They killed our ship, and I still don’t understand how that happened, or why it happened the way it did. I’m supposed to let that go?’

‘You’re not supposed to stay up all night reading reports and studying data you’ve clocked a few hundred hours on already.’

‘You’re right.’ Cortez looked down at herself, at the crumpled uniform she was still wearing. ‘I’m supposed to do my job. So I’ll go do that. Right now.’

‘Isa, come on; your shift doesn’t start for a few hours…’

But Cortez didn’t wait, stomping out of the rooms and into the brighter light of the corridors of the officers’ quarters section. It was indeed before the crossover of shifts, with only the morning larks up and about. Looking like she’d slept as little as she had, Cortez ignored the glances as she shuffled between them for a turbolift.

Main Engineering was winding down in the back end of the gamma shift. The new engine room was cavernous compared to its predecessor, though Cortez had served on the Odyssey and at San Francisco Fleet Yards and was accustomed to big ships; the new Endeavour was large, but far from the biggest ship in the fleet. Multiple levels still looked down on her, and with them the eyes of her team, wary at their chief’s arrival at this hour.

‘Carry on.’ She waved a hand at the distant, apprehensive shape of Forrester, who awkwardly returned to her duties. Thus left alone, she found an unattended alcove, seat, and console far from the entrance, and huddled down to work. If she’d gone to her office, people might have thought they could talk to her. Here, she could be overlooked.

It took another hour before anyone approached, and at the sound of footsteps, Cortez braced herself to dismiss Forrester. But then she heard the gait was heavier, and the low, rumbling voice of the new arrival made her hesitate.

‘Lita for your thought, boss, or whatever the human saying is.’ Chief Lann eased into the swivel chair beside her.

Cortez didn’t look up. ‘Just getting an early start, Chief.’

‘Nah. You look like you’ve been here all night. But I know you haven’t, and the whole rest of the team’s being squirrelly, so…’

She gave him a sidelong look. ‘So you drew the short straw in checking up on me?’

‘Short straw? Just the perks of rank and experience, boss. I’ve pestered scarier and more uptight Chief Engineers than you. And by the way Forrester’s studying you like a bomb that’s about to go off, and the general way Adupon looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm if you give him even the slightest amount more stress, I don’t see who else is gonna do it.’ He put his elbow on the console, head on his hand. ‘You’re not sleeping.’

Cortez leaned back in the chair with a sigh, returning her gaze to the same scrolling data she’d studied all night. ‘Come the start of the shift, I’ve got to look at the most efficient way of laying down a whole planetary defence shield on Nerillian. Something they can maintain and power themselves.’

His eyes flickered to the screen. ‘That’s not what you’re working on.’

‘Because my shift hasn’t started yet. So I’m getting on with other things first.’

‘The accident.’

‘The attack. We need to stop acting like it wasn’t people trying to kill us. Actually killing us.’ But he didn’t say anything, and her jaw tightened as the silence stretched out between them. ‘We stood there and watched it happen.’

‘We stood there and stopped the warp core from going critical until the evacuation was complete and the pods were out of the blast radius,’ Lann pointed out. ‘We weren’t helpless bystanders. Is this the bit where you need telling you did everything right, everything in your power?’

‘And we still lost people. Baranel and the others. But it’s not just that; something’s missing here, and nobody else seems to want to think about it.’

Lann sat forward, hands on his knees, big shoulders hunching up. ‘I don’t think that’s it, boss.’ At her uncertain look, he grimaced. ‘I told you a few weeks ago how engineers are the most spiritual people in Starfleet. How we bleed and sweat into the ship and make ourselves a part of it.’

‘I know, I know; so we think we have control over things we don’t,’ she sighed. ‘This isn’t about control -’

‘No, it’s simpler than that. Bastards got your ship.’ At her startled look, he ran a hand along the metal rim of the console. ‘Everyone else views what happened as a lucky escape; an attack that was so much less than it could have been. One system back online and we’d have maybe lost the whole ship in the blink of an eye, everyone dead. They’re busy thanking their stars it wasn’t worse, and picking themselves back up again with the new mission, the new Endeavour. Guess I can, too; I never really served on the old one.’

She squinted at him. ‘What are you saying?’

‘To them, the ship means the crew as much as, or more than, the deck, the bulkheads, the system. To them, the things which really matter got out in one piece, or near enough.’

‘Of course I’m happy the worst was averted -’

‘Course you are, boss.’ Lann gave a lopsided grimace of a smile. ‘But what you need isn’t to understand the attack, or find some hidden piece of the puzzle. You just think so because that gives some rationality what you feel.’

Cortez made a face. ‘What do you think that is?’

‘We lost people, and we had a service for them, and a drink in their memory; we left space to mourn them, and we’re going to keep missing them and giving that sad nod or maybe a little wistful smile when we remember them. That’s allowed. Normal. Healthy, even.’ He shrugged. ‘But like I said: bastards got your ship. You need to mourn your ship.’

She stared at him. ‘That’s…’ But her voice trailed off. ‘That sounds crazy.’

He got to his feet. ‘Maybe. Engineers are a bit crazy. But if it’s what you need, let yourself be crazy, boss.’

Cortez looked from him to the scrolling data feed. Then stood. ‘I’m going to shower. Get some breakfast. You clocking off with alpha shift?’

Lann straightened with a smirk. ‘No way, boss. Got to present you my proposals for how we can best plant a whole damn planetary shield on a rock like Nerillian so you can take credit for my bright ideas with the diplomats, right?’ He jerked his head to the door. ‘First things first, though. You definitely gotta shower.’

‘…security sweeps of the system seem to be proceeding well.’ Were it not for the occasional flickers, the holographic projection of Representative Kerok of the Romulan Star Empire was high-enough quality that Rourke might have believed he was sat across the table. Endeavour’s diplomatic facilities included a conference room with state-of-the-art communications systems, allowing Hale to host all manner of meetings without anyone needing to set foot aboard.

‘We’ll know if it’s going well,’ said Rourke slowly, ‘if the D’varian makes another appearance and is detected. They might be dancing in front of us right now, and if they’ve fixed their cloak, then we’d never know.’

‘They aren’t,’ Kerok said coolly. ‘The cloak is too old for the ship to remain hidden from the sustained search patterns of our most advanced sensor systems.’

‘Your sensor systems,’ Rourke pointed out. ‘I understand your reticence in sharing knowledge on cloaking devices, but it hardly leaves me confident that Endeavour and our smallcraft are doing anything but going for prolonged walks.’

‘Then perhaps you should leave the protection of Nerillian to the Tesore, Captain.’

Hale lifted a hand. ‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ she said gently. ‘If Vokden intends to correct the error in his cloaking device and return, that will take some time, surely? You warned, Representative Kerok, that he would struggle to acquire the necessary components.’ At Kerok’s nod, she pressed on. ‘That makes our security measures right now a precaution in case Vokden does something rash, and a demonstration of our commitment to Nerillian. Captain Rourke?’

He leaned forward. ‘My staff are drawing up proposals for installing a planetary shield. It looks promising, if they can crack the issue of powering it with Nerillian’s current infrastructure.’

‘This would take care of the safety of Nerillian itself,’ said Hale, ‘but not its mineral shipments. An aggressor could still choke off the world. Does the Star Empire have any proposals of how to help here?’

‘I’ve been reflecting on this,’ said Kerok. ‘The Star Empire is prepared to negotiate new trade agreements with Nerillian, for itself and on behalf of some of our protectorates. Bring the world back into the fold of the Romulan people, economically. It would thus be in everyone’s interests, including the navy’s, to see the shipments protected. This would require, of course, for the Federation to help with the industrial expansion discussed on our last meeting planetside.’

Rourke frowned. ‘So we hand over a planetary shield and equipment to improve Nerillian’s mineral refining processes and the Star Empire invests by… benefiting from that industrial expansion?’

Kerok tilted his head. ‘Trade with Nerillian is not the most efficient prospect for the Star Empire,’ he pointed out. ‘Its benefits are more cultural than economic. Would you suggest an alternative to these displaced Romulans forging closer bonds with the rightful Romulan government?’

Hale gave Rourke a warning look, and he stayed silent as she pressed on. ‘This would be an investment from everyone in Nerillian’s development. It also defangs the Rebirth Movement if Nerillian becomes more independent. So I would like to see Vokden truly dealt with before we leave.’

‘I have a compromise, then, on the matter of detection.’ Kerok’s projection leaned forward. ‘We establish a comms buoy in the system. You and your craft route all sensor readings to the buoy, to be forwarded to the Tesore. We can study your findings for any sign of the D’varian.’ It was his turn to lift a hand as Rourke bristled. ‘Strip your readings down of all non-essential data; give us navigational feeds only. We will take on the computational burden while you can scale back the intensity of your scans. I know this is not ideal…’

‘I’ll take it,’ Rourke said unhappily. ‘If only because I know you’ll never help us pierce a cloak.’

‘We must all bow to protocol at the end of the day, Captain,’ said Kerok, and Rourke softened at this faint but bold suggestion the diplomat was acting as freely as he could within constraints he did not necessarily agree with. ‘But if we have an accord, this brings me to one last question.’ He straightened at the nods. ‘This will sound impertinent, but I will be direct: What is Doctor Karlan T’Sann doing aboard?’

Rourke raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re right. That is impertinent.’

‘T’Sann is a known collaborator with the Republic and Reunification movements, at best. At worst he has plundered Romulan territory, new and old, for our property and whisked it back to the Daystrom Institute, regardless of any claim my people would have to their own heritage.’

‘And you’ve just… innocently come across evidence of his presence?’ said Rourke.

‘He’s a person of interest to naval intelligence,’ Kerok said simply. ‘And we know he was operating in the region on your newly-returned runabout. In the spirit of cooperation, we would be reassured to know he does not intend further assaults on Romulan history.’

‘You won’t tell us how to find a pirate,’ Rourke rumbled, ‘and you’re going to get resources at a bargain price from Nerillian while the Federation gives hand-outs for nothing in return, but we still have to account for the behaviour of a Federation citizen you’ve been spying on -’

‘Captain.’ Hale’s voice was sharp. ‘Indignation on matters of principle does us little good here. Representative Kerok has a right to reassurance on this matter. It would be deeply inappropriate if Endeavour’s mission was being used for expeditions the Star Empire considers theft.’ Rourke stiffened, and she turned to Kerok. ‘Doctor T’Sann has a lot of contacts in the region. He has helped us negotiate for up-to-date starcharts from the Friskal Group.’

Kerok at least seemed mollified by this, but Rourke’s scowl remained for the rest of the conversation, and didn’t fade when the holographic communication ended. He looked across the table at Hale. ‘You lied to him.’

‘Evasion would have been either ineffective, or if Kerok found out he wouldn’t see the distinction,’ she mused, jaw tight. ‘But this does put us in a bit of a pickle, yes.’ Her gaze came to his. ‘T’Sann will need to sit on his findings for a while.’

‘Until we’re done here?’

‘I was thinking months. Long enough to obscure exactly when he found the Koderex.’

Rourke put his hands on the table. ‘He’s talked about getting assistance from DI experts. I’ll get him to hold off; if the Romulans know he’s here, who knows how they’re monitoring him. We have to contain knowledge of its existence.’

She nodded as he stood. ‘I’ll start to move through back channels at the Institute. Get them ready to clamp down on this. Don’t worry,’ she added at his look. ‘I won’t tell them what it’s for. There’ll be enough degrees of separation it won’t tip off the Empire. But we do have one further problem: we can’t stop T’Sann.’

‘He owes us,’ Rourke pointed out.

‘This is his life’s work. Sometimes that overrides personal debts.’

It was with a scowl that he left her, heading straight for a turbolift and the archaeology laboratory. The facility had been given almost entirely over to the scanning and restoration of the files from the Koderex’s database, and he found Ensign Beckett at his post with T’Sann himself sat across at the main computer control bank.

Beckett straightened with an oblivious shine of enthusiasm, so obviously enamoured was he with his work. ‘Captain! What can we do for you?’

Rourke kept his expression guarded. ‘Give us a minute, Nate? I need to talk to the doctor.’

T’Sann’s eyebrows raised as a suspicious Beckett left, but the archaeologist pushed back on his chair. ‘That’s not a good sign, Captain.’

‘What are your plans with this data, Doctor? Once you’re done with all this, I mean.’

‘Dispatch it to the DI,’ said T’Sann, eyebrows still raised. ‘Begin publishing.’

‘And the diplomatic implications?’

‘Are problems for diplomats. The Federation doesn’t recognise any Romulan government as the legitimate successor to the institutions that built the Koderex and wrote the knowledge in her archives.’ T’Sann shrugged. ‘You could argue that Vulcan has a greater claim, seeing as the Koderex never made it to the old Star Empire’s birth anyway.’

‘I don’t think that’s a distinction any Romulan government is going to care about.’

‘Then we’re truly entering the realm of politics rather than legitimacy, aren’t we?’ He stabbed a finger at the console, the holographic display above still trawling through the countless files to check and, where possible, restore integrity. ‘But I don’t think you came here to argue about this.’

‘No,’ Rourke admitted. ‘Kerok knows you’re aboard and up to something. You can’t let on to the Star Empire that you’ve found the Koderex here and now, as part of Endeavour’s mission.’

T’Sann blinked. ‘That sounds like a problem you should have seen coming. Or did you expect us not to find anything when you gave the mission your blessing?’

‘I didn’t think you’d return to us directly under the nose of a Romulan warbird actively scanning every inch of its immediate surroundings. It hasn’t given us a shred of deniability,’ Rourke countered. ‘If the Empire finds the truth, it’s going to undermine everything Endeavour is trying to achieve out here.’

Now T’Sann’s expression folded into a frown, and he sat up. ‘That’s awfully bold of you, Captain, considering mere months ago you were prepared to wildly antagonise the Star Empire for what you deemed a worthy cause. You killed Imperial citizens and violated their space. Now we’re supposed to keep the Empire happy?’

‘Now we have to move forward and build bridges.’

‘Or it was worth it when it suited Starfleet, but trying to restore foundational knowledge of an entire culture is something I need to sit on until it doesn’t make you and Hale look bad?’ T’Sann pushed himself to his feet. Rourke had always thought of him as a mild-mannered academic type, but the movement reminded him of the sinewy strength, the quiet presence of his Vulcan frame.

Rourke drew a calming breath. ‘That’s an over-simplification,’ he said, realising the situation needed diffusing. ‘All we ask is that you sit with this for a while.’

‘For how long? Six months? A year? When will it be convenient for Starfleet?’

‘When Starfleet says so.’

Rourke turned sharply at the new voice to see Graelin stood at the main doors, a sheepish Beckett next to him. The Chief Science Officer advanced, adjusting his cuffs before he pressed on. ‘These datachips and thus their contents are, after all, Starfleet property.’

T’Sann stopped short. ‘The arrangement was that Starfleet would assist my research, which is sanctioned by the Daystrom Institute.’

‘Was it?’ Graelin’s eyebrows innocently hit his hairline, and he moved to the main display. With the sweep of a hand, the analysis from the Koderex disappeared for a fresh set of documents. ‘I think you’ll find that tracing the ship itself began with the acquisition of the transponder – by Lieutenant Kharth, a Starfleet officer.’

T’Sann’s chin tilted up. ‘My transponder -’

‘It was then stored and studied on the former USS Endeavour, Starfleet property. You’ll find our records list it as such. Your expedition on the King Arthur these past weeks, likewise, has been a Starfleet expedition following up such a Starfleet lead, with your civilian expert advice deeply appreciated, Doctor.’ Graelin flicked his fingers to expand one document in particular that Rourke recognised as research authorisation from Starfleet Science. ‘Meaning everything acquired on that mission is Starfleet property.’

‘That’s…’ T’Sann worked his jaw. ‘If the origin point of your legitimacy is the transponder, I purchased it on Teros before it was stolen from me by the Rebirth Movement. Lieutenant Kharth’s acquisition doesn’t transfer ownership.’

‘I’m sorry, Doctor, I don’t understand.’ Graelin frowned with fake confusion. ‘You have records confirming you acquired the transponder of a vessel of the exodus fleet on Teros?’

‘I… it was acquired as junk from a trader who didn’t know what they had; it wasn’t fully authenticated until…’

‘…until it was on Endeavour,’ Graelin finished. ‘You have no right to do anything with this data, Doctor T’Sann.’

T’Sann rounded on Rourke. ‘This wasn’t our agreement. I helped you on your little Tkon wild goose chase, and in return, you were going to help me with this.’

Rourke steeled his expression as he folded his arms across his chest. ‘I didn’t agree to let you throw chaos at our diplomatic operation. Be reasonable.’

T’Sann again tried to speak but failed to find the words. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out the door.

In his wake, Beckett shrank in on himself. ‘This isn’t right.’

‘That’ll be all, Ensign,’ Rourke said firmly. But as the ensign left, too, his eyes landed on Graelin, and he waited until they were alone before he spoke. ‘That definitely wasn’t in the agreement I made with T’Sann.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Graelin allowed with an exaggerated shrug. ‘Your agreement was lacking. I suppose because of the nature of the crisis. And Commander Airex didn’t properly take the transponder into Starfleet custody after Teros – but he didn’t not do that.’

‘You altered our records?’

‘No.’ Graelin now looked indignant. ‘When this Endeavour launched and it became clear you were going to honour your agreement with T’Sann, I contacted Commander Airex and asked him to clarify the status of the transponder. With recommendations, yes, for Starfleet to better protect itself. And I made sure the documentation and planning for the King Arthur’s mission was robust.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘I thought you’d complain,’ he said simply. ‘T’Sann was taking you at your word and didn’t double-check anything. If all went well, he didn’t need to know. If we needed to contain something as obviously volatile as the discovery of the Koderex, this gave us options.’ He met Rourke’s gaze levelly. ‘You might not like it, Captain, but I acted to protect the mission. With or without your permission. Circumstances have just proven me right, that’s all.’

Rourke bit his lip. He wanted to call Graelin a snake, not for turning on T’Sann now so much as preparing to do so all along. But Graelin had indeed just been vindicated, and frustration in his belly made an unpleasant cocktail with the guilt at his own hypocrisy.

‘If he’ll cooperate once he calms down,’ Rourke rumbled at last, ‘let him have access to the data. If he wants to spend the next year studying this in secret, I won’t stop him.’

‘Of course,’ said Graelin simply. ‘This is, after all, the find of the century.’ But when Rourke turned for the door, he pressed on in that superior tone which had always made Rourke’s teeth itch. ‘Oh, and, Captain? You’re welcome.’

October 2399
Six Minutes After the Accident

‘Stay put.’ Tar’lek Arys often sounded like he was trying too hard to be taken seriously, his sternness at odds with his earnest, youthful sincerity. But for once his voice held no waver.

Nate Beckett still tried to sit forward. He’d been sat with his back to the bar for a while now, and it felt like he should be doing something. ‘I’m telling you, I’m -’

Arys put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You hit your head. I don’t think it’s too bad, and Doctor Sadek’s seeing to a few more serious scrapes. But you should stay put til she gets to us.’

The main lounge remained a low hum of scared activity. Over the buzz of murmuring, uncertain officers, Beckett could hear the twin voices of Lieutenant Kharth and Commander Graelin taking charge. The latter wasn’t giving instructions any Starfleet officer worth their salt needed reminding of when the orders were to shelter in place in a crisis, but it was still his job to repeat them. It was Kharth who went from group to group, checking people by name, seeing who needed assistance and who needed to sit tight.

‘Can’t believe,’ Beckett drawled, ‘that I called her a total bitch.’

Arys gave him a stricken look. ‘Doctor Sadek?’

‘No! Lieutenant Kharth!’

The stricken expression moved through relief to guilt. ‘I don’t – is this the time to try be funny, Beckett?’

‘Stop sounding like my father. It’s always time to be funny. If the ship’s going to blow up, I’m going out with a joke.’

Arys made a tsk noise. ‘The ship’s not going to blow up.’

‘All hands, this is the XO. All non-essential staff, report to the escape pods. This is a precautionary measure. Repeat, all non-essential staff to the escape pods.’

The world didn’t quite swim before Beckett’s eyes, but it did gently paddle. He laughed. ‘See?’

Arys stood, gaze sweeping around the lounge as a fresh wave of tension rippled across it. Beckett watched him catch Kharth’s eye, watched a wordless exchange of nods and gestures pass between them where Arys pointed down to Beckett. Then the Andorian reached down to help him to his feet. ‘Come on.’

‘I can stand,’ Beckett insisted, and promptly used the burly Arys to help himself do so. ‘You should be off helping someone in real distress.’

‘Emergency training protocols dictate that in a situation like this, help for those who need serious assistance will be arranged by the officer in charge. Otherwise, personnel are to aid those immediately around them to evacuate. Or we’d just be fighting over the people with a broken leg and leaving the idiot ensign with a possible concussion to stagger off in the wrong direction on his own,’ Arys reeled off, slinging one of Beckett’s arms over his shoulder to join the slow but steady flow of crew heading out of the lounge.

‘Perfect recall of the protocols. I remember “idiot ensign” being mentioned, maybe with a picture of my face.’ Beckett frowned as they moved, aware with each step how unsteady he was, leaning more and more on Arys’s firm frame.

‘See, Beckett? That’s why I can say the ship’s not going to blow up.’ Arys gritted his teeth, levity distinctly forced. ‘You said you were going out with a joke, but you’re just not funny.’

December 2399
Seven Weeks After the Accident

‘It’s completely disingenuous, not to mention a total affront to academic freedom!’ Beckett jabbed his coffee cup across the small round table amid the hustle and bustle of the Safe House, almost spilling it in his frustration.

‘Academic freedom isn’t and shouldn’t be anyone’s top priority right now,’ Arys said, casting the mug a wary glance as hot coffee was almost hurled over him. ‘The captain’s right. Our focus should be the good we can do for Nerillian, and if the Koderex is going to throw scandal into the mix…’

‘See, I knew you’d side with the captain.’ Beckett made a face. ‘Will you change your tune if I tell you this was Commander Graelin’s doing?’

He watched Arys hesitate, watched his expression flicker with a multitude of competing emotions as the opportunity arose to complain about Commander Graelin at the cost of seeming either transparent or hypocritical. ‘But the captain’s not overridden him, right? So he agrees?’ he said at last.

Beckett sighed. ‘Come on, Tar’lek. Graelin’s been a political animal and screwed over Doctor T’Sann, who helped us with the Tkon and has only been decent to either of us. Bitch with me about it a little.’

Now Arys frowned. ‘You’ve sorely misunderstood our dynamic if you think I bitch with you.’

They were both very firm that they were not friends. And still, in the weeks since they’d huddled in the same escape pod together, watching through the porthole at the tiny, distant spark of the warp core detonating not quite far enough away from the crippled Endeavour, there had been a truce between them. Sometimes that truce included catching coffee together on lunch breaks.

Entirely unlike friends.

‘It’s a perfect opportunity for you to feel morally superior to the senior staffer who’s still more lucky with the ladies than you are. Or, lady. Singular,’ Beckett pointed out. ‘I’ve got to commend you, though.’

‘Oh?’ Arys looked suspicious.

‘Elsa’s having lunch with Thawn and you’ve not looked over longingly once.’

‘It helps,’ said Arys with an unusually wry flicker of self-awareness, ‘to sit with my back to them. You keep looking, though.’

‘Yeah, with annoyance. Not longing.’

‘I’m dealing with it.’ Arys sipped his tea and shrugged. ‘Lieutenant Lindgren is welcome to spend time with whomsoever she chooses, and if that’s Commander Graelin, then… I’m in no position to pass judgement.’

‘Except for when you pass judgement.’ Beckett scratched his nose. ‘Question: did you ever, I don’t know. Actually ask her out?’

Arys hesitated. ‘Not in so many words.’

‘Downright fancy way you’ve got of saying “no, I was too chickenshit,” there, pal.’

‘And look where it’s got me,’ said Arys, irritated at Beckett and sanguine about his situation all at once. ‘Don’t you have HT training, anyway? See if all that practice has knocked your scores up a micron?’

It was Beckett’s turn to scowl. ‘Hey, I’m within required standards.’

‘Barely. If you sneezed at the wrong time in training you’d get made ineligible.’ Arys tilted his head. ‘I didn’t think you’d want this. Not after Jhorkesh.’

‘Learning experience.’ He hadn’t wanted to go to training, but he wanted to talk about Jhorkesh even less, so Beckett drained his coffee and hopped to his feet. ‘Guess I’ll just have to hold in all those catastrophic sneezes.’

Arys sighed, finishing his own drink and standing. ‘Fine. I should debrief Whitaker.’

‘God, that man’s pretty,’ Beckett groaned as they headed for the door. ‘I know he knows it, and I know he’s a total arse, but he’s pretty.’

‘On the list of things I think about Whitaker, “pretty” isn’t up there.’

‘It should be. It might make dealing with him more tolerable.’

‘You have the luxury of leering from a distance. I have to listen when he opens his mouth and unmitigated arrogance comes out.’

‘And you thought I was bad.’ They stepped out the doors, bound for different headings, and Beckett clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Catch up later, pal.’

On the old Endeavour, the Hazard Team’s facilities had been nothing more than a reallocated section of the Security Department’s offices. With the Obena-class enjoying a minor refit at Starbase Bravo before they’d shipped out, Captain Rourke and Lieutenants Rhade and Kharth had hammered out the team’s requirements, bestowing them with more expansive facilities, particularly for training.

Now the locker room was big enough for both the reformed Alpha Team and, once it was past its embryonic point on the development stage, the Beta Team. With more time to focus on collecting the right personnel, and the loss of Petty Officer Baranel in the accident, Lieutenant Rhade had changed the setup he’d inherited from Kharth and Valance’s ad hoc establishment. He’d split his seasoned specialists across the two teams, retaining Kowalski and T’Kalla on Alpha while fleshing out the ranks with more young officers who could bring more versatile skills to a crisis.

Athaka and Forrester, now newly-minuted junior lieutenants, slipped in as technical and weaponry specialists. Zherul had been picked up as the new medic. And then Beckett as the science specialist, joining his roommate and drinking buddies for reasons that slightly escaped him.

He knew he shouldn’t have been so self-conscious as he slid to his locker. He could still clap Athaka on the shoulder as he passed and make his roommate jump; Lieutenant Rhade had to be choosing to develop talent and buoy up weak spots with the seasoned members, rather than expecting his team to perform out of the gate. It still felt a little like he was back at the Academy when he cracked his locker open and began to change.

‘What do you think we’ve got today?’ said Forrester levelly, already halfway into her training gear.

‘I don’t know,’ said Zherul, ‘but I’m going to cry if it’s basic marksmanship again.’

‘Yeah, we’ll leave that for Nate.’

‘Hey!’ Beckett hated that he sounded more petulant than indignant. ‘Athaka’s bottom of the rankings.’

‘Athaka’s the Technical Specialist,’ Forrester pointed out with a shrug. ‘He does fine.’

Beckett was saved by Chief T’Kalla sticking her head out from behind her open locker door. ‘What you call “basic marksmanship” is teaching you all to work with us as a team,’ she said in that reproachful voice seasoned enlisted reserved for young officers who outranked them. ‘We have a way to go on that.’

‘I’ll get there,’ Athaka said with only the faintest whine. ‘But thanks for throwing me under the combustion chamber there, Nate.’

The door to the training room slid open, and out stepped Chief Kowalski in full combat gear. ‘Look alive, people. I want to get started.’

Forrester looked up and down the locker room. ‘Where’s the lieutenant?’

‘Where he needs to be. T, Forrester, Athaka, Zherul – you’re with me. Beckett, the L-T wants you to meet him down in Holodeck 3 once you’re suited up.’

‘Well,’ said Beckett as he hopped in-place to try to get his leg through the jumpsuit. ‘That’s not a good sign.’

‘Remedial classes or teacher’s pet?’ wondered Forrester, who was sardonic to a fault but apparently knew when to pluck the stinger from her attacks.

‘Don’t think that makes it easier for us, Forrester,’ warned Kowalski. ‘Today we’re doing breaching actions.’

That made sense, Beckett ruminated, as a drill the team could run through with fewer numbers. But it didn’t help his bubbling nerves as he finished gearing up and headed for the holodeck in this section, close enough to be almost always reserved for Security or Hazard Team training.

He found Lieutenant Rhade stood in the centre of the criss-crossing yellow lines on black, no program started, no weapons in sight, and Beckett’s gut twisted as the Hazard Team leader straightened when he arrived. ‘Ensign.’

‘Sir.’ Beckett tried to not fidget. ‘Sir, I know my marksmanship scores need to be up a bit, but I don’t need one-on-one training to -’

Rhade lifted a hand to cut him off. ‘Hold up. This isn’t about your scores. Your scores are fine, Ensign, and have only improved since we’ve started serious training. You understand that’s what training is for, yes? To make you better, with the expectation that you won’t excel at the start?’

He’d been told the same thing by instructors at the Academy, and always left with the sneaking suspicion they’d been lying and judging him for most of his time there. ‘Then what’s this about?’

‘I was surprised when you said you wanted to join the team. Based on your records, it didn’t seem like your style. But I’ve been impressed with how you’ve risen to the occasion these past months, and I wanted to give you a chance. So far, you’ve shown to me you do have the aptitude – you just needed guidance and focus.’

Beckett winced. ‘Don’t need to be a telepath to sense the but, sir.’

‘But I figure you won’t want to admit to the team what you think is a weakness. So we’re doing this next bit of training together, just you and me.’ Rhade gave a tight, reassuring smile at the wave of tension Beckett knew had to be emanating from him. ‘You’ve more experience than the other officers.’

‘About five seconds’ more,’ he pointed out. ‘And I didn’t exactly comport myself stunningly.’

‘But you know what it feels like to be under fire for real. That’s something I can train them for forever, and it’ll never be enough until it actually happens.’ Rhade sighed. ‘You’ve experienced it, you’ve struggled with it. And I know you’re afraid of it. It’s not some nebulous monster to you, it’s a reality you’ve lived, and one you think you didn’t handle very well.’

‘I froze up mid-firefight when I should have been watching the captain’s back. Tell me how that’s not a failure.’

‘Because there’s no benefit in calling it a failure and writing it off. Writing you off.’ Beckett didn’t much like Rhade’s attentive, insightful gaze, but the lieutenant spoke on. ‘It’s an experience you had. It’s one you’ll have to grapple with again if you’re to be a member of the Hazard Team.’ He shrugged. ‘You’re not one step behind your peers. You’re one step ahead, because like I said: you know the monster. You know the real fear.’

‘What is this, a holodeck pep-talk?’

‘No, this is training. We’ll be doing training here. It’ll never be like the real thing, but I think it’ll remind you enough for you to work through your feelings, instead of ignore them. With no senior officers to let down, or peers you think you can’t show weakness in front of. Just you and me, Nate.’ Rhade brought the reassuring smile back. ‘I’ve been where you were. And I know the way through. Are you ready?’

‘Oh,’ said Beckett breezily. ‘Absolutely not.’

Rhade’s smile widened. ‘The right answer. That’s how you get ready.’ Then he sobered, and his eyes turned upward. ‘Computer, begin program.’

Cyrod Brigan was diminutive in stature but that made him no less impassable a threshold guardian in the Diplomatic Service offices. ‘Everyone says it’s urgent, Lieutenant,’ he drawled to Kharth, arms folded across his chest. ‘But the First Secretary’s not to be disturbed.’

‘By anyone?’ Kharth challenged. ‘Or just me?’

‘Is it something I can help you with?’

‘Can you overrule her decision to bury the greatest find in Romulan history?’

Brigan made a face. ‘Because provocation like that makes me itch to ignore her instructions and let you go misrepresent the situation. Ownership of the artifact was a Starfleet decision, and the way I hear it, you’ve got a lot of work ahead of your scientists before you’ve found anything but an old pile of metal.’

‘If it’s so insignificant, then why the -’ She caught herself as he quirked an eyebrow, and exhaled slowly. ‘Okay, okay. Not your call. Can you tell her I want a moment when she’s free?’

‘I’ll put you on the list. Maybe think if you have something to say she hasn’t already considered. Righteous anger isn’t the same thing as being just plain right, Lieutenant.’

‘There’s not much about “right” in this universe. Only what you can win.’

‘And what you win is what you can convince other people to go along with,’ Brigan pointed out. ‘We done here?’

It wasn’t his fault, Kharth told herself, and so she left without further argument. Trying to challenge Hale over Endeavour’s seizure of the whole Koderex project had been an impulse she’d indulged on her way to the CIC. In truth, she didn’t have time for distractions.

This was plain enough by Dathan’s face when she arrived at the CIC, the Bajoran officer tense as she stood before the holographic projection of the system’s tactical map. ‘I was just about to send a search party.’

‘If it was that bad, you could have comm’d me,’ Kharth pointed out, padding to the display. ‘What’s up?’

‘Last night, we left a probe behind the seventh planet,’ said Dathan, reaching up to zoom the map in on the gas giant. ‘Commander Graelin identified it as a blind spot for our sensors at certain points of the lunar orbit. Perfect place for a ship with a damaged cloak to sneak up on us.’

‘Only for a limited time, surely.’

‘It’d be enough to get a more detailed scan of the system and our patrol routes. And it went dark twenty minutes ago.’ Dathan shrugged. ‘We thought we’d boosted its comms signal strength enough to compensate for the same distortions blinding our sensors, but maybe not. Harkon’s heading over there with the King Arthur to take a look.’

Kharth made a face as her eyes scanned the display. ‘Reroute the Black Knights as escort. We don’t want to jump at shadows, but if something’s there…’

‘Right. She’ll be feeding back to Arys.’ The minutiae of managing the patrol patterns and sensor sweeps was for the bridge to concern itself with, while the CIC only needed the findings – or the occasional judgement of a senior officer like Kharth. So they waited in a terse silence until Kharth shifted her weight.

‘You’re the analyst,’ she said at last. ‘Which means it’s your job to have one step back from everything and give advice, without falling down one way or another to make decisions.’

‘Good analysis includes knowing what to incorporate into advice and what to not,’ Dathan pointed out. ‘But go on.’

‘How does lying to the Romulan factions and withholding something like the Koderex strengthen the Federation’s capacity to help them? This feels like a short-sighted choice that might give us peace for now, but only cause anger later.’

Dathan shrugged. ‘To get to a later, you need to get through a now. But pithy wisdom aside,  I’ve found your stance on your people, if you’ll let me be blunt, odd, Kharth.’

Kharth tensed. ‘Odd?’

‘Romulans aren’t a coherent block any more and that’s ostensibly what you’ve wanted to try and fix by finding the Koderex – ultimately to give all the factions and splintered cultures a unifying touchstone to rediscover and explore together. But so long as the Star Empire and the Free State will fight anyone and each other to seize it, and the Republic is too weak to hold it against them, and the diaspora will be used as currency in the power exchanges, you’re trying to run before you can walk.’ Dathan shrugged. ‘The Koderex should just be a tool in what you want. So what do you want?’

Kharth bit her lip. ‘I want my people to be able to make their own choices again. I think the Federation should help with that, not make those choices for them.’

‘No, you want the underdogs of your people, the ones forgotten about in the Neutral Zone or fighting for self-governance in the Republic, to be able to make their own choices. Forget the Koderex; how do you empower them?’

‘Isn’t it policy of this diplomatic mission to right now cooperate with the Empire, even if it means giving them a foothold on planets like Nerillian?’

Dathan looked at her. ‘Like you said. I take one step back and give the analysis.’ But before Kharth could press her perspective, there was a beep at the display and a fresh data feed appeared around the hotspot marked at Nerillian VII. ‘It’s Harkon’s report.’

With a faint noise of frustration, Kharth turned. ‘Only debris of the probe. Something tells me that’s not an accident.’

‘Graelin’s analysis of our scans concludes it was destroyed with disruptor fire.’ Dathan sighed. ‘Looks like the D’varian was here.’

‘They must have made at least some modifications to their cloak to get that far without us detecting them, but either it’s incomplete or they’re not that confident if they jumped to a hiding spot to spy on us.’ Kharth grimaced. ‘How much could they have scanned the area in the last half-hour?’

‘Enough to fill in the details on our patrol movements in that time. This is a lot sooner a return than we expected, though.’

‘I know.’ Kharth’s jaw tightened. ‘We’ll shake up the patrol patterns. Notify the Tesore. I’m going to talk to the captain. This isn’t working.’

Rourke was in his ready room. For all the new Endeavour was larger, more opulent, and more comfortable than her predecessor in every way, the captain’s ready room remained stark and under-decorated. He still looked odd to Kharth behind the standard desk in this room in its standard configuration, and she wasn’t sure what would make it better – if his personal touch would fit, or if he would always look to her like he belonged in the ready room of a muscular warship like a Manticore. But then, she didn’t know how much she belonged on a beacon like this new ship, either.

‘I know,’ he grumbled when she came in. ‘Graelin told me. The bastard slunk in through the back, thumbed his nose at us, and jumped away.’

‘I think we need to accept the possibility that Vokden isn’t going to show his face while we’re here, sir,’ Kharth said simply. ‘We need alternatives.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know, Lieutenant.’

But he was colder than she’d expected, and she hesitated. ‘I came because I thought you and I are the two most-qualified people aboard to consider what’s next, sir. If I’m interrupting…’

‘You’re not interrupting.’ Rourke sat up. ‘Vokden needs dealing with.’

Again she paused. ‘Is that an agreement for us to discuss options?’ Their eyes met, and she frowned. ‘Or should we be discussing the targ in the room?’

‘What do you mean, Lieutenant?’

She swallowed. ‘I’m not here to argue about the Koderex, sir. I don’t know if you want to, or if you’re just expecting me to.’ There had been that moment of accord in the dying moments of the old ship, where he’d trusted her with the crew’s safety. But they had spent precious little time together since, in the chaotic aftermath and her expedition with the King Arthur, and again the unease between them had settled.

Rourke sighed and pushed back in his chair. ‘You don’t like what we’ve done. Cy told me you’d been down to see First Secretary Hale. You shouldn’t be taking issues like this to her directly, Lieutenant.’

‘I worked with her at Ephrath. She’s solicited my opinion on matters about Romulan diplomacy before. She -’ Kharth stopped herself with a frustrated hiss. ‘I wasn’t trying to disrespect the chain of command or go over your head, or anything like that, sir.’

He frowned. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t listen?’

‘Sir, do you want my honest opinion, or do you want us to grit our teeth and live with this situation and get back to discussing Vokden?’

Rourke sagged before her eyes, big shoulders slumping with obvious guilt. ‘I know this mission is personal for you.’

‘Yes, sir. The fate of the Romulan people as a whole and the diaspora in particular is personal for me.’ Frustration coiled in her gut at the implication she was unreasonably emotional, at the memory of his refusal to let her say goodbye to the people of Teros before Endeavour committed to the Federation’s latest abandonment of the refugees there. ‘But you seem set on treating me as an inconvenience because of this. I’m not a child who doesn’t understand politics, sir. I’m a Starfleet officer.’

Their eyes met, and she saw that glint in his gaze. It was the same he’d worn when he’d confronted her in the brig after she’d disobeyed his order to fire on the Erem. And while it didn’t fade, he softened, and gestured to the seat across the desk. ‘Let’s talk Vokden, then.’

He was trying. That was perhaps the worst part, Kharth thought as she sat down. He heard her every word and maybe even agreed with her, but it couldn’t shake the distrust. She’d sided against him, believably for her own people, and deep down her own captain thought she’d do the same thing again.

That made it even more difficult for her to say what was on her mind. ‘I’m worried that if we push ahead with the plan for Nerillian to secure its safety with trade deals with the Empire, all we’re doing is using Federation resources to make them an imperial satellite.’

Rourke grimaced. ‘The Empire is the one investing continuous resources into the former Neutral Zone. Starfleet won’t keep on sending patrol ships, and won’t be making protectorates of refugee worlds any time soon.’

‘I know. And I know we’re not at the point yet of arming these refugee worlds, so we can’t give them escort ships.’ Kharth hesitated. ‘I had a different idea. But I know it’s one with risks.’

Now Rourke’s gaze lit up with curiosity. ‘Then say it, and let’s hammer it out together, Lieutenant.’

That set a spark of warmth in her, a recollection of older times when they had chewed over strategic and tactical problems together – problems of people at their worst and most desperate. She gave a tight smile. ‘The Federation can’t give the guns to Nerillian. If the Star Empire does, it’s the beginning of the end for Nerillian’s independence. But those aren’t the only people in the region with weapons.’

‘The Republic can’t afford to commit to a world like Nerillian. And I’ll be damned if we invite the Fenris Rangers -’

‘I don’t mean them – but maybe them. Anyone. Anyone who’ll answer the call.’

‘What call?’

Kharth gave a tight, self-satisfied smile. ‘The call that goes out when we fund the bounty Nerillian is going to put on Vokden’s head.’

October 2399
One Week After the Accident

‘…and there’s no telling what happens next,’ Rourke grumbled as he tried to pace a hole in the office carpet on Starbase Bravo.

Valance pursed her lips as she watched. ‘Hale hasn’t been forthcoming?’

‘She’s back at the Qualor offices. Meetings we were supposed to host, or at least transport her to, still need attending.’ He knew he didn’t have to explain what else was on his mind; that if Hale proved she could conduct her mission without a Starfleet escort, the whole operation would be further undermined. ‘She’s in no position to help us.’

‘It’s early days yet.’

That was, Rourke thought bitterly, the sort of thing people said when they couldn’t summon anything more reassuring. ‘If Endeavour can’t be repaired…’

‘That’s not a possibility you should dwell on, Captain…’

He gave a bitter laugh. ‘If she’s decommissioned, I’m not your captain, Valance.’

She stood, the movement enough to make him stop pacing. ‘The admiral wouldn’t ask us here if the only thing to say was that the engineers are writing her off. That would have been a report sent to you directly. There’ll be more.’

‘Sure,’ said Rourke. ‘Autopsy reports tend to include cause of death. That’s the bit everyone gets really excited about.’ But the doors slid open, cutting off his maudlin ruminations – only for his stomach to tighten at the sight of Commander Lockhart, Admiral Beckett’s senior intelligence advisor, with no sign of the admiral.

‘That’s not a good sign,’ he said before he could stop himself.

Commander Lockhart had the self-respect to look only moderately insulted. ‘Vice Admiral Beckett asked me to handle this meeting, for reasons which will become apparent. Please, have a seat.’

Valance settled back down, but Rourke took a moment to stomp before he sat next to her, arms folded across his chest. ‘How’s my damn ship?’

Lockhart slid behind the desk, expression neutral in a studied way. She was more analyst, he supposed, than field operative. ‘I’m sorry, sir. We’ve received the final assessment from the repair team. The damage of the initial detonation, in conjunction with the damage from the Endeavour’s proximity to the ejected warp core when it overloaded, has been too severe. Their recommendation is that the ship be decommissioned.’

It was just a ship. That was what he’d told himself for days; just metal and engines, not the flesh and blood of the vast, vast majority of crew he’d successfully evacuated, whose escape pods he’d successfully protected by delaying the warp core’s detonation as long as he had. It was just a thing.

The news still clattered against the edges as it fell down the hollow space inside of himself he’d prepared for just this occasion.

Valance rallied before him, leaning forward as she noticed the things he’d missed as he kept a grip on himself. ‘You didn’t ask us here only for that news, Commander.’

‘No,’ Lockhart admitted. ‘They’ve confirmed the cause: as was suspected, an explosive device was planted aboard Endeavour, at a plasma manifold on Deck 6, Section 11. Its explosion ruptured the manifold, which caused the hull breach and further overloads. The only reason this didn’t cause a series of cascading failures and overloads along the EPS grid is because the manifolds on Sections 9 through 10 had been taken offline.’

‘Offline?’ Valance leaned forward. ‘Why were they taken offline?’

‘What we’ve recovered of the computer records, damaged as they are, is that one Petty Officer 2nd Class Baranel, an engineering specialist, was conducting maintenance at that time. It looks like it was scheduled last-minute, but it’s incredibly lucky.’ Lockhart shrugged. ‘It saved the ship.’

‘Commander Cortez didn’t say anything about Baranel doing maintenance that night,’ Valance pressed.

‘If you’ll forgive me, Commander Cortez might have been the Chief Engineer, but she’s not been part of the repair team,’ Lockhart pointed out. ‘And Petty Officer Baranel was killed in the detonation, so he can’t explain for a last-minute scheduling.’

‘Who the hell planted a bomb on my ship?’ said Rourke, trying to not sound too brusque in the face of Valance’s questions or the discussion of Baranel, but the question had begun to burn in him. ‘And how?’

‘I have some answers there, sir,’ Lockhart said, brightening at the prospect of providing more than questions. She reached for the console to bring up a holo-projection of an intelligence report. ‘Last night, our field office on Qualor picked up a transmission from somewhere in the RNZ. The origin point was obscured, but it was intended for Starfleet to intercept it.’ At the tap of a finger, the recording played.

A vice had settled around Rourke’s throat the moment the bomb went off, and now he felt it tighten. On the display before them appeared a Romulan face he didn’t recognise in non-descript clothing. And by the time the message finished, the vice’s grip was unyielding. ‘The Rebirth Movement,’ he croaked. ‘For Teros.’

‘We’re still trying to verify this claim,’ said Lockhart. ‘And we’re investigating how they got an agent into the refit team here on Bravo to plant the device in the first place. There are several leads, but my people will be looking into this.’

‘You’re confident, though,’ said Valance. ‘Or you wouldn’t tell us this.’

‘I’m confident.’ Lockhart’s gaze flickered between them. ‘Their rhetoric is blaming your actions on Teros, sir, but if they had the assets to plant this bomb, they may have had the assets to learn of Endeavour’s assignment to First Secretary Hale’s diplomatic mission. They claim responsibility as an act of propaganda, which makes it better for them to assert they acted on behalf of the people of the RNZ. But it’s very likely this was an attack on the diplomatic mission to stop further Federation involvement.’

Rourke tried to not look baleful as he regarded Lockhart. ‘And here I am, sat on Bravo with no ship, no command, and the diplomatic mission relocated to Qualor instead of moving onto the RNZ. Tell me, Commander; you work with Admiral Beckett directly, and he’s conveniently decided to not be here to break the news. If this was an attack to stop further Federation involvement in RNZ, has it worked?’

December 2399
Seven Weeks After the Accident

While most of the crew could unwind, eat, drink, and socialise at the various small messes or the Safe House itself, the officers’ mess on Deck 7 named the Round Table was more exclusive. Only senior staff or those with at least the rank of lieutenant could enjoy its close, intimate feel; the comfy booths, wide bar, and art deco style that was a lot cosier than the ebullient Safe House. Thawn didn’t think she’d be pestered by subordinates if she went for a drink with Lindgren anywhere else, but it was a lot safer to go to the Round Table if they didn’t want to be disturbed.

‘Okay,’ said Lindgren, sliding onto the opposite bench of the booth. ‘We have a lot of catching up to do.’

‘Well, Cortez has been a delight in our efforts to install a planetary shield system that Nerillian’s existing infrastructure can actually power,’ Thawn grumbled at once. ‘I know she took the accident hard, but does she have to take it out on me? Why does she have to either be unbearably perky or unbearably angry?’

‘Cortez is the sort of person who, uh, feels things very intensely,’ said Lindgren in that diplomatic way of hers. ‘I thought you were making good progress, though?’

‘Oh, we are. But she’s not making it pleasant.’ Thawn picked at the straw for her cocktail. ‘You weren’t asking about the shield installation if you’ve read the report, are you.’

‘Of course not.’ Lindgren leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. ‘You’ve not said a thing about you and Rhade.’

Thawn felt heat rise to her cheeks. ‘There’s not much to say.’

‘Are you kidding me? You looked like you were getting cosy at the party.’

‘Yes. Before the bomb went off.’ Thawn sighed. ‘He was… okay, he was very charming when I came down from the podium. He congratulated me on the promotion, of course, and my work, but…’ A self-conscious hand came up to fidget with her hair. ‘It wasn’t all work. He said I looked nice.’

Something flickered through Lindgren’s gaze. ‘Did he, now.’

Normally, Thawn exercised exceptional discipline and courtesy in the use of her telepathy, but this time she’d not so much as thought before she’d extended her senses to feel the thread of suspicion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’ Lindgren faltered as she realised this wouldn’t fly. ‘I think he’s been getting advice from people. It’s not a bad thing, it doesn’t make the compliments any less sincere or heartfelt. I think it means he’s been actively trying to work out how behave better around you, or with you. It’s a good sign.’

Thawn made a face. ‘Who’s he getting advice from on how to talk to me? You?’

‘He could have done worse.’ A pointed look rose. ‘Come on, Rosara. Who else said you looked nice that night?’

‘Beckett? You think he asked Beckett for advice on how to talk to me? That’s ridiculous.’

‘Nate can be very charming.’

‘He’s sleazy; there’s a difference.’

‘And yet you turned beet-red when he said you looked great.’

‘Are you -’ Thawn stopped, faltering. ‘Are you trying to stir things up? I am not interested in Nate Beckett.’

‘I didn’t think you were,’ said Lindgren.

‘I am trying to develop this relationship with Adamant, not continue to…’ Her voice trailed off, and she fidgeted with the straw and looked away, across the very quiet buzz of the Round Table. The place was dead enough for her to safely ask this question. ‘Did Connor have a crush on me?’

That sent Lindgren rocking back. ‘Wow. What? Maybe.’ She frowned. ‘I think so. He got into an awful sulk when Rhade came aboard.’

‘I was afraid he did,’ Thawn admitted. ‘And I didn’t know what to do about it.’ Despite how the subject made the cocktail sit heavy on her stomach, she felt the slightest glint of satisfaction at wrong-footing Lindgren, of all people.

‘Why are you bringing this up?’

‘I’m saying that I don’t need a third round of unsuitable feelings on anyone’s behalf while I’m trying to work things out with Adamant.’

‘How?’

‘What?’

‘How are you trying to work things out with him? You’ve not talked to him.’ Lindgren leaned forward. ‘So although Betazoid arrangements aren’t often monogamous, you’d prefer to be.’

Thawn winced. ‘Yes. It’s – my family has often been more strict about such things, though I don’t know what they’d do about it. But at the same time it’s also not… I don’t think I’m particularly…’

‘I’m establishing our baseline here, Rosara, not asking you to justify anything. You’re not in the slightest bit wired for casual relationships, are you?’

‘I’m not very good at them,’ she admitted, picking at her sleeve.

‘So I don’t see how you and Rhade figure out how to be in a relationship without going ahead and being in a relationship.’ Lindgren shrugged. ‘Spend time together. Go on dates. Give it a try. Exclusively and as something real in your life now. Instead of doing an odd dance of existing in the same space but being apart. Especially if you’ve been holding back any other serious or potentially serious romantic or emotional commitments because you’re… saving yourself for him?’

Thawn wrinkled her nose. ‘You make it sound so old-fashioned. I just – even if it weren’t for Adamant, I wouldn’t be interested in anyone if I didn’t see a future there. But he’s my future.’

‘It is old-fashioned,’ Lindgren pointed out. ‘But you’re allowed to be. For the sake of asking questions I worry you’ll explode if you contemplate unsupervised, what would happen if you wanted to break the betrothal?’

It was like Thawn had inhaled the ice in her drink, such was the chill running into her chest. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘It’s a hypothetical.’

‘My aunt would never let me forget it. My mother would never forgive me. It’s not – nobody can force me to do anything – but it…’ She pushed the drink away and drew a slow, shaking breath. ‘It’s a bad idea. Speaking of those, why are you fucking Graelin?’

It was the second-time Lindgren had been blind-sided this conversation, and Thawn knew it was as much for the transparently nasty blunt question as the topic itself. Lindgren turned pink in an instant. ‘I’m…’

‘Don’t try to deny it. I didn’t need to be a telepath to tell.’ Thawn leaned forward, keen to keep her teeth in now she’d found purchase. ‘The captain hates him.’

‘They have a history and Petrias has explained that to me,’ Lindgren said faintly. ‘Captain Rourke isn’t infallible, you know.’

Thawn gave her a somewhat scandalised look. ‘How can it be a good idea to get involved with the second officer that our captain hates? That’s twin barrels of awful, Elsa.’

‘I like him! He’s clever and he’s charming and he – he actually does things instead of mooning around forever or waiting for me to make the first move or be the bad guy or…’ Lindgren sunk in on herself. ‘It’s not serious.’

‘No,’ said Thawn levelly. ‘I expect that a senior officer almost old enough to be your father on an assignment which he clearly thinks is a hoop to jump through on his way up the ranks isn’t looking for anything serious with the young, pretty comms officer.’

‘You make it sound sordid. He’s not that much older than me.’

Thawn reached for her PADD and dragged both personnel files up. ‘Lieutenant Junior Grade Elsa Lindgren, born 2374; Commander Petrias Graelin, born 2357. I’d say sixteen years is solidly “almost old enough to be your father.” I’m being downright courteous on a biological basis.’

‘What’s your point?’ Lindgren stiffened. ‘Don’t act like this wasn’t a deflection from whatever damage your family did to you.’

It was Thawn’s turn to straighten. Normally she was happy to lock swords with anyone who tried to get under her skin, but the thought of doing so with Elsa Lindgren curved her away from the flash of anger. She didn’t know if it was fear of confronting someone insightful enough to really land hurtful blows, or simple friendship. She bit her lip. ‘I’m worried about you.’

That made Lindgren soften, the frustration sizzling off her within moments. ‘It’s just a casual hook-up. It’s not serious, he’s not using me or anything.’

‘If these things go wrong, they never go wrong for the seasoned officer with the ear of an admiral,’ Thawn pointed out. ‘They go wrong for the junior lieutenant. All it takes is for some indication of it affecting your work, or him favouring you unduly, and you’re the one who’ll be shipped off to some second-rate assignment while he goes on to his first command, or whatever.’

‘I understand that. I know how to take care of myself,’ said Elsa Lindgren, with all the quiet confidence of a seasoned twenty-five year-old.

Thawn gave a slow nod. ‘And I’m not… nothing really bad would happen if I ended the betrothal. My family would complain, that’s all.’ It was technically true, but it went nowhere near encapsulating the ice that had settled in her belly at the prospect, and she was glad that she remained the only telepath in the conversation.

‘Okay.’ Lindgren didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the point. She nodded at the PADD. ‘So now you’re going to use that.’

‘For?’

‘For finding where Adamant Rhade is now, or when he gets off his next shift. So you can go and see him and explain that if he’s serious about using your time together on this ship to build your relationship, you two need to actually build a relationship. And then…’ Lindgren lifted her chin and gave an airy smile. ‘Then you’re going to ask him to dinner.’

Thawn managed to find a smile in there somewhere. ‘Oh,’ she said, and forced it a little harder. ‘Yes. That’s definitely what I should do.’

‘This is what we’re prepared to offer,’ said Kharth, pushing the PADD across First Minister Asare’s desk, ‘to fund the project.’

The First Minister arched an eyebrow, but she read it anyway. ‘If by “project,” you mean “bounty.”’

‘I do. Obviously we can’t offer anything by way of munitions, but we’re prepared to offer enough dilithium and engine parts to keep any operation in business for six months. I’d call that a fair exchange for someone hunting down Vokden and his ship.’

Asare glanced over at Hale. ‘And the Diplomatic Service stands by this exchange, Ms Hale?’

‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I understand this is unorthodox, but I hope it shows that the Federation is prepared to adapt to the needs of the region. This allows Nerillian to enlist help on your own terms for your own security, rather than being beholden to anyone. It gives you the bargaining power.’

Asare hesitated. ‘And what do we owe you?’

‘Nothing. Just as you owe us nothing for the planetary shield system our engineers are making installation plans for as we speak.’

Kharth leaned forward, clearing her throat. ‘I understand your apprehensions, First Minister, but sometimes the Federation does just want to help. Of course we benefit from empowering regional powers to stand on their own two feet, but that’s not a nefarious goal if both Nerillian and Starfleet benefit from local stability and prosperity. It means our interests are aligned.’

Asare tapped the PADD to her chest and inclined her head. ‘Very well. We will send word of the bounty, on behalf of the Nerillian government. Thank you, Ms Hale, Lieutenant Kharth.’

The two were back in the corridor of the executive offices of Nerillian’s deep underground facilities, a good way away from Asare’s rooms or any potentially eavesdropping officials, before Hale spoke. ‘That was good work, Lieutenant.’

‘To be honest, I got the idea from the Star Empire,’ Kharth admitted. ‘When they put a bounty on the captain to try to get their hands on him without causing political upset. It seems like it’s a good way of doing business in the region.’

‘Speaking the language of your locale is essential to getting by.’

‘It’s not over yet. If nobody takes Nerillian up on this offer, we’ll need a new plan.’

‘At the least, it’s painted us in a good light. I expect the Star Empire won’t be pleased now they can’t swoop in as the heroes, but they have no grounds to complain and they don’t get what they want. That’s the definition of a political victory.’ They were almost at the lobby chamber they used for beaming out, but Hale stopped and turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry about the situation with Doctor T’Sann.’

Kharth grimaced. ‘Ma’am, I know there’s nothing you can or will do about this -’

‘Not right now, but I do take this situation seriously. I take seriously how important it is for the Romulan people. Nothing about you pursuing this has been a professional inconvenience. It’s my job to navigate these matters.’ Hale tilted her head to make sure she caught Kharth’s eye. ‘Nobody is inconvenienced by you pursuing and rediscovering a connection to your people’s roots.’

There was an edge of warmth for which Kharth was entirely unprepared. Her expression snapped shut. ‘I don’t need you to make me feel better about this, ma’am. I understand where the mission priorities lie.’

Hale tilted her chin up. ‘That doesn’t mean everything but the top priority is irrelevant.’

‘Ma’am, I am a Starfleet officer and I will do my job. I think you’ll find nothing in my conduct to question my commitment to Starfleet principles.’ Even in her most cynical moments, Kharth knew she had disobeyed orders above Teros because killing fifty-three helpless people of any species was wrong. That they were her own people had just made it hurt more. ‘But despite what I said to the First Minister, I’m under no illusions of how the Federation prioritises Romulan interests.’

The diplomat’s expression sank. ‘History is on your side, Lieutenant. I only hope I can prove things have changed.’

Kharth grimaced. ‘I hope so, too, Ma’am.’

They said no more as they beamed up to Endeavour. Kharth still needed to file a report with the captain before the end of her shift, but she found herself hopping off a turbolift several decks too early, heading down for the archaeology lab instead of the security section.

T’Sann had not been forbidden access to the Koderex’s archives. Graelin had made the rules on possession crystal clear, with T’Sann permitted to study – and help to restore – what they had found as much as he liked, so long as nothing of it ever left Endeavour. She found him there now, the lights dimmed as he scrolled through fragmented archival records, some of which needed stitching together piece by piece from other data shards.

He looked up from his seat and gave a tired smile. ‘I thought you were avoiding this place.’

‘This is hardly where I come to work,’ she pointed out, eyes on the pixellated image on the screen, ancient footage from Vulcan before her people’s exodus. Even incomplete, grainy – even though she suspected all she’d see was landscape little changed today or of which archival images were in Endeavour’s own databases, something ached in her heart at the thought of seeing the former Romulan homeworld through Romulan eyes.

‘Fair enough. I’ll rephrase: I thought you were avoiding me.’

Now she looked at him, frowning. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘I’m leading you astray.’ T’Sann wore a soft, saddened smile. ‘I’ve not meant to push you into trouble with your captain, with Federation protocol. You don’t have to fight for me.’

‘I fight so that nobody can ignore the Romulan perspective.’ Her lips thinned. ‘I’m not in trouble with the captain for fighting, I’m in trouble because I have the audacity to keep reminding him I’m Romulan.’

‘He doesn’t trust you,’ T’Sann said gently. ‘He thinks that deep down, when your back’s against a wall, you’ll side with our people. Because if his back’s against a wall, he’ll side against us. Like he has before. Like the Federation has before.’

‘I’m not making it us or them,’ she said quickly. ‘And if I were, which us? The Romulans of the diaspora? The Empire? The Republic? Pick an average resident of any and you’ll find different opinions.’

‘And that’s what’s killing us.’ He pushed his chair back and stood, turning away from the ancient archives of lost knowledge to watch her be bathed in their glow. ‘You have some concept of what us is, even if you know it’s not universal.’ He hesitated. ‘Why did you join Starfleet, if you think Starfleet left us?’

‘Starfleet left refugees. Last I checked, that’s not you,’ she pointed out, tensing. ‘It was a ticket off Teros. To a better way of life than any Romulan power offered.’

‘Considering you wouldn’t have been kicked out of the Federation once you got to San Francisco, sticking with Starfleet just because it’s better than Teros is a hell of a commitment. People don’t take challenges like the Academy because they have nothing better to do.’

She dropped her gaze, self-consciousness making her shoulders heavy. ‘Maybe I was naive enough to eat all of that rhetoric about what Starfleet – the Federation – should be, rather than what they are.’

T’Sann gave a gentle chuckle. ‘I never thought of you as a dreamer, Saeihr.’

‘I’m not very good at it. I usually need…’ She stopped herself, and sighed as she could feel his eyes on her. Only slowly did she lift her gaze back to his, defensive tension creeping into her voice. ‘I usually need someone to show me how.’ It had been Dav, once. But Dav was long gone; years gone, for her.

Karlan T’Sann, who had reminded her that she could still fight for her people and had shown her a way, and still seemed undefeated in the face of opposition, gave a slow smile. ‘I hope I haven’t brought you crashing back to reality yet.’

‘I’m sorry about all of this, Karlan,’ she sighed, gesturing away to the consoles. ‘I’m sorry about the politics, I’m sorry about Graelin -’

‘Did you do this?’

‘No, but -’

‘Then stop apologising,’ he said simply. ‘They might stand against us, Rourke and Graelin and Hale. But we’ll still find a way. We can do this.’

She heard the us and them in his voice, the slipperiness of the we and the our people; the way he put Rourke and Graelin together, or lumped their opposition in with Hale’s patience and thoughtfulness. She heard him take their crisis, put a circle just around the two of them, and make it plain that nobody understood this cause like they did. That nobody understood this pain like he did.

And still she let him kiss her, because Saeihr Kharth was not very good at thinking straight when anyone drew sides and put themselves on hers.

November 2399
Two Weeks After the Accident

The docking ring on Starbase Bravo never slept, but it did snooze. The living dead shuffled through the graveyard shift, tending to scheduled arrivals and the few engineering tasks demanding round-the-clock work. With nothing to bond him to the waking hours, no purpose to drive his days, Rourke felt like he belonged among them, shoulders stooped as he walked the long, near-empty observation lounge.

Admiral Beckett sat at a tall table before a window that reached from deck to ceiling, a wiry figure silhouetted against the docking ring’s lights encircled by the steam of his coffee cup. Cold eyes caught Rourke as he approached, an eyebrow raising. ‘You’re out of uniform.’

‘So are you, sir.’ Rourke shrugged and slid onto the stool opposite.

‘I don’t need the Gamma Shift to have an aneurysm at my presence,’ said Beckett, who normally loved to torment junior officers unprepared by an admiral’s arrival. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve stopped feeling like a captain already, Matt.’

They’d known each other too long. Rourke’s skin itched at the thought Beckett could get under it so easily. ‘I don’t have a ship. Neither of us are men to think much of officers who ride a desk with four pips.’

‘Is that what’s next for you?’

Rourke shrugged, his gaze drifting to the starships visible within the massive docking bay. ‘The Academy always said they’d take me back as an instructor. I could be around Ellie some more.’ He glanced back at Beckett. ‘I have something to ask of you.’

The admiral sipped his coffee. ‘And I’m always here to do you favours, Matt,’ he said, but Rourke had to smother a smirk at the audible note of actual humour.

‘Valance. Now Endeavour’s gone, she’s no reason to not go for her own command. I know she was offered the Galen a while ago and turned it down, but I’d hope you can make sure that’s not held against her. She deserves her own ship.’

‘Hm.’ Beckett’s expression set, and he put the mug down. ‘I’m not about to steal your first officer.’

‘I don’t -’

‘This interchange is delightful, but truly, Matt, did you think I asked you here in the middle of the night to chat about Commander Valance’s future?’ He jerked his head towards the window. ‘Look.’

Rourke did so, gaze drifting over the ships. ‘What am I looking at?’

‘For an intelligent protege of mine who has achieved a great deal, you’re thoroughly dense sometimes,’ sighed Beckett. ‘I don’t want to talk to Bruiser Matt Rourke, or Hard-Done-By Matt Rourke. I never wanted those. They’re deeply tiresome men.’

‘I don’t -’

‘I want Hungry Matt Rourke, who rises in a crisis and fights with tooth and claw in the dark. Tell me what he sees.’ Beckett waved a hand. ‘Never mind. Look at the Obena.’

It wasn’t that Rourke was too stupid to pick up what Beckett was putting down. But he didn’t want to listen to the sudden thumping of his heart in case it was about to break. He turned his gaze on the explorer in the centre of the docking ring, a graceful ship of classic lines evoking the finest days of Starfleet’s tradition, and waited.

This turned out to be the right move with an impatient Beckett, springing him on. ‘I told you how the USS Tianwen had finished her shakedown and was a contender for Sophia Hale’s mission. That all she needed was a crew.’ He shook his head. ‘But no, before you ask, I haven’t given you the Tianwen.’

That thumping shifted for the sick disappointment Rourke had feared all along, and he pushed his chair back. ‘Alex, I didn’t come here for your theatrics -’

‘We haven’t been on a first-name basis for years; bold of you to change that now,’ mused Beckett, but he sounded more thoughtful than angry. He reached out to the holographic overlay before the window and with a sweep of a hand augmented the view, zooming their perspective in on the Obena-class ship in the docking bay, rendering her dorsal hull panels fully visible, the stencilling on the saucer section legible. And Rourke’s heart felt like it had stopped entirely at what he read.

USS ENDEAVOUR
NCC-91502

‘I put in the request the moment I heard the Endeavour was to be decommissioned,’ Beckett said, softer now. ‘I knew I could get you the Tianwen, but it took a bit of a back-and-forth with Starfleet Operations to secure her renaming. Which is why I’ve been such a tyrant, keeping you and your crew here on Bravo these past days with no news of what comes next.’

Rourke swallowed hard. ‘And she’s… ours.’

‘At 0800 you’ll receive orders to assume command, yes.’

At last he tore his gaze from the ship, now perhaps the most beautiful he’d ever seen, and stared at Beckett. ‘Why?’

‘You need a ship,’ said Beckett, as if this were obvious.

‘Yes, but – this ship, and this name –’

‘The Rebirth Movement targeted Endeavour because they saw her as a symbol of a Federation interference they hate. Not only does it delight me to support the continuation of a diplomatic mission they were so desperate to stop, it delights me to simply send another USS Endeavour.’ But Beckett’s gaze dropped to the coffee cup, and for the first time in a long time, Rourke thought he looked self-conscious. ‘I said as much to Starfleet Ops.’

‘You could have found a different ship, a different crew, and sent them on the same mission and won the political victory just as well,’ Rourke said slowly.

Beckett cleared his throat, but when he straightened and met his gaze, his eyes were clear. ‘It’s because you saved my life twenty-four years ago on the Hood. It’s because you were my strong right hand for five years on the Achilles. It’s because when everyone else had failed to make anything of him, you turned my son’s career around, and under you, he’s thriving.’ His voice had picked up momentum as he spoke, low but firm. ‘We have had our differences, Matt. You dislike my politics, and I think you have become surprisingly naive. But if you think you are just another asset, like Graelin or like Kharth or like any other, you misunderstand me, and you misunderstand the immense respect I have for you.’

Long years ago, Rourke had left his post as Beckett’s XO on the USS Achilles to take command of the Firebrand. At the time, he had assumed Beckett wanted rid of him but couldn’t justify anything but an upward movement. It had never occurred to him that Beckett might indeed have wanted rid of him, but still wanted him to thrive once he was gone.

There were not that many years between them. While Beckett had been the first officer of the Hood when they’d met – when Rourke, a lowly security crewman, had fallen under his wing and become everything from bodyguard to enforcer to confidante – they had been more like brothers in the Dominion War. Rourke’s sense of disillusionment that had grown on the Achilles, fifteen years later, had felt like he’d been betrayed for Beckett showing his true colours, and that judging those colours was in itself a betrayal. He had assumed that Beckett had only ever viewed him as another tool, another contact – another asset.

Beckett stood now, extending a hand. ‘It’s a very little thing, Matt. But it puts you where you’re best, and where you can do your best, and where you can continue this mission of Sophia Hale’s that seems to mean so much to you.’ Again he cleared his throat, and now that hint of superiority returned. ‘I expect to not be disappointed by you.’

But as Rourke stood, too, the final comment still made him smirk. He cast a look to the sleek shape of the USS Endeavour, Obena-class, floating in the heart of Starbase Bravo, then locked his eyes on Beckett and shook his hand. ‘Don’t worry, Admiral. You will be.’

December 2399
Eight Weeks After the Accident

‘Commander?’ Thawn turned at the Ops station to look at Valance, sat in the command chair. ‘We’ve synchronised systems with the surface team. We’re ready to bring the planetary shield online for the first test.’ She knew she should have been delighted. The turnaround from assignment to execution had been tremendous, a true demonstration of the resources she could now marshal from the Obena-class Endeavour. At Teros, she had been forced to scrape every inch of power from the ship to provide the relief mission she’d wanted, and while the challenge had been satisfying, the scope of opportunities now before her was exciting.

Should have been exciting.

Valance nodded and looked to Lindgren. ‘Patch us through to the surface team, Lieutenant.’

A moment later, Cortez’s voice came over the comms. ‘Construction team here. We’re running some final checks now.’

Thawn tried to keep her expression studied, then with a pang realised that Arys would never pick up on her frustration like either of his predecessors. That alone let her face go sour. ‘Final checks were to be concluded a half-hour ago, Commander.’

‘And the more you ride my ass about it, Lieutenant, the longer it’ll take.’

Valance frowned, lifting a hand to Thawn to forestall any response. ‘We’ll wait, Commander. Standing by.’

Thawn shifted in her seat as Lindgren suspended the comm-line. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

‘Let me deal with Commander Cortez, and you focus on the shield,’ was all Valance said.

It was, Thawn thought as she turned back to her station, the most supportive thing the XO could have said without publicly castigating the chief engineer, her girlfriend. Not for the first time, Thawn did not envy Valance for the blurry lines in her personal and professional life.

It took another ten minutes before Cortez confirmed they were ready, and with a sigh, Thawn brought up the full reading from their link to the shield generator’s facilities. They had built the equipment directly into the rock face of the mountainside, at a low altitude to shelter it from the elements or attacks, and Cortez had eventually made the upgrades to allow Nerillian’s power grid to sustain it. This had been another fight, with Thawn making several suggestions that had gone ignored until Cortez eventually took action on one of them and didn’t so much as give credit.

‘We’re powering up here,’ came Cortez’s voice. ‘All systems are looking good.’

‘Confirming planetary shield online,’ said Thawn as she read her console’s output. ‘Power flow from the Nerillian grid is stable.’

‘Yeah, they can hack it,’ said Cortez a little tersely. ‘We’ve had to juice up their systems a bit, but it’ll run fine.’

Thawn bit her lip. It was her job to double-check these things. Something flashed on her screen, and she sat up. ‘Commander, I’m reading fluctuations in the shield frequency. What’s going on?’

‘It’s only minor, Lieutenant. Within parameters.’

‘It’s going to place a significant burden on the power systems.’

‘I don’t -’

‘I see it,’ Thawn cracked on as she read her sensor feed. ‘The graviton emissions are intermittent. I can level them out from up here.’

‘Lieutenant, we’ve got full control of systems from -’

‘But I’ve got it -’

‘Commander. Lieutenant.’ Valance had stood, utterly expressionless, and all eyes on the bridge fell on her. ‘Take a breather. This isn’t an emergency.’

‘It’s not an emergency,’ said Cortez. ‘But bringing this online isn’t easy with backseat engineering.’

‘If Lieutenant Thawn can rectify the problem, let her rectify the problem, Commander. Then record the readouts of the correct graviton levels and recalibrate the systems to correct accordingly going forward.’

At Valance’s nod, Thawn bit her lip and set to work. ‘There,’ she said a couple minutes later. ‘Stable. We have a planetary shield system.’ It should have felt like a victory, putting protection in Nerillian’s own hands. But even through the comm systems she could feel the grumbling resentment of Cortez, and only the calm confidence of Valance stopped this from completely unsettling her.

They ran some further tests, using Endeavour’s more sophisticated computing and sensor systems to fine-tune the settings and establish a baseline for Cortez to program in at the surface controls, and two hours later the work was done and Thawn’s shift came to an end. Valance was given a small, slightly grateful nod, and she tried to ignore the pointed look from Lindgren as she left for the turbolift.

There would be a couple of days’ work finishing the handover to the management team from the Nerillian government, but she’d prepared the documentation as it kept her out from under the cranky feet of Cortez the past weeks. The downside was that, with this all done, she had run out of excuses.

She stopped off in her quarters, larger not only now she lived on a bigger ship but as a full lieutenant, to get changed out of her uniform. That shouldn’t have taken long, but regular clothing was laden with decisions that felt like traps. Too casual and she’d look like she wasn’t making an effort; too fancy and she was inadvertently raising the stakes.

She’d thought she’d chosen something simple with her selection of blouse and skirt, but when she returned to the turbolift and the doors slid open to show a tired-looking Nate Beckett, his eyebrow raised. ‘Look at you, prettied up all fancy,’ he drawled.

‘I am not prettied up.’ Thawn clicked her tongue as she stepped in. ‘Deck Seven.’

‘You’re out of uniform and you’re going to the Round Table. Got a date with Captain Starfleet?’

‘Yes, as a matter-of-fact. What do you have, a date with another historical artifact you’re not allowed to tell anyone you’ve worked on, thus rendering all your time and effort utterly pointless?’

Beckett made a face. ‘Ouch. I just said you look nice, you didn’t need to set phasers to kill.’

She hesitated. ‘That’s not what you said.’

‘Yeah, I dared to be light-hearted about you looking nice, and you bit my head off. Sorry we can’t all have astonishing careers saving an entire planet’s independence and road to self-determination.’

Thawn wrung her fingers together, and drew a deep breath of air that tasted decidedly bitter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said reluctantly. ‘That wasn’t fair.’

He waved a dismissive hand, though she felt him shift the pain of her jab aside, not let it go entirely. ‘It’s true enough. Worry more about how nervous you are for this date.’ She rounded on him, and finally a half-smirk returned. ‘You bit my head off over nothing; I know you like using me as a chew-toy, Thawn, but you’re definitely nervous. Relax. It’s not as if you need him to like you, or anything, you’ve already got him reeled in.’

It was not the right thing to say, but in her guilt she didn’t again stab at him for it. ‘This is why we’re meeting somewhere you’re not allowed, Beckett.’

‘Why; afraid I’d make the evening too fun?’ he asked, eyebrow again raised as the turbolift slowed. But she couldn’t summon a response which didn’t feel too cruel after her initial misstep, and he gave a slow smirk when the lift stopped and the doors slid open. ‘Go knock him dead.’

The Round Table was the perfect compromise between having a dinner date in an arena as public and exposed as the Safe House, or a space as intimate and intense as someone’s quarters. It meant for a replicated dinner, but the bar staff offered table service, giving an edge of luxury and comfort to the officers’ mess.

To her relief, Rhade didn’t stand when she approached the table, or pull out her chair, or anything she would expect from a man whose courtesies had been so thoroughly drilled-in. His smile was sincere as she sat, his manner far easier and more comfortable than any inch of her felt.

‘You look nice.’

The compliment should have given her a warm feeling inside, she thought, but all it did was send her back to the exchange in the turbolift with Beckett, and Lindgren’s observation Rhade might have even gone to Beckett for advice on how to be nice. On how to flirt. She pursed her lips. ‘If we’re going to do this, Adamant, we should have an open and clear conversation.’

His eyebrows raised. ‘I agree,’ he said, and instead of commenting on her brusqueness or how they had flown past the niceties, he reached for the table’s interface to place drinks orders right away. It was, she supposed, the efficient thing to do if she was making their date a business meeting.

‘I know we said we’d take things slowly, get to know each other, spend time together,’ she said, frantic rather than brave, too cowardly to hold in the tension through the small-talk so they could settle. So instead she forged forth on unsteady ground. ‘But then Teros happened.’

‘And it became clear,’ he said softly, ‘that to act as if we have a casual arrangement is untenable and disingenuous. We’re to have a future together, whether we make an effort to go on dates and work towards a relationship, or if we simply live on the same ship as colleagues.’

‘Exactly.’ A waiter appeared, a hologram deployed by the bartender with a tray bearing a bottle of wine and two glasses, and Thawn was glad she could ignore it as their drinks were poured. ‘I go in circles in my head because this all sounds very intense and formal. But it’s only logical that we should build that future, because it’s going to happen no matter what.’

Rhade took a glass of wine and frowned. ‘If I may cut to the quick of things, Rosara: do you want our arrangement to go through?’ As she paused, he tilted his head. ‘Our families may disapprove, but this genetic bonding was to select who they felt was the best partner for us, not to dictate our lives. It’s for our own good. It’s our decision. Do you want this?’

That same gaping chasm that had loomed in conversation with Lindgren opened under her again, and her throat tightened. ‘Of course. That is to say, there’s no reason to not. Why? Don’t you?’

‘I do,’ he said quickly, and while she knew he’d felt the panic radiating off her, she also knew he’d misread it, taken it for a fear of his rejection. His family might be merely disappointed if he went against their wishes. For all of her great-aunt’s kindnesses and demonstrations of understanding, Rosara Thawn knew her family was more complicated than that.

But he leaned forward, as if she needed more reassurance. ‘So we do what we’re doing. Drinks and dinners, spending time together. Making time for one another. Making space in each other’s lives. It can be as simple as that.’

Part of being a talented telepath included knowing how best to shroud her thoughts and feelings from other telepaths, and doing so now came as second nature, taking every falter in between every heartbeat and shoving it all somewhere even deeper and darker inside her. Still, when Thawn picked up the wine glass and smiled at this handsome, courteous, thoughtful man she was expected to spend the rest of her life with, she no longer felt a gaping chasm beneath her; instead, an ocean with deep tides to drag her to its drowning depths.

But her glass touched his with a clink, and her smile even reached her eyes, because it had to. ‘As simple as that.’

‘Bridge to Kharth.’

It took a moment to kick away the sheets tangled in her legs so she could reach down for her combadge, nestled amid a pile of clothes discarded by the bed. Kharth scrubbed her face with her hand before she answered, and hoped she’d sound normal. ‘Here.’

It was Lindgren on the other end, the most likely person to pick up on any subtleties in tone. ‘We’ve got some new arrivals in the system. Captain Rourke’s on his way up and asked for you to join him. ASAP.’

That last was polite, but pointed. Kharth winced as she acknowledged, and flopped back on her bed when the comline clicked dead.

‘Elsa Lindgren is smart, but she’s not psychic,’ drawled Karlan T’Sann, who’d sprawled out into the space she’d abandoned. ‘Even if she suspects you have company, she won’t know who. And would that be so terrible?’

Kharth gave him a withering look before she sat up and moved her uniform from the deck to the bed. ‘I don’t need to give more reason to question if my loyalties are to the Romulan people or to Starfleet.’

‘You remember how nobody else knows of my personal interest in this research? I am but a humble half-Vulcan scholar of the Federation.’ Even with her back to him, she could almost hear his languid smirk. ‘We have nothing to be ashamed of.’

She hopped to her feet as she pulled her trousers on. ‘You should get dressed. I can’t leave you here.’

‘Saeihr.’ He sat up and grabbed her hand. ‘I joke because I mean it. You’ve done nothing wrong. We’ve done nothing wrong. Your crew might not understand, but you know your own mind and your own heart. I know it would take more than me to lead you astray.’

His dark eyes were as soothing as his words, and she let out a slow breath. ‘I have a lot to rebuild on this ship. I had something, and I don’t know if I’ve lost it or endangered it. But either way, I can’t afford to be stupid.’

‘You’re challenging your captain when he’s wrong. You’re giving him perspectives he couldn’t possibly find otherwise. That makes you a good officer. If he can’t see that, then he’s no better than the Romulan naval officers he rails against. It’s easy to be supportive of people in fair weather. If he can’t have your back during the storm, you don’t owe him your loyalty.’

Kharth hesitated. ‘That goes both ways,’ she said at last, and pulled away to finish dressing.

The bridge was a bustling hub of activity when she arrived. Rourke had beaten her there, and she fought to ignore her apprehension at his gaze, but then he nodded her over to the command chair.

‘Three ships dropped out of warp at the periphery and requested permission of Nerillian to approach,’ he said, voice guarded. ‘They’re talking to the colony, not us, and until or unless Nerillian says otherwise, we’re staying out of their way.’

Kharth raised an eyebrow. ‘Who are they?’

‘That’s the interesting part. One old Romulan warbird, one Klingon bird-of-prey, and one Antares-class freighter with more guns strapped to it than standard. No transponder ID that’s flagging in our systems.’

‘Sir.’ Arys turned back from flight control. ‘Black Knights are asking if they should take an escort formation, or at least follow from a distance.’

‘Make it a judicious distance.’ The fighters wouldn’t do much against such firepower, but it would send a message. Rourke clicked his tongue. ‘It’d be ballsy of the Rebirth to waltz in like this, but we know they’re audacious and have far more resources than we’d expected.’

There remained many unanswered questions, Kharth thought, of how the Rebirth had smuggled explosives onto Starbase Bravo to plant on the former USS Endeavour. ‘It’s not the Rebirth, not with that bird-of-prey. Even if this were a deception, you don’t pick up such a ship lightly, and the Rebirth would never invest in a Klingon vessel.’

Rourke grunted, but he didn’t debate the point and folded his arms across his chest to wait. Kharth glanced back over the bridge arch to Juarez at Tactical, reading his expression as the ships progressed through the system and into Nerillian’s orbit, but at no point did her deputy flinch or give any sign of anything but focused concern.

‘They’re hailing the surface again,’ Lindgren reported. ‘It looks like they’re being patched through to central government.’

‘The Tesore is actively scanning them,’ said Juarez.

‘So they have no better idea what’s going on than we do,’ Kharth mused. She moved to the XO’s station, empty at that moment, and brought up the computer database to run a quick search. ‘Interesting.’

But she shook her head at Rourke’s curious glance, and was saved from him pressing the point by Lindgren speaking again. ‘Now we’re being hailed from the planet. It’s the first minister.’

Rourke straightened as the viewscreen shifted to show the office and figure of the leader of the Nerillian settlement. ‘First Minister; I hope our guests are welcome ones?’

‘They are, Captain. It seems your suggestion of a bounty is proving popular. Captain Fratorin and her company are offering to take on the security of the system until the Rebirth are driven off.’ First Minister Asare lifted her chin an inch. ‘I hope it’s not impertinent to ask you to furnish them with the relevant tactical data, if we can finalise the arrangement with the company?’

Rourke’s gaze remained impassive. ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

‘Once that and the final checks on the planetary shield systems are done, assuming all goes well, that should bring our negotiations to a close.’

‘It should,’ said Rourke, ‘but we’ll make sure you’re squared away before we start celebrating.’

‘Of course. Everyone will do their due diligence. But we’d appreciate your continued cooperation for now. Nerillian out.’

Rourke’s shoulders were square as he looked back at Kharth. ‘I want you to get everything you can on this Fratorin –’

‘Ahead of you on that, sir,’ Kharth said smoothly. ‘Their transponders aren’t in our database, but I ran a quick check for three such distinct ships operating together in the sector. Fratorin’s name came up. She looks about as legitimate an operation as a privateer in the region can be; plenty of mentions of her taking on escort duties and the like without any sign of double-cross. I think this is legitimate, sir.’

He softened. ‘Keep running a background check. Asare will still be hammering out the details of a deal, and I want to be sure that Fratorin can handle the Rebirth -’

‘I’ll make sure we find anything First Minister Asare couldn’t find for herself so she can make an informed decision.’

She’d tried to not wince as she saw her point land, but Rourke subsided rather than bristling. He sighed and gave a tight smile. ‘Alright. Let’s use what we have here to make sure this is a smooth transition. But if all’s well, we’re looking at Nerillian being able to fend for themselves.’

‘Yes, sir.’

There was a glint in his eye as he met her gaze, and for the first time in weeks, the apprehension in her gut every time she’d been around him began to truly soften. Rourke’s tight smile broadened a half-centimetre. ‘Good work, Lieutenant.’

October 2399
Twenty Minutes Before the Accident

The fixation of Federation citizens on dressing up nicely for even casual social events was frustrating. Dathan had spent years perfecting her arts and her subterfuge, because it was the small details that would give her away, the lack of cultural understanding, the hidden languages she didn’t speak. She had yet to master fashion.

Worse than that, this was not why she stood before her wardrobe with tensed jaw. Worse than that, she was anxious because on some level she simply wanted to show up to the party celebrating Endeavour’s new lounge and new mission and look respectable. Maybe even nice.

Dathan Tahla was not accustomed to nice.

So the chirruping from her desk console was a welcome reprieve, and, still in her uniform shirt layer, she went to her chair and brought the screen to life. And stopped.

SECURE COMMUNICATION. CONNECTING.

With her clearance level, with her months in Admiral Beckett’s office, it was possibly a briefing package, some sudden update, for her work as Endeavour’s Chief of Strategic Operations. But they were all of five minutes out from Starbase Bravo, and as the secure communication protocols did their work, all of her worry about clothes fell thousands of light-years away.

It had been months. Why now?

Because it has been months, Dathan thought as the screen flickered. Someone had to break the silence. She’d not realised it had never occurred for her to do it.

She had seen pictures of Captain Leonidas MacCallister, former commander of the USS Endeavour. Seen the images with his kindly smiles that kept his features soft, his eyes twinkling. They had been so unfamiliar to her, even though she knew every inch of that face, as if the smiles didn’t just mask his essence, but tore it away. Tore away his strength, tore away the steel she knew ran through him that had commanded not just her obedience, but her loyalty. But there was that face on her screen, and this time she recognised him.

‘Sir.’ Dathan swallowed. ‘This is dangerous, this -’

‘Don’t worry, my dear; we’re following every protocol.’ Prefect Leonidas MacCallister of the ISS Endeavour could command terror or calm with just the tilt of a chin, and she felt both try to surge through her as he spoke. ‘Tidy up when we’re done, and this will look to your records like nothing more than a ping from a nearby comms buoy.’

‘Sir, I know I’ve not communicated, but there’s been no word; there’s no suggestion anyone is close on your trail -’

‘And I trust your judgement, Tahla. You know I do. But we don’t have time for that.’ MacCallister leaned forward, jaw tightening. ‘You need to get off that ship. Right now.’

Terror won, but it brought with it an icy control. ‘If you’d contacted me hours ago, I could have disembarked at Bravo -’

He silenced her with only the faintest glint in his cold blue eyes. ‘This isn’t about you reporting back. This is about you surviving. Get to an escape pod and go, because your ship is going to detonate in approximately twenty minutes.’

‘What -’

‘I don’t have time to explain; I only just learned myself. Your ship might not be on our trail, but plenty of people are angry with them for stopping the Wild Hunt. It’s a matter of vengeance. Rourke acted without my say-so and only reported it to me now, when it’s too late to stop him. All I can do, Tahla, is tell you to run.’

‘I can’t just jump on an escape pod,’ she pointed out. ‘If I don’t get stopped, how do I explain after? And what do you mean, is there going to be an attack, is there something on board…’

‘A device planted by one of your EPS hubs on Deck 6; one of our agents placed it during maintenance on Bravo.’

Dathan stared. ‘You couldn’t stop him? He did this without your blessing? How much more of a mad dog is –’

‘You need to go, now. Report to the rendezvous. I’ll have you met there. I’m sorry, my dear. If your full debrief is robust enough, it’ll go well for you.’ MacCallister shook his head, then sighed and met her gaze. ‘Terra Aeternus.’ He did not give her the chance to mirror the call before the communication went dead.

For several thudding seconds, Dathan stared at the blank screen. If this hadn’t happened by the prefect’s command, she had a certain latitude; subordinates scrambling over each other to push their own agenda was a reality. But she wasn’t human, had never enjoyed a great deal of freedom to engage in such petty rivalries and conflicts.

Except that here, on this Endeavour, she had a good deal of freedom indeed.

The screen flared back to life as she brought up the internal systems readings, summoned the data-feeds from Deck 6’s EPS conduits. She hissed an oath as they all displayed normal, but of course they would; if anything interfaced with the systems it would be hidden, and if it didn’t, it’d only be spotted once it was too late.

If she raised the alarm, if she told Kharth or Captain Rourke, she’d have to explain herself. Explain, somehow, that she knew about a bomb planted on the ship. Explain, inevitably, that she was not who they’d thought she was for long months. That she was a traitor. A spy. An impostor.

Dathan swept the internal scan away, and brought up the emergency protocol map to show the nearest escape pod. If she waited until the last possible second before launch, nobody would realise anything was wrong until it was too late; especially if she rigged the pod to disguise her life signs so it looked like an accident, and everyone would be at the party –

‘Carraway to Dathan.’

The counsellor’s voice made her nearly jump out of her skin, and she hissed another oath at the sound of the party in the background. If she ignored him, Carraway might well come to her quarters. She tapped her combadge. ‘Dathan here – I’ll be there in a minute, Greg.’

‘Just checking.’ He sounded faintly amused, oblivious to his impending death. ‘You don’t have to overthink this, you know. You can show up however you want. It’s a party for us, not a judgement.’

She didn’t say, everything is a judgement, because that would have been a poor choice of words even if she didn’t want him to go away. She gritted her teeth. ‘I know. I’ll be there.’ She couldn’t say more. She couldn’t warn him, she couldn’t thank him, she couldn’t say goodbye. She could only sound casual and light, like she’d walk into the party in five minutes and let him coax her into having fun. She could only say, ‘Dathan out,’ and cut the comms.

On her screen, the display gleamed with the path to the nearest escape pod.

Dathan brought the internal systems display back online. The touch of a button expanded the view to show the whole EPS network; show how, if something detonated there, it would overload the entire system, set up a cascade reaction. It wouldn’t take long. It would be quick.

‘Computer,’ she straightened. ‘Who’s on-duty on Deck 6, Section 11 from the Engineering Department right now?’

‘Petty Officer Baranel is conducting routine maintenance -’

She blanked out the rest. With her codes from serving Beckett, and her codes from her other masters, shutting down a series of conduits across that deck and those sections was simple enough, though the minutes ticked away and her heart thudded ever louder in her chest. She could cover it up later, make it look like by sheer chance and blind luck, someone had averted total disaster. It would be easy to make Baranel the hero. He wouldn’t be alive to tell anyone otherwise.

The command hovered before her on the screen, ready and waiting. The salvation for Endeavour and her crew, the blind luck they’d never know they had. Her betrayal of those she served, who so desperately wanted them dead.

Who hadn’t cared, not really, if they got her killed in the process.

From somewhere in the darkest reaches of her memory, something rose to the surface. A prayer, or a fragment of a prayer, entreating the Prophets for guidance. It had been a long time since she’d demonstrated such faith. No higher powers were coming to save her. No great figures of responsibility, either. It was just her.

Dathan hit the command, felt the faint hum of the deck under her as the EPS conduits were brought offline on the relevant sections of the ship, and sank into her chair. She braced herself, not just for what was coming, but for when the enormity of what she had done would sink in.

The detonation came three minutes later.

December 2399
Nine Weeks After the Accident

Cortez slouched into the Safe House, shoulders slumped. ‘Come on, Addie, you don’t need me to double-check your numbers. It’s late.’

‘I know,’ said Adupon. ‘But if I’d told you the truth, you wouldn’t have come with me.’

She frowned at him, then turned to the lounge. It was quiet at this time of night, the lighting low as well as the music from the holographic band piping gentle jazz. But over in the corner, at a booth around a large, circular table, she spotted the gathering of engineers.

Cortez hesitated. ‘I’m not in a party mood.’

‘This isn’t a party.’

She followed him reluctantly, curiosity piqued. It was with little surprise that she noticed the look between Adupon and Lann when they arrived, the big Bajoran standing and clearly in charge of whatever was going on. Adupon was her deputy, but he was never going to command a room in that way.

‘Everyone shift to let the boss in,’ said Lann, ushering engineers about, and Cortez realised he was arranging it so she’d be trapped in the booth.

‘What is this?’

‘A drink,’ Lann said guilelessly. ‘See? Got your favourite bottles of tequila.’

‘I said I’m not in a party mood.’

‘And we said this isn’t a party,’ Adupon repeated.

Lann nodded. ‘It’s a wake.’

Cortez paused again. ‘We did this for Baranel and the others already.’

‘This isn’t for Baranel and the others,’ Lann said patiently. ‘Sit down, and we’ll explain.’

She did so at last, sliding in beside Forrester, who was already pouring slugs of tequila into the glasses. ‘You’ve got five minutes.’

‘Before what, you slouch off to brood somewhere else?’ said Forrester in the wry tone junior officers only dared turn on superiors when they were very markedly off-duty.

Lann pulled up a stool at the mouth of the booth and picked up a glass. ‘This here isn’t really for me,’ he admitted. ‘But I think it’s what you all need. We’ve studied what happened, we’ve read the reports. We’ve grieved for those who were killed. But you haven’t done something important.’ He tilted the drink. ‘Not remember people, but remember the ship. Your ship. Your memories. Your loves. Your losses. So first, to her: to Endeavour.’

Cortez couldn’t not drink to that, slugging back tequila with a mumbled assent. ‘What’re we doing?’ she said at last. ‘Telling our stories?’

‘Sure,’ said Lann. ‘If you want to.’

There was a beat, then Forrester picked up her glass. ‘I remember us heading across the Romulan border to rescue the captain, and needing to pound every micron of speed out of that warp core,’ she said, voice low. ‘That wasn’t my job. I was on standby with the damage control teams, making ready for when the shit hit the fan. It was the first time we were pulling something heavy-duty where I couldn’t be hands-on. I just had to wait and watch.’ She frowned at her drink. ‘I hated it and I… accepted it all at once. Not because I trusted you all – do engineers really trust anyone else to do the job as well as them?’ A low ripple of amusement ran through the gathered. ‘But I trusted the ship. I trusted all the hours we’d sunk into her. I knew she’d get the job done. And she did.’ Forrester took a swig.

Another round of drinks, and others chipped in from there. Lann was good, Cortez thought as she watched; he prompted people to speak, asked questions where they needed encouragement, let them stay quiet when it was right.

Then, eventually, Adupon picked up his glass. He hadn’t been drinking much. ‘I’m the only one here who was on Endeavour from the start,’ he said in a low, awkward voice. ‘When Captain MacCallister first took command. I remember walking into that engine room for the first time with Lieutenant Gorim, who’d asked me to come with him from the Sullivan. And she was… bigger and more muscular than any ship I’d served on. Ate power like nothing else. Needed everything running tip-top or she’d not run at all. And I hated her.’ The usually dour Bolian cracked even half a smile at that. ‘I thought she was inefficient, greedy, over-designed. I hated her. But I had to love her, because I was responsible for her. Right from the start, both things were true.’

The corner of Cortez’s lip curled. ‘Did you ever stop hating her?’

‘Eventually,’ Adupon said. ‘You made it easy, Commander.’ And they drank.

Then eyes fell on Cortez, and she couldn’t look at anyone; couldn’t speak for long, drawn-out heartbeats. Then she straightened. ‘I remember when she almost killed me. On the way to Elgatis, chasing the D’Ghor, when I had to repair a plasma conduit before it ruptured and took out half a deck. I was sealed in and the Jeffries tube was getting hotter and hotter. Touching metal burned, and everything was metal. When I was done, I almost passed out from the heat just trying to get out.’ Her hand curled around the glass. ‘But even before I got the job done… it was okay, you know? To die like that, in the dark, alone, killed by your own ship. That’s okay.’

She wasn’t yet done, but she still had a swig of tequila. ‘That’s something the others don’t get. What the Chief keeps saying about how we bleed into the decks. Make ourselves part of the ship, and the ship part of us. I was okay dying down there – I was better with dying down there when I knew the conduit was fixed, don’t get me wrong. But it’s a good way to go, you know?’

‘If you say that to someone who’s not an engineer,’ said Forrester slowly, ‘they think you’re mad. Boiling in a dark, confined space.’

‘Yep,’ sighed Cortez. ‘But maybe it’s that simple. I miss my ship. I miss her in a way most people in my life don’t get.’

‘And none of us are the Chief Engineer,’ Lann said, voice gentle. ‘But we maybe get it more than others.’

‘Yeah,’ said Cortez, then cleared her throat and said, again, ‘Yeah. Drink up.’

And again, they drank.

At this hour, Beckett thought he’d have the science lab to himself. But the gentle gleam of display feeds lit the room, the light encasing and silhouetting the wiry figure of T’Sann, sat before the main screen.

‘Oh, Doctor. Sorry.’

There was a flicker as T’Sann whisked away whatever her was reading from view, then he turned. ‘Nate.’ He seemed to relax. ‘It’s late.’

‘What’s an archaeologist to do but study the most important find we have aboard?’ Nate shrugged. ‘Besides, we’re leaving Nerillian soon. Maybe once we have some distance from the Star Navy we can reopen the conversation.’

‘Yes. Perhaps.’ T’Sann frowned, looking back at the blank screen.

‘What were you checking out?’ Beckett pulled up the chair beside him.

‘Nothing important. Watching a progress bar inch along as the computer tries to restore file integrity.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe you were right. Maybe we should have stayed with the Koderex and worked from there.’

‘I’d have been sick of freezing my arse off in about two days,’ Beckett conceded. ‘We’d probably be in the same situation, just less comfortable. Or worse off, if Imperial Naval Intelligence has been keeping such tabs on you.’

‘Should I be flattered?’ asked T’Sann wryly.

Beckett propped his chin in his hand. ‘You’re taking this all pretty well – your life’s work being locked away, I mean.’

‘I’ve had a couple of weeks to reflect. That’s enough to, at least, recognise that anger won’t get me far.’

Beckett frowned. ‘How do you think this is going to end? You think Hale will lift this embargo any time soon? I thought you wanted to use the Koderex to bring the Romulan people together.’

‘This might be my life’s work,’ said T’Sann, ‘but that means it’ll take a lifetime. And my life is going to be pretty long. What I can do now is focus on the discovery, and learning what I can from it.’

‘Except you were ready to throw your life away to get the transponder on Teros. Now you’re sanguine about it?’

‘That was the risk of losing a lead on the Koderex. Now I have her. Now there’s no urgency.’

Beckett made a face. ‘Doctor… do you really think that, if this information remain Starfleet property, you’ll be allowed to just stick around on board and study it to your heart’s content for the next few months, years? Graelin will ship you out the moment he gets an excuse, and you’ll be empty-handed.’

But again, T’Sann shook his head and gave him a reassuring smile. ‘I appreciate your concern, Nate. But truly, I have what I want. Time’s on my side.’ He returned his gaze to the screen, blank until he brought up the progress bar on file restoration.

Beckett watched his cool demeanour, watched the progress bar which promised no quick answers, not if someone wanted to see the Koderex’s data in its whole, or even nearly. There was no way Graelin would keep T’Sann aboard long enough for the archaeologist to see the full fruits of his labour, and yet here he was, calm and collected.

A chill sank into Beckett’s gut as he thought of the screen T’Sann had hidden when he’d walked in, flicked away before the details could be caught. I have what I want, T’Sann had said. But what was that?

Even on a ship this size, Dathan could feel the gentle shift in the hum of the deck when Endeavour went to warp. Before her shone the strategic map for the Nerillian system on the CIC’s holo-display, hot-spots resolved, tactical concerns that had once gleamed an urgent red now a bright, optimistic green.

They had not overhauled the planet’s infrastructure like they’d planned. But between the shield and the bounty, they had made the refugee hub even more independent, capable of protecting itself, forming its own trade agreements, forging its own destiny. Dathan had heard the aggravation in Representative Kerok’s voice when the warbird Tesore left, the Star Empire thwarted in their ambitions of exerting more control but with no political grounds to protest.

But it was done, the mission as complete as First Secretary Hale deemed, and onward they went. Still Dathan’s hand lingered over the controls, inches away from the command to archive the display and analysis.

The last few weeks had been full of chaos. Beyond the aftermath of losing the ship and boarding a new one, she’d had to cover her tracks. Make sure that the right segments of the old Endeavour’s computer were wiped or corrupted enough that nobody looked too closely at what she’d done. Were she not a former staffer of Admiral Beckett, she would never have had the access, but her successor, Commander Lockhart, had proved malleable enough. It had only been a matter of hours’ work to sweep her role under the carpet, paint Petty Officer Baranel as the lucky lost hero, but then had come the waiting.

Would they find the comms records? Would someone take a close enough look to question the story? Would she be found out? And by the time she’d thought she could rest easy, it was off to a new ship, a new mission, and now she was busy not with covering her lies, but living them. Being Lieutenant Dathan.

If they were leaving Nerillian, it was her first chance to stop, breathe, and think in weeks. But Dathan Tahla really didn’t want to do any of that.

The attack on Endeavour by agents of the Terran Empire had been an opportunistic strike, she knew, orchestrated by junior officers eager to win victories political as much as military. Vicious underlings were keen to avenge the defeat of the Wild Hunt that had denied them their best chance to get home, defying any orders of Prefect MacCallister to stay hidden, to do… whatever they were doing beyond Dathan’s line of sight. It was not strictly treasonous for her to thwart them; she could argue she was following her mission and stopping an ill-considered and unauthorised action.

But what she could argue was not the same as what she believed or what she knew. Prefect MacCallister had told her to run, not to stop the attack. Those she was lying for, fighting for, spying for, had been prepared to leave her to die for nothing more than a spiteful counter-attack. And it had not been loyalty to the mission that made her save Endeavour instead of running.

Archiving the Nerillian files didn’t take long, but it gave her a few more minutes’ distraction from her own thoughts. Which meant she had mixed feelings when the doors slid open, though she didn’t look up at the interruption.

‘I’m not going, Greg.’

The footsteps stopped, and she realised it wasn’t Carraway even before she heard Kharth’s voice. ‘Wrong person, but the right argument.’

Dathan turned, eyebrow quirking. ‘I appreciate the thought, Kharth, but I have work to do before I can go to a party.’

‘I think party is a strong word,’ said Kharth, dressed down in nothing more ostentatious than a dark shirt and jacket. ‘You only need to stop by for a drink. Come on, it’s been a shit few weeks.’

‘I didn’t realise I was the “stop by for a drink,” type.’

Kharth cocked her head. ‘Not saying we’re about to start braiding friendship bracelets, Dathan, but you’ve been in the mud with us. Carraway did tell me to drag you along, but he’s right. Besides, Rourke only didn’t make it an order because he didn’t think he had to.’

Dathan looked at the blank space where the Nerillian map had hovered, then, with a sigh, locked down the CIC. ‘Fine. If Greg’s got my scent, I’m not going to argue.’

‘He’s annoyingly persistent,’ said Kharth as they left. ‘And you can’t yell at him for it, because he’s annoyingly nice. Anyway.’ She shrugged. ‘You juggled all the balls in the air this mission. You bet Commander Graelin will be preening in the spotlight like he’s been working the last three weeks; you might as well get your credit.’

Dathan glanced at her as they waited for a turbolift; considered pressing her aggravation towards Graelin, all three of them ostensibly part of Admiral Beckett’s net on Endeavour. She would have done so, once, without thinking; picked at an obvious scab just to see what would make Kharth bleed, just to see the easiest way to get under her skin. But she’d seen what the security officer had gone through the past weeks, months; seen her fight to be taken seriously, fight to win her respect back, and literally fight to save Dathan’s life on Tagrador.

Instead she said, ‘The bounty was a good idea.’

Kharth gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘If we’re going to do good in the region, we have to learn to play by the region’s rules. We have to empower these worlds in ways useful to them, not the ways we think are best.’

‘Sure.’ They stepped into the turbolift. ‘The captain will get past his discomfort, too. The uncomfortable thing about trust is that sometimes all you can give it is time.’

‘Yeah.’ Kharth grimaced. ‘We’ll see.’

It was late, but today that meant the crew who really cared were heading to a mess hall, or the Safe House, or the quarters of whoever among their friends had the most space, while the indifferent reaped the benefits of trading shifts. For the first time since they’d boarded, Rourke had reserved the Round Table for only the senior staff, though Dathan was unsurprised to see the courtesy had been extended to Hale and Brigan.

They were the last two to arrive, Carraway at once peeling away from the bar to approach with a grin and an iron grip on a trio of glasses. ‘Good work, Saeihr. I knew I could count on you.’

Kharth took one of the glasses of beer with a smirk. ‘CIC was on my way.’

She’d been to these social gatherings before, Dathan thought. They were few and far between, but pretending to be part of the crew was more than doing her job, and beyond avoiding suspicion it helped her keep track of the dynamics of those around her. Valance and Cortez were sat together at the bar, for instance, clearly past whatever dark cloud had been hanging over Cortez’s head and driving a wedge between them. Around the captain had gathered a small knot of Hale and Brigan, but also Sadek, and a Petrias Graelin nobody looked especially pleased to put up with. With Graelin so occupied, Lindgren and Arys were at a booth with not just Thawn, but also Rhade. As Dathan watched, he put a hand to Thawn’s arm when she laughed at something Lindgren said, her hair shining in the gold lighting of the Round Table, his eyes locked on this rare flicker of humour.

But when Dathan dragged her attention away, Carraway was pushing the other glass into her hand as Kharth watched him and said, ‘Quite the change for you, Carraway.’

Carraway frowned. ‘A change for us all. Or you mean, because I’m one of the originals? I think we’re all originals now, with a new ship. That’s a good thing. We shouldn’t be held back by how we got here. We should live in the truth of what we have now.’ But he smiled. ‘You both came to talk to me tonight, so I’m sorry, but I’m going to be hokey.’

‘You’re right.’ Rhade had left his group to come over, and his smile was its own source of brightness. ‘You are hokey, Greg.’ As they chuckled, he regarded Dathan. ‘I’m glad you made it.’

She tilted her chin up a half-inch. ‘Kharth didn’t give me much of a choice.’

‘It’s true,’ drawled Kharth. ‘I’m a monster who follows the counsellor’s instructions to drag people to parties.’

‘Insidious indeed,’ Rhade agreed.

They laughed, even Dathan herself giving a chuckle, and she realised that, for all her astute understanding of who was standing with whom, sharing time with whom, she’d not seen all. To socialise with Carraway at a party wasn’t odd for her; he’d forcibly taken her under his wing from the start. But Kharth had stayed put after bringing her here, and Rhade had come over, not just for Dathan but Kharth, too, and Carraway, all four of them connected in their unified and unique ways.

She wasn’t a small corner of the net any more, tethered out of necessity. She was a part of it.

Dathan glanced back at the booth. ‘You didn’t need to leave the others.’ Leave Thawn.

Rhade gave an easy shrug. ‘I didn’t,’ he agreed. ‘But there’s time enough for all of us.’

Before she could wonder what he meant by that, Rourke was stepping out from his own knot in the net, glass raised. All the burly captain ever needed to do was straighten his stance and step to the centre and he could command the eyes of everyone in the room.

‘Evening,’ his voice boomed out across the cosy officers’ mess. ‘I’ll keep this short and sweet, because it wasn’t that long ago you had me speechifying.’

‘And look what happened!’ called Cortez, sending a ripple of laughter through the gathered.

Rourke grinned. ‘Exactly. But we’re a few hours out from Nerillian. The mission was a success, and hopefully will send a sign through the region that we’re serious, we’re here to help, and we’re not going to make anyone a Federation vassal. That’s the end of our first mission here, on our new ship. And in a few hours, it’s the end not just of this year, but this century. I’ll let you see it out in style down in the Safe House, but I wanted something just for us, first.

‘We’ve done enough looking back. Instead, let us look forward – to more great deeds, more successes, more victories. You are the best crew a captain could hope for, and I know whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. So.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Join me in a toast. Not just to Endeavour. But to the endeavour, whatever form it takes.’

Glasses were raised, toasts were made, and as Dathan Tahla stood in the knot of light and friendship and hope, feeling its tendrils of connection and belonging sink into her, she realised she’d broken her old loyalties for these new ones. And as she, too, raised her glass to toast the friends and allies around her, sincere with every syllable, she knew when she drank it would be to wash down gut-wrenching terror at all that was to come.