They had exceeded their quota and still only been given half-rations.

With nothing more than their natural senses and the faintest ultraviolet gleam of the veins of dilithium criss-crossing the rocks around them, the Reman workers huddled together to pool what little they had. Tiskral was smaller than his comrades, wirier and younger, and knew he would be sacrificing some of his meagre fare for those who needed it more. Not just the sickly or the old, but the biggest and the mightiest whose strength they would some day need.

So it was his job to wait at the periphery of the group, keen eyes locked on the long tunnel back up the mine shaft, back towards the overseers. The Romulans often did not care what their labourers did with food, but they were wary of Reman collaboration, of any whiff of insurrection. Resak had told him to be even more vigilant of late, to keep his head down further yet watch more keenly, and while Tiskral did not understand why, when Resak spoke, everyone listened.

It was Resak who talked now in the middle of the huddle of miners, assessing their rations and portioning them out as he saw fit. Resak was not the biggest of the labourers, nor one of the placating collaborators assigned as foreman, but down here in the dark, beyond Romulan eyes and ears, he was the voice of the Remans of Velorum.

‘An extra quarter for Dorman,’ said Resak, low voice rumbling through the crowd and darkness.

‘Give it to someone who needs it more,’ at once protested the looming Dorman.

‘No arguments. We will need your strength.’

‘But Yunral -’

‘Yunral can have a fifth of mine,’ said Tiskral in a whisper that carried, not tearing his eyes from his watch.

Resak clicked his tongue, and all fell silent. ‘We all give what we have and what we can. We all receive what we need, as individuals, as a collective. Trust my wisdom.’ The small mess tin was pressed into Dorman’s hands, and the biggest Reman of the group fell silent, cowed by Resak’s simple words.

Their work break was not long. It was never long, and soon came the low thrumming of the klaxon to signal the return to work. They had come together for such a short time, and now the voices of the overseers called, summoning them back to labour in the deepest, darkest depths of Velorum’s wealth.

Resak paused by Tiskral as they stepped back from safe gloom to the searing lights of the overseers’ section above. ‘You’re impatient.’

‘I can wait,’ Tiskral insisted, but even now there was a shudder of energy to his gait.

‘You will wait. And you will have your time.’ Resak’s expression creased as he looked down at the younger Reman. ‘And when that time comes, you may not be so eager for the blood it will bring.’

‘We were promised something better here,’ Tiskral said bitterly. ‘To be partners on Velorum, not slaves as we were on Remus. Enough lies.’

‘The overseers lie. It is their nature. But they lie because they are weak. They lie because they need us.’ Resak squeeze his shoulder. ‘This new Star Empire is nothing more than a rotting corpse shrouded in the ghosts of past glory. When its back breaks, we will tear our way out.’

‘But how long -’

‘Hey!’

They had emerged from the deepest shaft, wrapped in darkness like a smothering mask, and stepped into the ring of light suffusing the open chamber where the overseers and guards waited.

Tiskral did not know all the guards by name, but he knew this one by his face, and fearful breath burned in his breast as the baton was levelled at them.

‘You should be back at work,’ the guard snapped. ‘Not talking.’

His eyes were on Resak, but Tiskral slid between them. He spent his life trying to be small, trying to be overlooked, and yet for once he needed to command attention. ‘I was – I was just asking -’ Words slid and choked, and he did not know if he was failing or if this was helping. ‘It was my fault.’

The guard stepped forward, but Resak planted a commanding hand on Tiskral’s shoulder. ‘I was helping the boy. We are returning to work.’

Tiskral had to squint in this light. In the depths, the Remans could act as freely as they pleased. Here, where processing happened, amid the hum and hiss of heavy mining machinery, in the ring of light, the Romulans could blind them as they saw all.

But still he saw the swing of the baton coming. It was not activated; there was no electric hiss, and only the heavy thud of metal cracked into Tiskral’s gut. He bent double and would have fallen had Resak not kept a firm hand on him, so he just slumped against the man who commanded his loyalty, and whimpered and wheezed.

‘There’s no need for this,’ Resak insisted, and even in the face of this cruelty his voice was clear and calm. This was no place for righteous indignation.

‘Save questions for your breaks or your supervisors,’ the guard insisted.

Resak tightened his grip on Tiskral’s shoulder. ‘He understands.’ With a squeeze of his grip, he tugged Tiskral upright. ‘We will return to work.’

Tiskral’s belly screamed in objection, but he knew he would be left with nothing but a bruise. Before Resak he would not be weak, and with an iron-tight jaw he straightened. With iron-tight control, he looked only at the guard’s feet, rather than meeting his eyes with anything that might be seen as defiance. ‘We will return to work,’ he wheezed.

The guard let them go, and as Resak guided Tiskral back towards their work station, he dropped his voice. ‘I am sorry. We will come a different way next time. Find a softer guard.’

Some guards had grown more complacent in recent weeks, as if their hearts were not in it, as if they resented their own work. Others had been spurred to shorter tempers and greater cruelty. Tiskral did not always know the difference, but Resak did – even the guards down here treated him with, if not respect, an acknowledgement of his place among his people.

‘They all wield the same batons,’ Tiskral hissed. ‘Does it matter?’

‘We will hardly kill them all,’ Resak murmured. ‘Hardly drive them all out. A guard pushed down here to feed their family lest the Empire let them starve is not our true foe. For many of them, we share a foe.’

‘Will they see it that way?’

Resak let his shoulder go and patted him once on the back, stepping away. The klaxons still sounded and they needed to get to their stations, head down one of the many lengthy shafts of the mines of Velorum, and plunder its depths for the dilithium to fuel an empire.

‘We will find out,’ Resak rumbled, eyes clear even in the light. ‘When the time comes.’

‘It’s an embarrassment.’

Long silence met the protest. In the gloomy offices Toresa could see the senator bent over her desk, could hear the faint clicks of her console as she wrote notes rather than answered. They had been here before, and with a hum Toresa folded her hands into the sleeves of her formal robes and waited.

Once Senator Vriana had determined she’d waited long enough she leaned back from her desk, long fingers leaving the console that had commanded her attention. ‘Embarrassment is for children,’ she chided. ‘Talvath is a distant collection of rocks and renegades.’

Toresa tried to not squirm under her cool, dark gaze. ‘It is the principle of the matter. Another star system turning its back on the Empire. We should send ships.’

‘Should we.’ Vriana tapped her chin. ‘How many people should they kill?’

‘What?’

‘When they reach Talvath and the governor refuses the orders of the Star Navy to surrender his authority back to our duly-appointed leadership. Does the task group commander just kill him? His staff? His family? His followers?’

‘Surely,’ said Toresa delicately, ‘they should kill as many as are found treasonous.’

‘By all accounts, that is a lot of people. They will fight back.’

‘I expect-’

‘So how many of our soldiers do you think should die to bring Talvath to heel?’

‘I don’t-’

‘And while our ships are in the distant Talvath system, weeks away at maximum speed, they will not be elsewhere. Which border should we leave under-defended instead? From which more-vital system should we remove the garrison?’ As she remained silent, Vriana inclined her head. ‘Everything has a price. Reasserting dominion over Talvath has a price.’

Toresa drew a slow, careful breath. Vriana normally indulged her staffer’s opinions, challenged to guide them through decision-making in these hallowed halls of the Senate of Rator, the stuttering artificial heart of the ancient Romulan Star Empire. From here they issued legislation and orders across what remained of the once-greatest power of the Romulan people, like pumping anemic blood through thinned veins to the stumps of amputated limbs. But less and less in recent months had Senator Vriana mustered the patience for her staff’s youthful ignorance.

‘Letting Talvath proclaim independence unchallenged,’ said Toresa at length, ‘makes us look weak, and will embolden our enemies within and without the Empire.’

‘You are correct,’ Vriana allowed. ‘But these worlds having the nerve to proclaim independence at all makes us look weak. Don’t spend so much time parrying the first strike of the sword that you miss the dagger slipping into your kidneys.’

Toresa considered this a moment. ‘You think somewhere else will try to secede soon? Somewhere more valuable than Talvath, so we have to keep our forces in reserve rather than send them far away?’

‘It is possible. We have to guard the Empire’s heart, rather than race off to assuage a scratch on a distant limb. But you should worry about fitting a meeting with Governor Lorean into my schedule, while I and the Praetor worry about assuring the galaxy that our authority remains firm.’ There was a bleep from her console, and Vriana frowned at the screen. ‘Curious.’

Toresa slid over, knowing when it was and wasn’t permitted for her to read over the senator’s shoulder. ‘By what grounds does Admiral Hitath summon the Senate?’ It was hard to fight shrill indignation.

‘He wishes to complain about our refusal to send that task group to Talvath, no doubt,’ Vriana sighed, ‘and the Praetor will let him spout hot air so he feels he is still important.’ She rose from her seat and gestured across the office. ‘My outer robe.’

Toresa was a well-qualified young woman from a good family who had worked hard to become the senior aide to one of the most prominent senators of Rator. It was both beneath her to dress Senator Vriana, and an absolute honour. ‘I look forward,’ she said as she shrugged the robe onto Vriana’s shoulders, ‘to the Praetor doing his usual dressing-down.’

Vriana gave a tight smile. ‘This may be another occasion where we take a blow now to maintain stability later. If the Admiral can indulge his pride today, he will keep fighting for us tomorrow.’

The senator’s offices were not far from the Senate Chambers themselves. The main corridor leading there had a high, curved, windowed ceiling through which the shining sunlight of Rator stretched, broken by shadows of the frames to paint criss-crossing beams across the marble floors on which their footsteps echoed.

‘If I can fit Lorean in at 1630,’ Toresa said as she fell into step beside Senator Vriana, ‘then you can make it to dinner with your wife and that concert at 2000?’

Vriana groaned. ‘She does want to see the concert, doesn’t she.’

‘Yes, but also Director Stardel will be there, and I’ve got his staff to pivot him your way at intermission.’ Toresa tried to hide her pleased smile. It had taken no small amount of engineering to arrange an informal encounter away from prying eyes.

The senator raised an eyebrow, but Toresa could see she was impressed. ‘That might make three hours of modern music marginally worth it, if-’

‘Senator.’

They were not the only senators or staff moving through the corridors, but most parties were like them, huddled in the final moments of orchestrating their day before the representatives entered the chambers and the doors were sealed. This made the naval officers near the doors like rocks jutting out of a rushing river, a breaching stillness amid smooth motion.

Toresa let herself slide half a step behind Senator Vriana as she came to a halt and tilted her chin up an inch. ‘Admiral Hitath.’

‘I had not known you were still on Rator.’ Hitath was built like someone had crafted a dancer out of iron, graceful and yet inflexible on anything for which he was not made to bend. ‘Your trip to Velorum was cancelled?’

‘Setbacks in their dilithium processing made me postpone,’ Vriana said coolly. ‘Which means I am here to hear you today.’

‘Hm.’ Hitath looked up and down the corridor as the last of the senators entered the chambers, their staff drifting away. Toresa followed his gaze to see more naval officers than she might have expected dotted among them, resplendent in the dress uniforms that were required if they set foot in the Senate. ‘I hope you will listen.’

‘I always listen to the servants of the Empire.’ Vriana gave a smile that did not reach her eyes, and extended a hand to the open chamber doors. ‘You may walk with me, Admiral.’

It was, Toresa thought, a bold and clever move. On the one hand, it situated her alongside this bullish admiral, Hitath ever the hawkish voice in Rator’s rulership. On the other, it made it clear he was a guest within the chamber, the servant of the senator walking him in at her say-so. As she smothered a smile, she found herself meeting the gaze of the young centurion next to Hitath, found his eyes locked on her.

He did not smile, and she shifted her feet and looked away.

When Hitath nodded, Vriana looked to Toresa. ‘Put the governor on my schedule. I may as well get him dealt with before tonight.’

‘Of course.’

The centurion’s eyes were still on her as Toresa watched the senator and admiral enter the chamber. It was a vast hall, built in the same manner as the Senate of Romulus, though Toresa had never been there herself. Painstaking effort had been taken to ensure it was a duplicate in every way possible, but she had heard older staff call it desperate or even cheap, a flawed mimicry of something that could never be recreated. Most of the senators were gathered within, seated already, making Vriana and Hitath some of the last to arrive.

But not the last, as naval officers fell into step behind them to enter the senate chamber, and sealed the doors as she watched.

Toresa’s throat tightened. ‘They’re not supposed to go in there,’ she whispered.

If she had held her tongue, it might have been different. If she had done a better job of following Vriana’s lessons and instructions, had kept her expression more studied, it might have been different. As it was, she turned sharply from the door to find her way back blocked by the centurion with the cold eyes.

‘Perhaps you should come with me, Miss,’ he said.

She swallowed. ‘I was heading back to my office. Senator Vriana’s office.’ From there she could check the day’s schedule, check the admiral’s schedule, send a quick message to her friends in Senate Security. ‘I don’t-’

Through the doors to the senate chambers she heard the muffled sound of raised voices. Her eyes widened, and she took a quick step forward, only for the centurion to side-step and block her way.

‘Miss,’ he said again in that cool, level voice. ‘We should move away.’ His hand was on his holstered disruptor, and behind her she heard a single shot go off in the senate chamber.

‘No…’ Again she faltered, again she hesitated, turning back to the door to see the naval officers now blocking the way, then rounding once more to find the centurion’s disruptor in her face.

Now his coldness had faded for something else. Perhaps it was regret. Perhaps it was disgust.

‘For too long the so-called senators of Rator have let the Empire flounder and weaken. This must end.’ The centurion could not be speaking loudly, but it felt like his voice echoed off the walls of the corridor, felt like it overwhelmed the sparking sounds of shouting, screaming, shooting now bursting through the senate doors. ‘By the authority of Galae Command, you have been found complicit, by malice or incompetence, in this plot to undermine the Romulan Star Empire.’

Toresa’s knees shook. ‘Please.’

Whatever had softened in the centurion’s eyes now turned to ice. ‘No mercy for traitors.’ And his disruptor fire joined the chorus echoing through the halls of the Senate of Rator.

‘They’re late.’

Captain Hargreaves drummed his fingers on the armrest of his command chair. All around him the bridge of the USS Caliburn was like a pot put on to simmer, gathering heat and steam but not bubbling. Not yet.

‘We can wait,’ he rumbled, letting his voice carry further than his XO’s concerns had. She was always circumspect, never one to let apprehensions seep out to infect bridge officers. But he found exuding calm confidence rarely did any harm. ‘They’ll be here.’ Still, he twisted in his chair to look to the tactical arch. ‘Keep monitoring long-range sensors, Lieutenant Tegan.’

Tegan was new to the Caliburn, a transfer from the USS Odysseus so tragically lost to the Century Storm. Their assignment had not been Hargreaves’s choice, but he knew better than to question the transparent chain of favours from Command that made sure survivors were taken care of. Since Tegan’s arrival they had been quiet and dutiful. Neither of these were the qualities Hargreaves favoured in a tactical officer.

‘Monitoring, sir,’ said Tegan, as if they’d needed prompting to keep an eye out for arrivals. He rather hoped they hadn’t; his instruction hadn’t exactly been a test, but it had not been passed with flying colours.

This time, Commander Vorin leaned in closer from her seat to drop her voice. ‘Do we proceed with the rest of the convoy if they’re late? Or do we go looking?’

The Caliburn had been in the old Neutral Zone for the better part of a week now. Reports of heavy Romulan Star Navy movements along the border had made supervisors of the Federation’s mining operations in the region skittish, and Starfleet had agreed to escort non-essential personnel and the latest ore shipments back. It was the sort of work Hargreaves knew many of his colleagues would sneer at: racing to protect resources, industry, investments. Kehinde Hargreaves, on the other hand, knew how many potential starship hulls were in the cargo holds of the freighters gathering under the protective wing of the Caliburn.

‘That depends entirely,’ he said lightly to Vorin, ‘on the circumstances of the Pelleas’ delay. A schedule in this region is always more of a guideline.’

This time Vorin shut up properly. That was a relief; she wasn’t normally this tiresome. She was an excellent XO, detail-oriented and loyal, but she was also the sort of officer who had peaked in her present circumstances, happy to be a stronger person’s right hand. It was what he needed in his command staff, but her lack of ambition forever placed a glass ceiling on his respect.

‘Picking up something on long-range sensors,’ Tegan burst at last, and Hargreaves straightened before their voice took on a concerned quality. ‘That – that’s not the Pelleas, it’s incoming from the Romulan side of the border. Headed right for us.’

His hands curled around the armrests of the chair. ‘Yellow alert. Get me more information, Lieutenant.’

‘Definitely on an intercept course, but it’s a shuttle. Personnel transport. Imperial design. They’re coming hell-bent-for-leather, though.’

Is that the technical term? Hargreaves stopped himself from commenting. ‘Hail them.’

‘No response,’ said Lieutenant Carville at Communications. Then, ‘Hang on – they’re replying with diplomatic encryption.’

Hargreaves stood, brow furrowing. ‘Put them through.’

‘Audio only,’ Carville apologised.

‘This is the Diplomatic Transport Evaren. Do not open fire; we are carrying three senators aboard!’

Hargreaves glanced back at Vorin, who merely quirked an eyebrow. He shrugged and frowned at the viewscreen, the display now showing their sensor feed and the small dot racing towards them – and the border. ‘Transport Evaren, this is Captain Hargreaves of the Federation starship Caliburn. Do you require assistance?’

Before the response could come, Tegan snapped, ‘Imperial warbird decloaking off the Evaren’s aft! Sir, they’re opening fire on the Evaren.’

Vorin pushed to her feet. ‘What in ice are they doing?’

‘Caliburn!’ The desperate voice of the Evaren’s pilot burst through comms again. ‘We are being pursued by rogue officers. Please assist!’

Vorin’s breath caught. ‘Do we cross the border?’

Hargreaves looked at Carville. ‘Confirm these diplomatic encryptions.’

‘Evaren’s shields are holding,’ Tegan called. ‘But at present speed and course, if the warbird’s shooting to kill, they won’t make it out of Imperial space.’

Carville gave a hapless shrug. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, sir; these encryptions are valid for a ship carrying Imperial diplomatic dignitaries.’

Hargreaves nodded. ‘Hail the warbird.’

‘No response.’

He gave a slow exhale. ‘Red alert. Raise shields and set a course for the Evaren – but do not yet cross the border.’

A Romulan Star Navy ship shooting at this transport was already a debacle. The only thing worse was him making the wrong move – especially with the dozen freighters and personnel transports hanging behind his ship at the rendezvous point. If he so much as breathed wrong, it wasn’t just the long-term implications that would hang over his head.

As if reading his mind, Vorin turned. ‘If the Evaren makes it across the border, this is a different issue. Perhaps we can help them without transgressing.’

Hargreaves frowned. ‘Go on, Commander.’

‘Our sensors are more sophisticated than theirs. We can transmit data on the disruptor harmonics of the warbird’s weapon systems so the Evaren can modulate their shields accordingly.’

‘That only buys us seconds,’ Tegan pointed out.

Hargreaves’s hand snapped up. ‘This is a game of seconds. Tegan, Carville, do it. Lieutenant Tegan, do everything in your power to guide that transport out of Imperial space.’ He turned to the front of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back. ‘Then get me a weapons lock on the warbird. And don’t dare so much as breathe the wrong way without my say-so.’

At his look, Vorin slid around to join Tegan at Tactical, two pairs of eyes better than one in a set of delicate tasks. Hargreaves felt the knot in his back ease an iota at the hands he trusted settling into this, like his control had soaked into the one corner of the bridge where his uncertainty nestled in this untested officer.

‘The Evaren is complying, sir,’ said Tegan after thudding moments. ‘They’re getting – well, percentages out of this.’

He nodded and looked to Carville. ‘If that warbird won’t answer, give me an open channel.’ At the lieutenant’s thumbs-up, Hargreaves drew a deep breath. ‘Imperial warbird, this is the starship Caliburn. The Evaren is a helpless ship requesting our aid. I can anticipate your response – this is an internal matter, this is your territory. Out here on the edge, territory is a matter of whose sensor logs are left to be read, and this is a distress call. Don’t make me choose between a treaty you’re testing, and a Starfleet principle.’

In the silence that followed, Tegan swallowed. ‘Evaren’s shields are down to ten percent. They’re close, I don’t know if they’ll make it.’

Hargreaves’s choices caught in his throat. When he drew his next breath, even he wasn’t sure what his next order was going to be.

Then Vorin spoke, triumphant. ‘Warbird is breaking off, Captain! The Evaren’s heading for us.’

Those who knew him well would have felt Hargreaves’s knee-bending relief shown only in the briefest closing of his eyes. His voice hardly changed pitch as he said, ‘All stop, Helm.’

‘Captain,’ said Carville, ‘the Evaren is hailing us again. They have visual this time.’

The viewscreen flared to life to show the interior of a Romulan transport’s cockpit. The lights were dim, emergency alerts flaring through the gloom, smoke hissing from a series of busted relays and consoles. A man had spoken in the request for aid, but now a Romulan woman in battered but distinguished robes was before him.

‘Captain Hargreaves, this is Senator Naranor of the Romulan Star Empire. Thank you for your assistance. I and my colleagues come to you requesting asylum and the protection of the Federation.’

Now Hargreaves’s feelings were clear to see, his jaw dropping before he rallied. ‘Senator – can you explain anything?’

‘Of course.’ Naranor tilted her chin up an inch, refined features shadowed in the Evaren’s gloom. ‘The navy has staged a coup against the senate. Many of my colleagues have been murdered. Some, like me, are on the run. Others are rallying loyalists to fight back.’

‘It’s civil war, then,’ Hargreaves breathed.

‘Far too polite of you, Captain.’ Senator Naranor shook her head. ‘This is nothing short of the end of the Romulan Star Empire.’

After long years in the mines of Velorum Prime, the governor’s mansion on Psi Velorum III was blinding.

It was not just the light, though Resak’s eyes strained against the brightness gleaming from every chandelier, beaming from every strip along the ceiling, streaming from every wall-height window. The rulers of the Velorum Sector had eschewed all shadows in their halls of power, and Resak didn’t know if they feared finding the monsters they had banished, or their own darkness staring back at them.

He did not want to be here in the governor’s office, with tall windows before the desk showing him the expansive grounds. Once a garden, now his workers – his army – stomped across the fine lawns and through the cultivated hedgerows, jubilant in victory, grief-stricken in loss, slack-jawed at the sheer space and luxury that had been above their heads while they laboured in chains. He would have rather been among them, or in the hearts of the cities where the work was being done, but ideology needed symbolism, and he was a symbol. Whether he liked it or not.

So he leaned over the monitor scrolling through incoming communications, and scowled at the burden of good news.

He did not know how long he had been there when the door-chime sounded, breaking him from his focus, but the sun was lower and dimmer on the horizon, and he felt his shoulders ease at the oncoming gloom. But the chime was a request, an act of deference, and Resak was relieved when the doors slid open a moment later for the two he had come to rely on most – his left hand and his right – stepped in.

It was Jilok who had tapped the door-chime, Resak knew at once. The former naval commander looked ill at-ease out of uniform, and had pulled on one of the supervisors’ jumpsuits from the refinery, stripped of insignias but still of a sufficiently severe cut to make it feel like a uniting regalia. But Dorman had simply walked in, the stone-faced Reman worker loyal to Resak unto death and yet not about to show him the deference their former overseers had expected.

‘Food supplies are being circulated,’ Dorman rumbled as he stomped towards the desk. ‘You were right; the households and stores on the upper levels had ample.’

Resak’s throat tightened. ‘I hope nobody had to be hurt.’

Dorman rolled a boulder of a shoulder. ‘Some guards thought they’d rather shoot a Reman than let us into a grain silo.’

‘They were given,’ Jilok assured quickly, ‘every chance to surrender. Then they were given a chance to surrender at gunpoint.’

‘And then?’

Jilok shrugged. ‘I’m not sending our people against their disruptors with only stun batons. We shot the ones who fought. Hungry people are being fed.’

Our people. Resak believed Jilok’s sincerity. The commander had had everything to lose and nothing to gain when his task group turned on the local garrison, threw their lot in with the workers’ uprising that swelled and stormed across Psi Velorum. When asked, Jilok had shaken his head and said, ‘I serve the people. You’re the people, last time I checked.’ Large portions of the Reman and Romulan workers had been distrusting, even though they could not have overthrown the governor, seized power on Psi Velorum, without a portion of the military’s backing.

Now Resak was starting to fear Jilok not for his commitment to the cause, but for his soldier’s mentality: he was trained to see anyone who was not on his side as an enemy to be eliminated. But rebellions were rarely so tidy.

‘We did as you said,’ Dorman pressed on. ‘Only took what we need. The rich palaces still have bread and water.’

‘And fancy wine,’ Jilok pointed out. ‘We took staples, they keep luxuries. Honestly, I don’t know what they’re complaining about. We’re not seizing their houses, their assets. Though it might come to that.’

‘One step at a time. They should have the choice,’ Resak said sharply. ‘They’re not the ones responsible for our oppression.’

‘Their husbands, wives, fathers, and mothers were,’ said Dorman.

‘And how long was your father a pit boss, Dorman?’ Resak challenged. ‘How long was I?’

Dorman hesitated. ‘That’s different.’

‘Is it? I had power over you, power given by the overseers, by the governor – by the Senate. We were part of the hierarchy that kept us down.’

‘You – both of you – made sure things weren’t worse for us.’

‘I was still complicit.’ Resak shook his head. ‘My point is that almost nobody had a choice, a real choice. That can change everything – Jilok here is proof.’

Jilok winced. ‘I know what my choice was: help you, or turn Psi Velorum to slag.’

‘That’s not true. You could have taken your forces and left.’

He frowned at that. ‘No. No, I don’t think I could.’

Dorman gave an impatient harrumph. ‘Fact remains, we’re distributing food across the planet. Our forces are dealing with any of the last pockets of resistance – I know, I know, key locations only, otherwise we contain them. Psi Velorum is ours.’

Jilok looked at the computer terminal. ‘What’s the news?’

Resak sighed at the damning prospect of hope. ‘Twelve systems have already aligned themselves with us. Several are deliberating. Others are still engaged in the struggle. I want to make sure we maintain a communications network across the sector – soon enough, I will speak to representatives of all of these worlds and systems, and we will share these burdens.’

Dorman chewed on words for a moment. Then he said, ‘That’s a lot of burdens. Do we have Ortansa?’ The agri-world was one of Velorum’s breadbaskets.

‘We do. Everyone will want from them, though, won’t they.’ Resak ran a hand over his head and tapped his fingers on the back of his neck. ‘Productivity on Ortansa will be down. Shipping what stores they have across the sector will be difficult.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Dorman said bullishly.

‘I’ll commandeer as many of the ships with decent cargo space as I can,’ Jilok added more thoughtfully. ‘We shared enough with Yuran, we can share more.’

Resak hesitated. ‘The shipment never reached Yuran.’

Jilok swore. ‘The Star Navy?’

‘Maybe. Maybe one of the newly-acclaimed warlords among our neighbours. Maybe pirates. I don’t know.’ Resak sighed. ‘I don’t think we can do this on our own.’

Dorman took a sharp step forward. ‘We are not,’ he growled, ‘turning to the Free State. The Republic doesn’t have the resources or reach to help us -’

‘I’m not talking about the Free State, or the Republic, or anyone like that.’ Resak straightened. He had been thinking about this for some time, feeling the truth weigh down on him. All he had wanted, he thought, was to secure a small pocket of Psi Velorum for his siblings in the mines. Seize control of the resources they mined, work on their own terms and trade their labour and wares for a fair price – and for freedom. But so many had shared that vision that fighting for a mine had become fighting for a world – a system – a sector.

Success was its own responsibility, and if there was one thing Resak had learnt in the past weeks, it was that shouldering a burden alone was not duty. It was vanity.

He looked at his two unlikely allies, a Reman who had once been the simplest of labourers and a Romulan who had once been loyal to their oppressors. If anything was going to unite them again, it was disapproval of what he was about to say. But if he had one responsibility he could not share, it was facing the unwelcome truth.

Jilok folded his arms across his chest. ‘Who are we going to for help, then?’

‘We’re not going to anyone for help.’ Resak drew a deep breath. ‘Because I’ve already asked.’

“Good evening everyone.” Fleet Admiral Ramar’s voice was gruff as he entered the large wardroom dedicated to operations of the Fourth Fleet and marched to assume his seat at the head of the table. At once the assembled were silent. “Interrupting your evenings was not planned, but we have a situation the Fourth Fleet’s being assigned to deal with.” If the regret at interruption was sincere, not many present believed it.

“Another galactic-scale event?” said Rear Admiral Dowd with wry humour. The stout sixty-year-old human man leaned further back than most around the table, his hands clasped together just above his stomach. It was the question on everyone’s minds with Ramar’s emphasis on ‘situation.’

Ramar shook his head. “Not quite as bad as last year’s fumble with Omega, Bob.” Rather than explain, his gaze fell pointedly on Vice Admiral Beckett.

With the press of a thumb on his PADD, Beckett brought to life the holographic display in the middle, the information repeated on the screens in front of each staffer. Multiple reports, images, and the latest deep-space sensor scans of the Beta Quadrant scrolled into view, the focus of all on the various Romulan states.

“Starfleet Intelligence has confirmed that in the last few days and weeks there has been a huge political shift in the Romulan Star Empire of Rator. Several outlying systems declared their independence, and the Star Navy was denied their request to retake them.”

“Denied?” said Rear Admiral Virem, and Beckett gave a sigh at the interruption. She looked up from the images to catch his expression, before nodding for him to continue.

He drew a deep breath. “The Senate of Rator voted against sending a strike force to deal with the dissidents. Our sources tell us there was consensus that it would be too costly in resources and manpower, and stretch imperial defences too thin. We also suspect the Senate might have intended on giving those worlds enough rope to hang themselves with – let them fail in their independence, and retake them when opposition was lighter.” Beckett tapped another button, and the display shifted for the map of the Romulan Star Empire to change – its borders shrunk, worlds once within its grasp now lit up in red.

“They were wrong,” he continued. “The loss was considered intolerable by the ranking officers of the Star Navy and several aligned senators. They forcibly dissolved the Senate, and we expect the admiralty intended to restore it with more… agreeable membership.”

“Puppets for the military?” Vice Admiral Dahlgren checked.

“Perhaps,” Beckett allowed. “Or perhaps they sincerely wished for an independent government which just happened to share their ideologies. But their intentions, it seems, are to be lost in the chaos. Word of the takeover spread and this was condemned across the empire as a coup. The Romulan Star Empire is shattering as regional governors, dissenting military leaders, and planetary officials have condemned the Star Navy and the fledgling new senate, and are striking out on their own. A majority have declared their independence, some are rushing to the Free State, while a few have gone hat in hand to the Romulan Republic.” He tilted his head. “It is, to put it mildly, a shit-show.”

“And we get the honour of clearing it all up?” wondered Captain Stafford, glancing up from taking his notes.

“Somewhat.” It was Ramar who answered first. “A short while ago I spoke with Fleet Admiral Clancy, and this entire situation will only get worse if Starfleet crashes the party without an invitation.”

“But this briefing isn’t to tell us to wait for that invite,” Dahlgren pointed out, his level gaze on the fleet commander.

“We’ve at least got a foot in the door.” Ramar gave another nod to Beckett, who with a tap of his PADD zoomed the holo-display in on a section of the map of the collapsing Romulan Star Empire. “One region in old imperial borders, the Velorum Sector, has declared independence and specifically requested Federation aid.”

“However,” said Beckett a little testily, as if anxious anyone would get too happy, “it isn’t that simple. The leadership of Velorum isn’t who anyone would have expected. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Resak, the new leader of the provisional government of Psi Velorum.” He nodded to the holo-display as an intelligence report, complete with grainy image, appeared.

Stafford blinked. “He’s Reman.”

“The Velorum Sector has a massive Reman population.” Beckett said this like it was obvious, and like he hadn’t set this up as an intentional surprise. “It’s a huge industrial and mining region, and they’re the main workforce.”

At last, Rear Admiral Marshall-Bennet spoke. “What do we know about Resak?”

Beckett shrugged. “Little to nothing. He was a pit boss and led the revolt of the Reman miners when order started to break down these last weeks. When he seized power, he encouraged others in the sector to join him in establishing a new state that put the rights of workers – Reman, Romulan, or otherwise – first.”

Bennet looked to Ramar. “This is where the Fourth Fleet comes in, then?”

The fleet commander nodded. “We’ve been assigned to respond to this request for help. The Velorum Sector wishes to establish independence, so we will provide humanitarian relief, security of their borders, and anything else they need a hand with.”

Virem frowned. “And the Prime Directive? Aren’t we involved ourselves in an internal matter for the Star Empire?”

“Not in this circumstance,” said Beckett before Ramar answered, always keen to know more than anyone else in the room. “Rator has fallen. The rejection of the new so-called senate by so many worlds makes their authority illegitimate. There is no state for us to interfere in the internal affairs of any more.”

“Instead, we’re answering a call for help,” Bennet mused.

“Yes,” said Ramar. “And I don’t need to tell you how vital it is that we get this right. Starfleet – the Federation – has a lot riding on this. The last time we promised to help the Romulan people, things went wrong. We’ve got a lot to prove.”

“Everyone will be keen to demand we do the right thing, and complain if we make the slightest mistake,” Beckett groaned with disapproval.

Bennet looked at him. “Do we know if Resak has approached the Free State or Republic?”

The intelligence director shrugged. “Officially he came to us first. Unofficially? Both sides are interested in this new faction. The Klingons, at least, are giving the Star Empire as a whole a wide berth – Qo’noS is too busy fighting about what to do to take any action.”

“For now,” Bennet muttered, and checked his PADD. “How many Task Forces do we need for this?”

“All of them,” said Beckett simply. “We’ve already detected refugees fleeing chaotic pockets of the empire, and a lot will have to pass through Velorum. Pirates and raiders will see this as an opportunity, and Intel is keeping a close eye on the Orion Syndicate. It’s a prize for any criminal organisation.”

“Regardless of us heading into Velorum, that could spill over to our borders,” Dahlgren pointed out. “Is there any word from any other worlds declaring independence?”

“We’re reaching out to them,” said Ramar, “but there’s a million different opinions and crises, with a million different ways to handle them.”

“Like I said,” Beckett drawled, “it’s a shit-show.”

“The Diplomatic Service is on this.” Ramar gave him a tense look. “We are hoping to gather representatives to discuss the ongoing situation, perhaps here on Bravo. Any more questions?” He glanced around, and gave a stern nod at the silence. “Good. Let’s get to work, and see if we can redeem ourselves.”

As the staff officers dispersed, Rear Admiral Bennet approached Vice Admiral Beckett, still gathering his paperwork. “So I can prepare our captains with what’s out there, how bad is this?”

Beckett gave a low scoff. “Was my summary unclear? It’s -”

“A real shit-show,” Bennet sighed. “That’s one way to look at it.”

The Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence shrugged as the two men walked out of the doors and towards the myriad of tasks that came next in this latest assignment. “In this particular case, is there any other way?”

‘Oshesh, this is madness-’

‘No, Mother.’ Oshesh, daughter of Atumeht of the House of Wov’Sech, swelled with pride as she stared down the viewscreen. ‘This is what our people need. This is what you lack the courage and conviction to do. This is for the Empire.’

Across even all the tens of light-years, her mother’s furious glower was powerful enough to fill the gloom of Oshesh’s quarters and ready room aboard her bird-of-prey, the Hoskahk. ‘The High Council has not reached a decision. Until they have, you cannot cross the borders.’

‘The borders are nothing. The Romulan Star Empire has collapsed,’ Oshesh pointed out. ‘The longer the High Council bickers, the longer the Romulans have to rally, the Federation has to seize the opportunities we squander. Riches and glory are at our fingertips, Mother; all we need do is seize it.’

‘And you can make that argument on Qo’noS,’ came Atumeht’s exhausted reply.

‘So I can be ignored?’ Oshesh half-rose from her chair in anger, and would have stood if that wouldn’t have just moved her out of view of the screen. ‘Old men sit on Qo’noS, resting on their laurels from the glory days of war, and deny the young the chance to outpace them. My siblings understand this.’ She jabbed a hand at nothing. ‘From Wov’Sech to K’Var to Ha’Tor to even Kuura, children of the Houses are rallying to my banners. Now is our time, Mother, and nobody – not the Chancellor, not you – will stand in our way.’

Atumeht’s lip curled. ‘And when all you win is fleeting glory to be followed by strife and chaos, who will tidy affairs so you are free to wander and fight again? I and those old men.’

‘You sound like the Romulans we should be putting on pikes,’ Oshesh sneered. ‘Not the leader of a Great House of warriors and heroes. You will see – when we claim territory and wealth, expand the Empire’s borders by conquest as has not happened in decades, bring back plundered resources and tales of battle to make your old bones creak with envy. You will see.’

There was likely more to say. More boasting. More she could inveigle from her mother’s tired threats, more Atumeht would likely imply of the High Council or the Federation’s response in her warnings. But it was also the time to end the call and get the last word, and Oshesh did so with an imperious slam of her palm on the controls.

Then she was not the firebrand young warrior, leading her brethren to a new wave of glory, but an anxious daughter sitting in the dark and wondering, in her hearts of hearts, if she was biting off more than she could chew.

Which was of course when the voice from the corner spoke, low and measured. ‘You will show them all,’ said T’jow. He was thin like a dagger but twice as good at sliding through the chinks in armour by word or by blade. ‘This is a once in a century opportunity. Our old enemies are turning on themselves, and the Chancellor would have us sit and wait lest we offend the Federation?’

‘The Federation will stand against us. They have responded to the pathetic Romulan mewling for help.’

‘They ask us politely to leave.’ T’jow rolled his eyes. ‘When we do not, they will taste Klingon mettle for the first time in a generation. They have forgotten the bite of our blades. Bloody them hard and bloody them early and they will flee – let the diplomats sit at their tables and worry about upsetting our neighbours, while we bathe in the glory of battle.’

‘You would say anything,’ Oshesh said cautiously, ‘if it justified your family’s interests.’

T’jow stood, moving with all the poise of a jungle cat as he advanced on her desk. ‘You do not represent your family’s wishes. Why assume I am different?’

‘Because it would benefit the Mo’Kai for us to succeed. It would prove the weakness of Qo’noS. It would prove that a golden age of conquest lies before us, if only we’re bold enough to take it.’ She watched him, her jaw tight, as ever feeling the double-edge of his guidance – how it benefited her, how it benefited what she thought of as the good of the Empire, and how it benefited the dissident factions she did not trust.

‘That’s what you want,’ T’jow pointed out. ‘I’ve not been sent here. I’m here – I’m one of the scores of younger children of Great and Lesser Houses flocking to your banner for the coming conquest – because I believe in the cause.’ He stopped before the desk, but instead of looming, bent deep before her. ‘Because I believe in you.’

It was a curious thing to know one was being manipulated, and yet to accept it. But accept it Oshesh did, rising to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Then let us forget the weeping of my mother and the complaints of the decrepit rulers of Qo’noS. Even forget the machinations of your family. We have conquest before us.’

All eyes fell on them both as they entered the Hoskahk’s bridge, but it was on her they remained as she advanced to seize the centre seat. Long nails fingers curled around the armrest as she sat, straight-backed, but though she knew she was the focus of all attention, she could feel T’jow at her back, her shadow with a knife shrouded in there somewhere.

‘The House of Wov’Sech has refused my call to arms,’ she said in a loud, clear voice, aware she needed to give her warriors more than words – she had to give them certainty. ‘Qo’noS continues to crawl. They say we are alone in this conquest – I say we are many.’ She turned to her communications officer, a rangy youth who needed seasoning in combat, and so was best-suited to such a post. ‘Are all our ships gathered?’

A moment’s check, a curt nod. ‘All warships assembled, Captain.’

Oshesh sat back in her chair, straight and tall. ‘Transmit our heading. For the first, we move as one. Then we fall into our lances and act as opportunity allows, as deep into enemy territory as we can. Make ready to get underway.’

The bridge fell into a hum of activity and anticipation, and in the noise, T’jow leaned in closer. ‘When you win,’ he breathed, all promise and blood, ‘Qo’noS will say they always backed you.’

‘When I win,’ she replied evenly, ‘I won’t have to care what Qo’noS says.’ But then came the flurry of reports, of affirmations, and Oshesh looked at the sensors to see what she expected: dozens of Klingon warships, almost all of younger members of the Houses, thwarted in their hunger for honour and glory and battle by tired Imperial rule, eager to follow her to seize the opportunities ahead.

‘Signal the fleet to go to warp,’ she said, chin tilting up. ‘We march on the Romulans.’

Sundered Wings Phase 2:

• A faction of independent Klingon warriors has joined the chaos in the Romulan Star Empire. Some of them will find their way to the Velorum Sector.
• Most of the ship captains and group leaders are the younger children of the Great and Lesser Houses, seizing the opportunity to make a name for themselves. They are not acting on behalf of the Klingon government, but in these early days they have not been formally rebuked or declared renegade by the High Council.
• The majority of them seek conquest – to seize territory the Romulans cannot defend, and claim it for the Empire. But there are other opportunities to raid for resources, or simply to glory in battle in a way these warriors have not enjoyed for years.
• They are not afraid to fight Starfleet, though it may not be their first option, and they are here to fight Romulans, after all. They expect the Federation to back down in the face of Klingon force, or possibly to withdraw rather than fight their closest allies. Some may expect what happens in the chaotic Velorum Sector to be lost in fog of war, and others may simply not care.
• But these are not bloodthirsty, mindless brutes. They are not the D’Ghor the Fourth Fleet fought in the Archanis Campaign. While they are young and impetuous and eager for glory, they still have a sense of honour and a belief they are doing the right thing for the Empire by forcing the High Council’s hand.
• The Klingons will not be everywhere. You can incorporate them into your story as a new obstacle if you want, but they do not have to feature in your Sundered Wings plot.

‘We’re making good progress in multiple locations.’ Fleet Admiral Ramar kept his arms folded across his chest. He’d been offered a seat when he’d come in, but the other man was also standing, and he knew better than to let him stay there and loom. ‘Daloon, Agarath, Vorash…’

‘Agarath is under siege. Klingon forces remain at-large in the sector. And are we going to talk about Kuhnri?’

‘Under no circumstances did Starfleet officers kill -’ But he was not here to argue this, and Ramar stopped himself and looked away. He was fresh off his flagship, just arrived after a breakneck rush across the dangerous stars, and in truth had expected a warmer welcome. Psi Velorum had asked for Starfleet help, after all.

And yet Acting-Governor Resak stayed implacable as he stood before Admiral Ramar in his offices, the chambers that had once belonged to the Romulan governor of the whole sector. Resak kept them dark to shield his eyes, but around the walls Ramar could still see the bare patches where once portraits and tapestries had hung and left masonry pale in their absence. It left this, the beating heart of the Velorum Sector, mismatched and ill-fitting, and it was impossible to forget this was the seat of power of an insurgent government.

‘What you think happened on Kuhnri, or even what I think happened, is immaterial,’ Resak said at length. ‘I’m not to tell them how they must respond to Starfleet. It’s still a mess.’

‘One mess,’ Admiral Ramar replied, ‘among successes. We have ships hunting down the Klingon task groups. We’ve already sent several packing.’

‘While the Federation does no more than flap its hands in protest at the Klingon Empire,’ Resak pointed out, ‘and the Klingon Empire shrugs its shoulders and insists these are renegades, even if they profess to be doing this for the Empire. If they seize worlds in Velorum, you think the Empire will continue to call them renegade? Or will they embrace this new territory?’

‘If that happens then the Federation will have more grounds to protest -’

‘Protest. Not fight.’

Admiral Ramar set his jaw. ‘Starfleet officers have fought these Klingons, Governor. As for the rest, this was never going to be easy.’

Resak gave a low scoff. ‘You can do better than a platitude to a former slave, Admiral.’

‘I can. Do you think I came all this way just to check in, Governor? You’ve got problems, and Starfleet is fixing them. But we’re not just putting out fires, we’re looking to the future. Your future.’

‘Is this the part,’ Resak mused, ‘where you offer us protectorate status?’

It was Admiral Ramar’s turn to scoff. ‘Hardly. You don’t want that. I don’t want that.’

‘Then -’

‘I came all this way to see you, Governor Resak,’ Ramar pressed on, ‘because I wanted to make an introduction. If you’d let my friends in.’ He waved a hand at the door.

Resak had to tap a control button to grant them admittance, but he straightened with surprise and confusion as both a Romulan and a Reman in uniforms walked in. ‘What’s this, then?’

‘Governor Resak, let me introduce Admiral Thalax, commander of the Fifth Fleet, and General Giernor of the Commando Corps, ranking members of the Romulan Republic’s armed forces,’ Admiral Ramar said, flicking his finger between them as if this was nothing more than a quick meet-up in a bar. ‘I think you all have a lot to talk about.’

Resak’s eyes narrowed. ‘Thalax. You’re the defector.’

Admiral Thalax was a rake-thin Romulan with a perpetually amused twist to his eyebrow. ‘There are a lot of us, you’ll find.’

‘The Republic can’t protect Velorum,’ Resak continued. ‘There’s a reason you didn’t offer help before. There’s a reason I didn’t ask you.’

‘Not alone,’ Thalax agreed. ‘But a lot changes in two months. The Star Empire’s exhausting itself as it collapses. The Federation’s shoring up Velorum’s defences. I hate to swoop in at the last minute when everyone else has done the work, but Admiral Ramar said he’d make sure we got this meeting. No, the Romulan Republic couldn’t save Velorum before. Maybe we can’t save it now. But tomorrow, once Starfleet’s helped you stabilise, once the Star Navy’s been broken?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Resak, ‘you’ll want our industry.’

‘Everyone wants your industry,’ said Admiral Ramar. ‘And you want them to want it. The difference is that the Republic won’t take it. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

‘But that’s not what’s most important.’ At last, the burly Reman General Giernor stepped around Thalax and approached Resak. ‘What’s most important is the Republic is the only government that’s always stood by our people, brother.’

Resak watched Giernor, dark gaze inscrutable for long moments. Then he turned to Ramar. ‘You came here and let me tear strips off you, Admiral.’

Admiral Ramar shrugged. ‘Least I can do, considering some of these situations,’ he mused. ‘But we’ll make those right. Let me worry about that. I want you, Governor, to worry about tomorrow.’

‘Or at least,’ said Thalax, extending a hand to the seats around the desk that nobody had yet taken, ‘to talk about it.’

Sundered Wings Phase 3:

• As events in the Velorum Sector hit their crescendo, people are wondering about the region’s future: is Velorum to be independent, a Federation protectorate, or something else? But Starfleet has a different hope, acting as a liaison upon the arrival of the Romulan Republic.
• The Republic was too small to protect itself and Velorum at the initial outburst of chaos from the Romulan Star Empire. But as the situation across the Quadrant begins to settle, they have extended the hand of friendship to Velorum.
• Starfleet is still essential – their relief work, their diplomatic aid, their protection. And envoys of the Republic are not everywhere in the sector. But if the Republic can help, they are trying to help.
• The Republic is particularly appealing to the people of Velorum because it was always the most pro-Reman of the post-supernova factions. If the two powers can work it out, Velorum would be well-suited to the Republic.
• Feel free to add Republic representatives arriving to support Velorum in your story. They might just be diplomatic envoys, they might be sharing the wealth of the Republic to help, they might even be armed starships helping the defences. Importantly, they can offer Velorum a future the Federation cannot.