‘We thank you, Commander Kojan, and your whole crew. Please pass our gratitude to Fleet Captain Jericho and Secretary Hale.’

Dani Kosst’s smile was fixed as she gave the Romulans a deep nod. They had been through a lot, the refugee world beleaguered by a crop blight endangering their capacity to feed themselves. Sophia Hale had deftly negotiated trade agreements with nearby systems to bring in fresh supplies, while the Triumph and their science officer, Lieutenant Quinn, had studied the fungal infection to develop a cure. Day saved, the Triumph rushed off to the next challenge.

Leaving Kosst and the Nighthawk to perform the inauspicious task of upgrading and rigging the planet’s crop dusting equipment to distribute the cure. And for the planetary leader to get her name wrong.

‘We’re just glad we could be of assistance, Governor. You know Starfleet is on-hand whenever you need help.’ She and Lieutenant Tyrell Rhade stepped into the town square before the gathered, grateful locals, and she tapped her combadge. ‘Kosst to Nighthawk. Two to beam up.’

Ty Rhade did her the decency of waiting until they materialised on the small transporter pad before he laughed. ‘Mission accomplished, Commander Kojan.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ she sighed, descending the pad.

‘I particularly like you not correcting them but saying your name right before you left. That’s a great passive-aggressive touch.’

She gave her Chief Engineer a good-natured glare. ‘Don’t you have a report to write up about your scintillating work modifying century-old crop dusters?’

‘Somewhere, there’s an agricultural technologies historian who’s going to be very grateful,’ Rhade said with a wink as they parted ways.

The bridge was a little more disciplined. Small as befit the ship itself, there was little space for chit-chat that wouldn’t be overheard by everyone on duty, so it gave the bridge either an air of conviviality or deep intensity. Conversation stopped as the turbolift doors slid open to admit her, and she could hear the echo of Ensign Fox’s laugh dying.

Kosst drew a quick, apprehensive breath before she stepped out. ‘Report.’

Commander Brennos stood from the command chair. ‘All equipment and engineering teams are back aboard. We’re ready to get underway at a moment’s notice, Captain.’

There was still the hint of a giggle about Ensign Fox. Kosst tried to ignore her, not because she found it unprofessional, but she could tell the young officer didn’t want to laugh in front of her commanding officer. Even if she’d been laughing in front of the stoic Brennos.

‘Very good.’ Kosst sank onto the central chair. ‘Take us out of orbit, Ensign Fox, and set a course to rejoin the squadron at Avrondail 5.’

‘Aye, Captain.’ Fox’s voice was crisper as her hands moved on the controls. ‘Taking us out.’

‘The comms buoy is operational,’ reported Ensign Percian from Science. ‘If they need anything, if the crops look to fail again, they have long-range communications options to bring us back.’

‘Or whoever answers,’ Kosst breathed. ‘Let’s make sure -’

‘Captain.’ Brennos never interrupted her. But there had been an urgent chirrup from his console, and her XO looked up from the Tactical station with a stern look. ‘We have a priority one communication incoming.’

She twisted in her chair. ‘Captain Jericho?’

He shook his head. ‘Fourth Fleet Command.’

In times of crisis, it was Lionel Jericho’s habit to breakfast with his senior staff. This was not as collegial as it sounded, but meant he could begin staff briefings painfully early, dragging everyone up to the conference room to fill their bellies and their minds simultaneously. His yeoman, Ensign Gagneux, made sure a buffet was set up by the window with enough platters of hot and cold food for everyone to settle in, and it let them soak up and consider problems instead of Jericho just barking instructions and making them scatter like a dropped packet of candies.

He had loaded his plate up with eggs and bacon and gestured to Gagneux to refill his mug of coffee from the steaming vat on the side. ‘Vigo, I want you running basic combat drills for the moment. Make sure everyone’s sharp, and if they’re not, get your team leaders to run personal practice to fill in the gaps.’

Vigo Sterlah nodded, but frowned. ‘Our drills prepare for enemies such as Klingon and Romulan renegades, or pirates. We have some to make ready for Breen raiders. Nothing of this magnitude.’

‘Which is why Krish is gonna be helping you out there.’ Jericho stabbed a forkful of bacon in the direction of his Ops officer. ‘Krish, I want you going through historical records. Dig up any battle reports or combat training from the Dominion War, adapt it for modern systems and protocols, and work with Vigo to make sure it suits our security needs.’

‘I’ll also,’ said Commander Ranicus, looking between Jericho and Krish Malhotra, ‘consult on integrating these findings with our ship combat drills. Which I assume you want me running.’

Jericho smothered a smirk as he nodded at her. ‘Good. Yeah, get right on that. Tar’lek, give Commander Ranicus as much assistance as you can on that one as well; if she has other duties, you’ll take on running the bridge drills.’ He looked towards the buffet. ‘O.’

Olivia Quinn, Science Officer, turned to him with a slightly startled look, interrupted partway through her process of assembling a bowl of yoghurt and fruit. ‘Yes, sir -’

He raised a hand as she went to scurry back to her seat. ‘This doesn’t need writing down. I need you to become an expert in all astrometrics data in the Deneb Sector overnight. If we’re going to be operating out there, I want to know the lay of the land. I want to know how we use this against these sons of bitches who’ve never been this far into our space before.’

‘I…’ Quinn swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes, Captain. Astrometrics genius incoming.’

‘Good.’ Jericho had a swig of coffee to wash the bacon down. ‘Vash, Dimitri?’ He looked at his Chief Medical Officer and Chief Engineer. ‘You know what to do.’

The two veterans, the officers he’d worked with longest, exchanged wry looks. ‘Try to stop us from blowing up and dying,’ drawled Doctor Vash Namiya. ‘I can help with one of those.’

‘I,’ said Dimitri Isakov, ‘will help with both. But not in Sickbay. Nobody needs my welding equipment down there.’

Jericho gave a wry smirk, but it sobered as he regarded his crew. ‘Make no mistake. This is bigger than anything we’ve faced. Most of you are too damn young to remember the Dominion, and I won’t lie to you, I fought them from an engine room, not on a bridge. I don’t know how they’re here. I don’t know why they haven’t woken up and gone, “Oh damn, this war ended a quarter century ago.” I know the Breen are a vicious bunch of bastards and will likely have turned this so-called lost fleet against us. So it seems we’re gonna have to punch them in the face hard enough that they wake up to the twenty-fifth century.’

His eyes swept up and down the table, everyone stopping what they were doing to watch him. From the grizzled veterans like his old friend Isakov to the stern stalwarts like Ranicus and Sterlah to the anxious eagerness of the greener officers like Quinn and Arys, they sat in silence and hung onto his every word.

Jericho knew the responsibility that entailed. ‘It’s time to step up, folks. They think they’re the big bad that crawled out from the shadows and has come for us? They got no idea who they’ve come for. Not just the Federation. Not just Starfleet. Us. The meanest and toughest crew out there. If you ain’t sure, look around you and get sure, ‘cos everyone’s counting on you. Be heroes in the face of the monsters. And if you can’t do that…’

‘Be the bigger monster,’ Isakov finished with a toothy grin.

‘That’s who we are, folks. Heroes and monsters, all rolled into one.’

The echoing hum of heroes and monsters followed the senior staff out as they left, and Jericho sat, hoping his expression did not belie his fear that they were about to face much, much bigger monsters.

‘Fourth Fleet Command are jumping at shadows,’ grumbled Commander Ramius Vornar as he stalked the corridor, his chief of security his shadow a half-step behind him. ‘This is nothing more than the Breen scooping up some old Dominion tech from the war and starting trouble.’

‘As you say, sir,’ came Lieutenant Livia Hadrian’s crisp reply. ‘But our orders remain to join the squadron in the Deneb Sector and make ready to engage.’

The confined spaces of the USS Independence did not make for much comfort or breathing room. They lived almost on top of each other, the crew of this Defiant-class, the most likely to stay close to the squadron flagships for resupply or R&R, but when they were in the field, it was just them. Hadrian had served on Independence for as long as Commander Vornar, which meant she knew his tics, his tendencies, and his dislikes as well as anyone, being close to him day in, day out.

She did not believe that meant she knew him. He had a mask of stoicism greater even than hers.

‘I know our orders,’ Vornar said, giving her a sharp look. ‘And they’re from Captain Jericho as much as from Fourth Fleet Command. But I will not have this ship making ready to fight ghosts. All of Starfleet disagrees with Admiral Ramar. The damned press disagree with Admiral Ramar, and you know they’d smell a rat if one were there. We make ready to fight Breen. Got it, Lieutenant?’

‘Loud and clear, sir.’ Whatever she believed was irrelevant. These were her orders.

She felt Independence go to warp not long after, the deck humming underneath as they began their sprint across the galaxy, from Romulan space to Deneb. Their orders directed them to make a brief stop-off at Starbase 38 for final resupply, then they were into the black. Whatever was out there would show itself.

Vornar was not wrong. FNN had reported nothing more than Breen raids. Evidently, something was amiss on the frontier, but contacts and colleagues she had in the local defence force, Task Group 514, insisted that they could repel the Breen themselves. Amidst Starfleet making ready for the pomp and circumstance of Frontier Day, was an old fossil like Ramar, left out in the cold, just trying to prove himself important?

She and Commander Ra-Talorei, Chief Science Officer, later met with Commander Rosewood in the XO’s quarters that doubled as his office. John Rosewood, with his bright smile and easy manner, had dispensed with the rough and readiness of the rest of the ship. Art hung on the walls, and behind his desk was a string of holographic projections, tiny snapshots of his life – past assignments, the Academy, gatherings of old friends. It was like stepping from the harsh front line of Independence’s normal life and back into a softer, gentler Starfleet. But Hadrian had discerned over the past months that there was more to this man than smiles and fluff.

‘We want to be ready for anything,’ he said with a thoughtful nod once Hadrian relayed the captain’s sentiments about the Breen. ‘How would you make us combat-ready, Lieutenant?’

‘Drills,’ she said simply, quickly, ‘based on recent encounters with the Breen. Simulations of the Battle of Starbase 38 may help us prepare for deployment alongside other ships.’

‘As soon as I know anything,’ jumped in Ra-Talorei, ‘I’ll begin analysis of the Breen’s movements, actions. See if we can discern which faction is taking the forefront. Ascertain their practices and threat levels.’ He was always more of a political and strategic analyst than a classic Starfleet scientist, adept at turning his bright mind to outsmarting enemies rather than boldly going.

Rosewood nodded and looked back at Hadrian. ‘You said you’ve got contacts in 514?’

‘Old Academy friends, sir.’

‘Captain Vornar is right,’ Rosewood said with a simple smile. ‘We shouldn’t be jumping at shadows. That’s why I want you two shining a light on them, okay? We’ve got to make sure the captain is as well-informed as possible, that this ship is as well-informed as possible. Let’s not put uncertainties on his desk; let’s let him make the best choices with the best information. We can worry about the grey so he doesn’t have to.’

Hadrian’s brow furrowed. ‘You want me to look into the reports these are actually Dominion?’

‘I want you to keep asking your friends in the 514.’ Rosewood looked at Ra-Talorei. ‘I want you to keep poring over every inch of combat reports we get of Breen movements. That’s not jumping at shadows. That’s pressing. That’s questioning. We gotta keep questioning. What do your instincts tell you?’

Hadrian and Ra-Talorei exchanged glances. At length, Hadrian said, ‘That we don’t have the full picture.’

‘This is bold even for the Breen,’ Ra-Talorei said. ‘Perhaps there’s a new Thot on the ascent.’

‘Exactly. The captain doesn’t want rumour, fear, or supposition, and neither do I. You’re the two best minds aboard for this. Get it done.’ The two headed out, but Rosewood sat up a half-inch. ‘Liv?’

She gave Ra-Talorei a nod for him to leave without her and turned back. ‘Sir?’

‘You can bring the hare-brained and the half-baked to me any time you want,’ Rosewood said firmly. ‘And we can sift together through what the captain needs and what he doesn’t. Let him focus on the big picture. I trust your instincts.’

John Rosewood was charm and smiles, Hadrian thought, but he knew people, and as a leader that meant he knew how to use them at their best. Vornar’s distrust of their situation had made her screw up a little inside, doubt her own eyes and ears, but Rosewood could cut through that. He was right – it was her job to get the captain what he needed and keep the shadows off his desk.

Though Livia Hadrian did not doubt that where they were headed, shadows ruled.

Commander Valance stood from her command chair, PADD in hand bearing the orders transmitted just this morning. The expressions of her bridge crew had been grim as she’d explained the reports from Deneb, even the jocular Hal Riggs, dragged up from Engineering just to hear this, looking sombre. ‘Fleet Captain Jericho has requested my assessment of Pathfinder’s present state.’

Nate Beckett’s nose wrinkled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘He wants to know,’ Harkon said, ‘if we can even get there in time.’

‘We’re a science ship,’ said Kally in a low voice. ‘What do we do against the Dominion?’

Gov’taj straightened. ‘We have teeth. In the hands of myself, Lieutenant Harkon, and the captain, we know how to perform any hit-and-run strike necessary. We have eyes. In the hands of our science officers, we can pierce the shroud of any of the Dominion’s secrets, scout and report back.’

‘All of that is irrelevant,’ said Thawn, ‘if we can’t get there in time to make a difference.’

Dashell winced. ‘We’ve been out in former RSE territory for almost a month and have already made massive increases in Starfleet’s knowledge of the region. This morning we detected a binary pulsar system on long-range sensors that hasn’t appeared on any Romulan maps we’ve received. Every discovery we make here is a new step for Starfleet and enhances understanding of this difficult border. Nobody here should imagine we’re not making a difference staying.’

‘Which is what Captain Jericho wants me to determine,’ said Valance, frowning at the PADD. ‘If we’re more use staying put, or arriving at Deneb late.’

Harkon sighed. ‘There’s always somewhere else in the galaxy we could be,’ she pointed out, but didn’t sound happy.

Thawn shifted her weight. ‘The rest of the squadron is going to Deneb?’

Valance met her gaze for half a heartbeat. ‘Yes.’

Dashell glanced between them. ‘This is your call, Captain. We keep pressing on into the unknown, or we turn back.’

I’m aware, she wanted to snap. She’d told the crew because transparency was fair, as much as she wanted to hear their opinions. But she’d also hoped one of them would say something to make this decision easy. No, that wasn’t true. She already knew exactly what decision she wanted to make. She’d hoped one of them would say something to justify it better. Without that, it was just her and her instincts.

She turned to Commander Riggs. ‘How fast can we get to Deneb?’

They’d raced across the stars, pelted the length of the Federation with more urgency than ever before, and every night he’d dreamed the dreams a quarter century old. Dreams of darkened corridors and grey-skinned faces, of shimmering air and the pulse of their weapons, of blood and war. Of the Dominion.

Endeavour had stopped at Starbase 38 for only a few hours. Here they would resupply, not just in normal materiel but in torpedoes, weapons, security officers, before they pressed on to the front at Deneb. Rourke had been ready to oversee this, make sure his ship and his crew had every single piece of equipment they needed before facing this old, hated foe.

Only to receive an encrypted message sent directly to his ready room console, summoning him to a maintenance corridor on Starbase 38’s Indigo Section, and signed only Trident. To anyone else, it was absolutely baffling. To Rourke, it was clear he had to hand the resupply management over to his senior staff and come aboard, out of uniform and inconspicuous.

The maintenance corridor was dim and narrow, far from the prying eyes of the public or even engineers responsible for kilometres of station interior. But the moment Rourke closed the hatch behind him, he saw a shadow move down the walkway. Against his better judgement, his hand curled into a fist and he wished he’d brought a weapon.

‘I’m here,’ he called gruffly. ‘What’s this about, Alex?’

The distant shadow shifted for him to see a silhouette, and though he could only see half a shape, he knew he was right about who had summoned him. That didn’t make any of this make any more sense.

‘Why did you come here?’ Admiral Alexander Beckett’s voice echoed down the corridor. Equipment hissed around them to almost mask his words. ‘And how did you know this was me?’

Rourke squinted. ‘Only you’d do cloak and dagger shit like this. Only you’d mention the first operation the Hood was sent on in the war.’

‘It’s where we met. I led that boarding party onto the Jem’Hadar ship. Who else was with us on the security team?’

‘What the hell is going on, Alex?’

‘Answer me.’

Rourke swallowed. ‘Chief Tyrid led it. Rest of the team was me, Fellows, Parien, Johnson, and Leffly.’

‘It wasn’t Leffly,’ came the voice of Admiral Beckett. ‘Leffly didn’t come aboard until after Chin’toka.’

‘You’re thinking of Leofen. Leffly bought it at DS9.’ Rourke hesitated. ‘It’s also not when we met. You did a security inspection two weeks earlier. You pulled me up on the crease in my trousers.’

At last, there was a low chuckle. ‘That’s right.’ Now the shadow moved, and Admiral Beckett emerged into the narrow walkway of the shrouded, noisy maintenance corridor. ‘I had to be sure, Matt.’

Rourke swallowed. ‘I’ve been on the other side of the galaxy for months, Alex. If the Lost Fleet brought any Changelings, there’s no way they could get anywhere near me.’

‘That’s true,’ said Beckett, shouldering his way through the narrow walkway to approach. ‘Which why your analysis is only half-wrong. You’re going into the heart of darkness, Matt, with you and the rest of the squadron. I’ve tried to give what warnings I can, but you’re one of the only people I can trust, one of the only people I know who has the knowledge and the instincts to get to the bottom of this.’

‘The bottom of what?’

Alexander Beckett drew a sharp breath and met his gaze. ‘Starfleet is compromised. And this goes far, far deeper than just the Lost Fleet.’

Rourke gave a wan smile as he opened the doors to his quarters to find Eli Gault stood brandishing a bottle of whisky. ‘Just like old times.’

‘Not exactly like old times.’ Gault swaggered past him like he owned the place, casting an eye about the gloomy quarters for drinking vessels. ‘Back then I’d hide this in your footlocker. Now I can sling it around openly.’ His gaze landed on the cabinet by the wall, and he stalked over to pour into the cut-glass tumblers sat atop it. ‘And you’re a lot classier now.’

‘Than I was when I was nineteen? I’d hope so.’ Rourke took the glass, expression sinking. ‘I’d say you’ve not come here to reminisce, but…’

‘But reminiscing is suddenly on-topic? Yeah.’ Gault hefted his drink. ‘To absent friends.’

‘Christ, Eli.’ But Rourke drank anyway, brow furrowing as he regarded his old comrade. ‘It might not be them, you know.’

Gault turned to the window, to the stars streaming past as Endeavour pelted at top speed for the Deneb Sector. ‘Hey, I’m meant to be the one who doesn’t trust Command. You’re the good soldier. But Command can’t agree on if this is that missing Dominion fleet back again or some shit-stirring Breen. So you tell me, Boss. Which do I believe?’

Rourke’s eyes also fell on the stars, the main source of light in his gloomy chambers. He thought of FNN reports downplaying the scale of the threat and Admiral Beckett, paranoid in a corridor on SB38. And he thought of the boarding actions on the Hood a quarter-century ago, close confines and deadly battle with unyielding Jem’Hadar.

He had another swig of his whisky. ‘It’s them. Don’t ask me how. Once this is over, someone smart will figure it out. But it’s them.’

‘Old Iron-face Beckett himself says so, huh?’

Against all sense, Rourke gave a bark of laughter. ‘I forgot that nickname.’

‘Wanted so badly to be Ironsides or something,’ Gault guffawed as he reminisced, ‘and don’t get me wrong, XO was a badass back then, but I think I followed him into battle not because I was so inspired, but because there was a chance I’d get to piss on his grave while I was there.’ But he sobered, fidgeting with his glass of whisky. ‘He brought a lot of us home, though.’

Rourke watched Gault for a moment. ‘Not all. There were enough funerals. Especially after Chin’toka. Lavery, Johnson – what was his name, that kid just out of Basic. Domnic?’

‘Domoraynic,’ Gault said without missing a beat, and something in Rourke’s chest eased. They’d been through basic training together, served on the Hood through the war together, and been side by side through times that, these days, Rourke preferred to not think of. Not only for the shadow of war itself, but for who he’d been back then, what those times said about him as a man. Contrasting political opinions were not the only reason he and Eli Gault had fallen out of touch over the years. They’d both wanted to leave the war far behind.

But now it was here anew, and the two old comrades didn’t have much choice. Now Gault gave his small smile, the one that said he was going to joke without meaning it. ‘Seems like I had good timing in getting arrested.’

‘This wasn’t what I wanted to bring you back for,’ Rourke admitted. ‘I wanted you on Endeavour because you know the Neutral Zone better than anyone else I could recruit. Seems I’ve got you for different experience.’

‘Don’t pretend this was all high-minded of you, Matty.’ Gault’s lips twisted as he sipped whisky. ‘If it were, you’d put me in the SOC or Science or something. Not as your yeoman. You know I hate paperwork.’

‘I need someone I can -’

‘Trust, I know. But it’s no mistake you’ve picked a war veteran who’s been rough-and-tumbling it through the Neutral Zone for fifteen years. Because you want me to watch your back literally.’

Rourke winced. ‘I didn’t bring you here thinking I needed a bodyguard.’

‘And now we’re going into war again, only this time we’re not fresh-faced security officers. You’re a sun’s damned captain.’ Gault sobered, and for once Rourke could not see the glint of humour on that worn, handsome face. ‘I know what my responsibility is if the Jem’Hadar come knocking.’

With a sigh, Rourke padded over to the window. The stars would not fall into focus, no matter how hard he looked. Every second they left another blip of light behind, and hurtled towards darkness. ‘What about your responsibility right now?’ He raised his half-empty glass. ‘How about we have a drink and think less about the bloodier end of old times.’

Gault laughed and was at once all light again, reaching for the bottle and pouring refills. But though Rourke knew they could kill this slow evening of boiling apprehension, peel off the tension with old anecdotes and recollections served like they were dealing cards from a well-shuffled pack of memories, it could only go so far.

After all, their old times came with a lot of blood.

‘Prophets, all our praise is on you, all our trust is on you. Guide us through this shadowed time. Grant us the light so we may be torch-bearers against the oncoming darkness. Grant us strength to stand against the all-consuming wave. Grant us wisdom so we may see the way.’

The words echoed through the shrouded quarters, shadows pierced only by the gleam of the small duranja oil lamp. Normally those words brought as much illumination to Harrian Cal as the light itself, comforted him against the shadows, and gave him the clarity and confidence to move forward in darkness.

Today they tasted ashen on his tongue. His hands, clasped before him, fell into his lap, and his eyes opened to land on the flickering flame. The litany flowing from his lips stopped, and instead he said, in a throatier, thicker voice, ‘Why did you let them out?’

Prayer was, of course, not a matter of question-and-answer. If it was not bringing him the peace he needed, then experience told Harrian to walk away rather than rage against the dark alone. With a frustrated noise, he covered the flame of the duranja to put it out. Rather than dig out his uniform jacket, he found a thick-knit woollen jumper and pulled it on before heading out.

The Safe House was quiet, with officers clustered in their ones and twos in corners. Harrian ordered a deka tea from the bar before padding to a quiet pair, voice low as he approached. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

Commanders Shepherd and Far did not look like they had been much engaged in conversation, at a table by the tall windows of the dim lounge. They sat on the two comfortable, pillowed seats with hot drinks, but Shep pushed a stool out from under the table with her foot. ‘You’re not gonna be intruding on brooding time, Commander.’

Kol Por Teren Ilka Far looked more tired, more worn, bright eyes locked on him as he sank down. ‘Surely someone on staff’s getting sleep somewhere, right?’

‘At least Endeavour won’t stop functioning if I’m yawning in the morning,’ he said good-naturedly. ‘I trust you two to perk up if you have to.’

‘Already got a line on stims,’ Shep drawled, and had a swig of coffee. ‘But I was just wearing a hole in the deck in my room. Came down here to unwind and found Far.’

‘I… I’ve been running calculations all evening. I’m just too wired to sleep just yet,’ Far admitted with a shrug. ‘I’ll have them on your desk in the morning, Commander.’

He squinted. ‘What calculations?’

‘The combat readiness protocols for the ship. I expect you need to compare them against the squadron. I know that Commander Kharth sent them already, but I’ve been toying with alternative power distribution plans which can alter our offensive and defensive stances…’

‘You should probably,’ Harrian said gently, ‘run those past Commander Kharth first.’

Far flushed. ‘I know. It was a bit of a distraction for me. It’s just that Commander Kharth can be a bit… scrunchy.’

‘Scrunchy,’ Harrian echoed.

‘You mean “mad as hell and ready to fight?”’ Shep drawled. ‘Yeah, she does that. Her bark’s worse than her… actually, I’m not sure about that.’

‘If I come along and say that I’ve done all this, she’s going to get defensive,’ Far said with a wince.

‘So don’t say you’ve done it,’ said Harrian. ‘Say you have an idea and offer her your help.’

‘And if she says no?’

It was his turn to wince. ‘Then don’t step on the tactical chief’s toes.’

‘That’s… fair,’ Far admitted. ‘It’s just I can only stock check so many times.’ She sighed and looked at him. ‘What’s kept you up, sir?’

Harrian hesitated. ‘I wasn’t sleeping,’ he confessed at last. ‘I was praying. Or trying to.’

Shep made a face. ‘Sounds like it didn’t help.’

He could see both feelings running through her: not wanting to be rude but not placing much stock in his faith. It was an expression he was accustomed to and he was only relieved that the first strain existed. ‘You’re wondering,’ he ventured, ‘how I can be a Starfleet officer and worship wormhole aliens.’

‘It’s not really my business,’ said Shep.

But Far leaned forward. ‘Do you want to talk about it? If it wasn’t working, I mean.’

Again he hesitated. There was nothing but open honesty on her face, a kind curiosity. So he shrugged. ‘I’m a man of science as much as faith. Science tells me the Prophets are aliens of a power beyond anything we have the means of studying or comprehending. But history tells us they’re not indifferent – they sent my people the orbs, communicated with some of us. They sent us the Emissary when we were coming out of the Occupation, and they did, yes, close the gates of the Celestial Temple to stop this fleet from unleashing unfathomable pain on the Alpha Quadrant twenty-five years ago.’

Shep looked a little guilty for her cynicism. ‘Until now.’

‘Which is the problem?’ Far asked gently.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Because science also suggests they don’t necessarily care about me in particular. That’s normally where faith steps in. I don’t pray with the expectation that they’ll hear me and mend my woes. I pray to reflect on and remind myself of two simple facts.’

Shep raised an eyebrow. ‘What facts?’

He gave a small, warm smile. ‘That the capacity of people is boundless, with the right inspiration. And that what many would call miracles are possible. The Prophets have provided inspiration and performed miracles again and again. I can’t account for the latter. But I can immerse myself in the former; seek inspiration, and seek to give it, so we can all rise to be our best selves.’

Far had rested her chin in her hand as she listened, eyelids hooded. ‘That’s what you’ve got faith in. People.’

‘I do. And I have faith in… hope. Faith that we should never give up hope.’

They were silent for a moment, then Far gave a small smile. ‘I don’t know if that helped you, Commander. But I feel better.’

‘Faith in people,’ Shep echoed, and lifted her mug of coffee for a toast of the late-night insomniacs. ‘I can get on board with that.’

‘Don’t worry, Commander,’ Harrian assured her as he raised his tea. ‘I’ll handle the praying part.’

Commander T’Varel peered down through the hatch into the torpedo maintenance bay and said, ‘Is this the best allocation of personnel, Commander?’

Kharth gritted her teeth at the Vulcan’s voice. ‘I started a job here. So I’ll finish it.’

‘Manually checking the calibration of each torpedo is an irregular task for the chief tactical officer to personally undertake.’

‘Manually checking in on the chief tactical officer is an irregular task for the chief engineer to personally undertake, no?’ She was on her back down a storage pad, and had to pull the micro-spanner from between her teeth to talk.

‘My staff reported you were here. I found it curious. They did not feel it was appropriate for them to question you.’

Kharth glared at the casing. ‘If you’re going to be up there, can you make yourself useful and hand me the optronic coupler?’

There was a pause. Then the tool was dangled down through the hatch, just within arm’s reach. ‘I can assign Ensign O’Malley to assist you. Or to take over torpedo calibrations. It is 0230 hours, Commander.’

‘I’m fine.’ Kharth gritted her teeth. ‘Forrester’s gone, isn’t she?’

‘Lieutenant Forrester transferred to the Pathfinder, yes.’

‘Shame. I liked Forrester.’ Easing off this next casing hatch took a little more effort. ‘I bet Isa sent her so she could look out for Valance. Soppy asshole.’

A pause. ‘I came to ascertain your status, Commander, not to gossip.’

‘My status is that I’m getting on with it.’

‘You are “getting on” with a highly irregular task below your station.’ There was another pause until T’Varel ventured, ‘It is not uncommon for illogical species to overwork themselves in times of great apprehension in order to avoid engaging with feelings they consider unwelcome.’

Kharth wriggled out from under the torpedo to glare up through the hatch. ‘Did you come here to help or snipe?’

T’Varel’s expression did not change as she looked down at her. ‘Identifying irregularities in your behaviour on the eve of engagement with a hostile force is helping. It seems others aboard do not challenge you under such circumstances.’ Kharth opened her mouth to bite back, but the Vulcan pressed on. ‘As second officer and Chief Tactical Officer, you are under considerable strain. It is understandable for you to wish to focus on minor tasks to distract your thoughts. But it tires you. Will you be fully rested when we face the Dominion?’

The two women locked eyes for long, thudding moments. Then Kharth shook her head. ‘Your concern’s touching,’ she drawled. ‘But I’m not done here.’

‘I feel no concern at all,’ T’Varel insisted as she stood. ‘I have offered you a fresh perspective. Do as you see fit, Commander.’

The light footsteps of the Vulcan receded, and Kharth slumped back in the confined torpedo bay, eyes closing. The only thing worse than being needled by a Vulcan was being needled by a Vulcan who was correct.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, stewing on her desire to not be proved wrong, but when she heard footsteps above, her eyes snapped open, and she looked upwards. ‘Commander, I don’t need needling –’

Then Dav Airex’s head appeared through the hatchway, surprised and apologetic. ‘I didn’t come here to needle.’

Kharth winced. ‘Oh. I thought you were T’Varel. She was trying to logic me into finishing up.’

‘I heard you were down here. Startling all the technicians.’ Airex paused, then sat at the open hatchway and handed down a steel travel mug. ‘So I brought you some tea.’

Her throat tightened, and she was glad she had to shift her weight to reach up and take the mug, hiding her expression. ‘Have I been that much of a menace?’

‘You?’ His smile was tight but sincere. ‘Always.’

As her hand wrapped around the mug, his grip lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary. She felt his finger brush against hers, then he let go, and she sat back down. ‘We’ve never faced anything like this before. Not at Archanis. Not at Agarath. We’ve lost most of the veterans we had from those encounters, and the safety of this ship is my responsibility.’

‘It’s not just your responsibility,’ Airex pointed out gently.

‘Is Rourke going to pay more attention to the Dominion, or to squadron politics? Is Shep going to focus on what Endeavour needs, or what Jericho needs? Then I’m on the bridge with a brand new Ops, a brand new Helm, and sure, I can rely on Lindgren to hell and back but she’s Comms.’

Airex’s expression pinched, and he hesitated before he said, ‘And T’Varel is new to Engineering.’

But that wasn’t what he’d wanted to say, and she knew it. Guiltily, Kharth stood, bringing her about level with his stomach while he was sitting at the hatch. She looked up at him. ‘When the fighting starts, when we need to think out of the box, when we need to know everything the enemy is doing before we can engage… I know I can rely on you.’

That still left chasms unspoken, and it did not ease the tension in his expression. Still, he nodded. ‘I know you’ll look after this ship, and everyone aboard. That’s why, when I heard you were down here, I brought you tea. I don’t expect you to do anything but work flat-out until we engage. I thought I could make it a little easier, though.’

He’d done things like that before, once upon a time. When they’d served on the Cavalier together and he’d been Davir Hargan, and she’d still dealt with adversity in the same way but he’d had the thoughtfulness and the patience to sit with her as she did so. The tension in her chest at the oncoming storm did not abate, but it felt different as she met his gaze. Kharth swallowed. ‘This isn’t a border skirmish. This is war.’

She’d set her mug on the deck, and he looked down at her hand beside it. Slowly, his own fingers slid across the deck to brush against the back of her hand. ‘You’ve experience of the Breen. You’ve experience of all sorts of enemies. You know everything you need to know. You’re the exact person you need to be to face this.’

His touch sent prickles across her skin, up her arm. One instinct told her to yank her hand back, pull away at once. The other told her to grab him and never let go. ‘We’re going to lose people.’

Airex sighed, gaze tightening. ‘Most likely.’

But his voice was too achingly gentle. As if his warmth was heating up to become scalding, she drew her hand away, and shook her head. ‘I should finish this. You should get some sleep.’

He watched her for a moment, then dropped his gaze and shifted back. ‘Enjoy the tea,’ he said, and it sounded like a veil had fallen across his voice as much as his expression, restraint restored.

She just nodded, grabbing the mug and disappearing back down the hatch. There was a moment before she heard his footsteps, a moment where he lingered before he left, and Kharth drew her knees under her, curled up in the maintenance bay, and closed her eyes as she listened to him go.

We’re going to lose people.

I can’t lose you again.

Captain’s log, Stardate 2401.3. The squadron has arrived at the colony on Vamuridian, which the Dominion hit on their first assault before withdrawing. It’s clear that if they knew they wouldn’t annex a world, they caused as much damage as they could.  No, not as much as they could. If they set the world on fire, there’d be nothing for us to do. Now there are people who need medical help, housing, protecting, or evacuating. Now Starfleet has to spend resources looking after people instead of running the enemy down.

I’ve seen this from the Dominion before. They know what they’re doing.

The sun shone brightly down on Vamuridian, its warmth embracing Rourke when he stepped out from the emergency medical shelter and left behind the wails of the injured. Now, bathed in the golden rays of bounteous summer, the shattered remains of the colony buildings surrounded him. To his left left was a row of sad bundles, humanoid in shape, under respectful lengths of canvas. Some were very, very small.

‘A problem with Nighthawk taking this over,’ Sadek was saying as she followed him out, pulling off her medical gloves, ‘is that I don’t know how much experience their CMO has.’

‘You mean, their CMO isn’t a trained specialist in disaster medicine who’s been doing this twenty years,’ Rourke said gruffly.

‘Well.’ Sadek paused, squinting against the sun. She’d been in there the whole day. When he’d arrived, she’d just pronounced dead a girl a little younger than their children. While it was wrong to say she seemed unfazed, detached, it was like she’d taken the burdens and hung them to one side so she could do her job. ‘I do mean that, but I don’t expect anyone to be me, Matt.’

‘No. No, only you could have sorted that situation on Gregleior ten years ago.’

Now she squinted at him. ‘That was after I left the Achilles. What’s going on with you?’

‘What? It’s not like I’ve reason to be chipper.’ Rourke averted his gaze, and gently regretted it as he took in the devastated town square. The squadron had set up multiple disaster relief shelters, and he could see Commander Brennos of the Nighthawk by one nestled in a corner, providing living space to the colonists whose homes had been bombarded into dust. Anywhere he looked that was not at his friend, all he could see was suffering.

‘I don’t expect that. But you’re being all… nostalgic.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘We need you thinking about the here and now. I know you went through the war, and I’m keenly aware you hardly ever talk about it. But don’t lose yourself in the past when we’ve got plenty to keep our attention in the present.’

He would have argued with her. But she’d passed his test, corrected him on a tiny detail from years back, something any impersonator of Aisha Sadek would have probably not known. And he doubted any Changeling could have run the shelter with half as much grace, coolness, and compassion, let alone medical expertise.

Rourke blinked and turned back to her. ‘You’re right,’ he allowed. ‘But I can’t leave you behind. You’re the best medical officer the squadron has, and if we’re pushing ahead into Dominion-held territory next…’

‘I know,’ Sadek sighed. ‘I’ll write up the full protocols. Leave them with the Nighthawk CMO for the TG514 guys. But you know me, Matt. I hate leaving a task half done.’ She glanced over her shoulder back into the shadow of the tent. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to perform an amputation.’

He clasped her shoulder. ‘There’s a bottle of wine with our names on it when this is over.’

‘A bottle? A case.’

Vamuridian had not been settled for long; decades at best. Some of the buildings – the remains of buildings – were still the metal pre-fab structures from the first landing, dropped in this tidy valley of luscious green plains and bowing trees. Many of the remnants still bore moss that had crept across walls and roofs over the years, binding those original, extra-terrestrial buildings to the newer homes crafted from local wood and stone and tying them all to the earth below.

All now shattered. Beleaguered colonists had talked of Jem’Hadar landing parties going out of their way to set charges on walls and start fires in buildings. It had not taken a large team of soldiers to cause havoc in this sleepy settlement, deep enough into Federation space to rarely be troubled by Kzinti or Breen. Had their planetary defences not caused enough difficulty for the orbital assault that the Lost Fleet had plainly decided it was not worth the resources to stick around when their priority mission was mayhem, Rourke did not want to think how many more bodies would have greeted them on arrival.

It meant that the planetary leadership had remained well-protected, which made their job easier – with local infrastructure and lines of communication intact, they were in a better position to help these people help themselves. Or that was what Hale had said upon arrival.

He saw her now, emerging from the mostly-intact town hall, talking to the tall and wizened local councillor who’d answered their initial hails. While he looked like some colour had returned to his cheeks, she looked more worn and much, much more tired. Rourke lingered in the square as he watched them talk, shake hands, then part ways. Hale turned and saw him, and he knew he should approach or carry on with his day, but found his legs too heavy to move.

They had not spoken outside of crowded meetings in months. Now she crossed this war-torn square, forced to loop around where a Nighthawk officer was supervising the clearing of rubble, and approached him.

‘Councillor Tremaine asked me to make sure his thanks are passed on to every single officer helping here,’ she said softly. ‘I can trust you to do that with your crew?’

Rourke swallowed and looked back around this shattered town. Somewhere high above, a flock of brightly-coloured birds bobbed and weaved, fluttering in front of the shining sun before carrying on their careless journey. ‘I’m not sure we’ve done anything yet.’

‘You’ve arrived. You’ve arrived and been Starfleet.’ She looked up at him. ‘I hope you’ve not forgotten how much that can mean.’

His brow knotted. ‘Why would I forget?’

‘I’ve seen you these past weeks. Jousting with Jericho. And now…’ Her hand twitched by her side, like she’d thought better of reaching out. Normally she did business in crisp suits and pressed blouses, cultivated the look of a Federation official with all the authority and presence that implied. Today she’d donned thick boots and a field jacket, her hair tied up and out of the way. She sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume where your head’s at. But this must be hard.’

‘Thank you for passing on Councillor Tremaine’s gratitude,’ said Rourke, softening. ‘Seeing something like this before we go to the front can burn in a soldier. It’s important we remember the good we do. Who we fight for. That it’s about protecting, not destroying.’

‘And still,’ Hale said softly, tilting her head as she looked up at him, ‘you said “soldier.”’

The part of him that wanted to reassure her raged with the parts of him that had gone cold when he’d heard of the Dominion’s return, and frozen solid at Admiral Beckett’s warning. He had stopped reaching for her a long time ago for so many reasons. Right now, it brought a two-pronged threat – that it might expose the fault lines in himself when he needed to stand strong, and the other, unthinkable danger. The one he struggled to put into words, because with some people it was so unconscionable. But again, Beckett had been clear.

He could trust nobody.

‘I’m not trying to be fatalistic, and I’ve not lost perspective,’ he said, tensing as he straightened. ‘But I’m being realistic. We’re all soldiers. You should consider staying on Vamuridian when we move on.’

‘Vamuridian is one colony that fended off the worst of an attack. What about when we liberate another from occupation?’ Her eyes hardened as her voice did, confident and fiery. ‘Someone has to be there to make it clear the Federation won’t forget them, even once the fighting is over and the soldiers have left. Besides.’ She straightened, too, meeting his gaze. ‘That’s Captain Jericho’s decision to make. Not yours.’ That shut him up, and before he could summon a response, she’d given a polite nod and turned to leave. ‘Good day, Captain Rourke.’

He glared at her back but didn’t know what he’d have said even if he’d had the chance for a parting word. But this was another distraction he couldn’t afford. Commander Far was in the main field aid station with Daniran Kosst, but Rourke only stuck his head in to ensure they were making progress. It wouldn’t do to micro-manage, with Kosst liable to finish the work here and Far new enough to her post that he had to give space to prove herself. His new Operations Chief had big shoes to fill, but only time would tell how well she’d fare. Breathing down her neck didn’t help.

Beaming back to Endeavour after came with no small sense of relief. In a heartbeat he was whisked away from the streets of Vamuridian, soaked in blood and sun, and was back in the shrouded halls of his ship. Even though tension rippled through the corridors as he walked to the bridge, this was a space he knew. He could soak into the deck if he wanted, plant himself like a tree and become a bulkhead. Even in times of tension and war, this ship was home.

It was clear he was not alone in this familiarity, as he found Kharth slouched in the command chair with an unusually indolent air when he reached the bridge. Only relief officers stood at their posts while she watched over the ship in orbit, keeping a weather eye for danger but with little to do as the bulk of Endeavour’s resources were poured to the surface. But the viewscreen was alive, filled with the cramped cockpit of a New Atlantic-class runabout, and showing a figure in a gold uniform sat with their boots up on a console.

‘Using duty shifts for personal calls?’ Rourke drawled as he stepped to the command chairs, but there was levity in his voice when he turned to the viewscreen. ‘How’s it going out there, Cortez?’

‘Hey, we’re liaising or whatever.’ The squadron’s SCE officer and his former chief engineer waved a casual hand, both in greeting and to dismiss his concerns. ‘I was just bringing Sae up to speed on our progress. Refitting these defence platforms is child’s play – some smart cookie in San Fran gave them a modular design so adding emplacements isn’t hard. They didn’t take too bad a hammering.’

‘Good to hear,’ said Rourke, but waved a hand for Kharth to keep the central seat as she sat up. ‘We want these people able to protect themselves once we’re gone.’

‘I’m impressed they saw off the forces they did,’ Kharth mused, straightening her uniform. ‘It’s clear the Dominion could have done worse if they wanted to, but it would have cost them.’

‘That’s all it takes sometimes.’

‘I hear it’s not so sunny on the surface,’ Cortez said with a wince.

Rourke grimaced. ‘We’re working on it. It also could have been worse.’ He looked between them. ‘I’ll let you talk. I’ll be in my ready room.’

‘Hey, Captain?’ He paused at Cortez’s voice, and watched the engineer hesitate, biting her lip. Then she said, ‘Do we know if Pathfinder’s on their way?’

His gaze softened. Even with Cortez thousands of kilometres away, elsewhere in Vamuridian’s orbit, and only talking of a ship bearing so many familiar faces, for a moment it felt like old times. Like he stood on the bridge with Kharth, talking to his Chief Engineer, thinking of Valance and Thawn and Nate like they were on an away mission, not assigned to another ship on the far side of the galaxy.

Trust nobody.

When he shrugged, he bore a more dismissive expression. ‘You’ll have to ask Jericho. I’ve got to check in with the patrols.’

‘Oh -’ Kharth half-spun in the chair. ‘Shep’s in your ready room.’

He frowned. ‘And not here?’

She shrugged. ‘Said she had business and didn’t want to relieve me.’

He gave her a confused nod and left, hearing the hum of conversation resuming between Kharth and Cortez, good friends who saw a lot less of each other these days, as his ready room doors opened to admit him.

Shep had been peering at the little models of the ship’s namesake on the wall, and turned with, he thought, an unusually anxious air at his arrival. ‘Captain! Sorry for hanging about. I knew you’d be up soon, was all.’

‘Commander.’ Rourke gestured for her to sit as he pulled up his chair behind the desk. ‘What’s on your mind?’

She fidgeted before sitting. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. Captain Jericho asked if I could assume command of the squadron’s support ships while we’re at Vamuridian.’ As he stared at her, she winced. ‘Because we have a lot of fighters and shuttles and runabouts performing duties across the system from different starships -’

‘You know full well that’s not why that’s out of line,’ Rourke snapped. ‘Why am I hearing this from you and not Jericho?’

‘Hey, I just… I just had the request, Captain.’

‘You’re my XO. You don’t serve on his ship any more.’ After all of the cold of the last few months, gently moving against Jericho – after the ice of learning of the Dominion’s return and the Changeling infiltration – he knew it was irrational for this to be what made him burn. And yet it did, Rourke’s fists clenching as he leaned forward. ‘It’s totally out of line for him to pitch this to you without going through me.’

Shep gnawed on her lip as he snapped, but the guilt started to shift for a flash in her own eyes as he went on. ‘You don’t need to yell at me, Captain. I didn’t do it. I said I’d need your permission.’

‘Well – good…’ That did take the wind out of his sails, and Rourke sighed, pinching his nose. ‘You’re more than qualified for the task. And it’s important.’

‘I’m happy to hold down the fort in orbit, sir, and you’re right to defer surface ops to Commander Far, this is right in her wheelhouse,’ Shep continued, becoming placating as he backed down and she calmed in response.

‘No,’ Rourke groaned. ‘It’s a good place for you to be. You know the pilots on the Triumph and on Endeavour and we’ve got the lion’s share of the auxiliary craft. You’ve got the experience to do this. Lieutenant Tyderian’s too green and – I don’t actually know Commander Ryan.’

‘Ryan’s fine. Great fighter squadron leader for Triumph. But, you know, I trained him.’ Shep winked, back to her bubblier self once the tension was passed. He did appreciate that about her, Rourke thought. She was easy to work with without being a pushover.

But she was also absolutely Jericho’s creature, and he’d just made that clear by going behind his back. It undermined the squadron chain of command and it undermined his, Rourke’s, authority over his own ship. In a time of war, no less, when anything that weakened the hierarchy, weakened the bond in a crew…

Rourke’s eyes slammed shut. He could not afford to go down that road. Weeks had been spent trying to out-manoeuvre Jericho for being a hawkish, xenophobic martinet. Despite everything Beckett had told him, this was no time to borrow trouble.

‘Alright,’ he said at last, looking at Shep. ‘But I want in on these reports too, right? Support ships are helping orbital repairs, setting up the sensor array, joining aid missions to some of the smaller settlements. This isn’t just running patrols. It matters to our work helping people.’

Shep sobered with a thoughtful frown. ‘You got it, Captain.’ At his nod she stood, but paused halfway to the door. ‘And, Captain? I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done it this way. It’s just… Captain Jericho and I go back a ways and we talk, and it came up, so I’ve no doubt he didn’t mean to…’

‘You don’t need to cover for him,’ Rourke said levelly. ‘And you’re not at fault here. You brought this to me. You did the right thing. Thank you.’

Jericho and I go back a ways and we talk… Her words echoed in his ears as she left, and with a dissatisfied grunt, Rourke slouched back in his chair, glaring at the windows. Beyond, the blue-green horizon of Vamuridian spun, peaceful and intact, the shine of the world something no Dominion weapons could touch, however horrific the sights he had seen below.

This was no time to borrow trouble. With a sigh, he reached for the comms panel on his desk. ‘Rourke to Gault. Eli, I’m busting for a cuppa here.’

A pause. ‘You’ve got a replicator in there, right, Matty?’

‘Yeah, but -’

‘Get off your ass and get your own damn cup. I’m filing reports from twelve team leaders here. Gault out.’ The line went dead.

‘Well,’ Rourke mumbled to himself. ‘He’s definitely still Eli Gault.’

‘It’ll take us about ten minutes to calibrate the sensors. Then you can run your scans all the way through the atmosphere.’ Commander Far gave Shep an apologetic smile. ‘I know that’s a little bit of a wait -’

‘You’re not a wizard. Work takes time.’ Shep shrugged as she looked around the town square of Vamuridian, where she’d set down the shuttle Galahad. Running a complete scan of the planet’s atmospheric layers to ensure the Dominion assault had left no toxins or other damage was easiest done by taking a shuttle through itself, but had to start from the surface.

Far nodded with relief. She looked frazzled, hair a little wild, and Shep had to wonder how much sleep she’d had the past few days of their relief mission. ‘Thanks, Shep. How’s it going up there? Hunting bad guys?’

‘Not a damn thing in sight. The odd ping on long-range sensors, but nothing approaching. It’s pretty…’ Helpless. Pointless. She shrugged. ‘Quiet.’

‘Oh, good.’ Far cracked open the hatch to the Galahad and ducked inside. ‘These people need quiet. I’ll get this done lickety-split.’

Normally, Shep found the ops officer’s chirpiness endearing, but when she turned away to the town square, still a gutted hole of devastated buildings, dangerous rubble, and emergency shelters, she couldn’t quite share it. No doubt it had helped Far through the last days, but Shep had not been down here much. She’d not really wanted to.

She spotted Commander Harrian emerging from one of the small tents set up as emergency shelter for families whose homes had been destroyed, uniform jacket loose, squinting in the bright sun, and headed over with a curious expression. ‘Hey, Cal. I didn’t realise you were down here.’

Harrian’s eyes were tired, but he still saved her a smile as he swept his hair back out of his eyes. ‘I thought I’d make myself useful after a day of staring at reports in the SOC.’

Shep glanced past him to see the huddled shapes inside the tent before the canvas flap fell back into place. Her voice dropped as she winced. ‘Is that just kids in there?’

His big shoulders sagged. ‘All without immediate caregivers. For some of them, their homes have been flattened and their parents are busy trying to help. But a lot have parents at the medical station or, well, dead. I thought I could help.’

She’d read his record when he’d come aboard, and bit her lip. ‘This is all a bit close to home for you, huh.’

‘I was five when they shot my father.’ Harrian grimaced, but looked more thoughtful at the recollection than pained by it. ‘It’s not an experience that makes you harder or stronger. But it’s an experience which means that, maybe, I can find the right words for those kids.’ Now his shoulders sank more. ‘Perhaps.’

Shep turned to soak in the sight of the rest of the square. ‘At least you’re doing good. I’m just flying around in the system in a shuttle and pissing the captain off.’

‘Don’t concern yourself with that,’ came his firm, quick reply. ‘You’re our eyes and ears up there. You’re making sure every elongated limb of this operation is working in unison. Jericho and Rourke are professionals. They’ll work together here.’

Now she looked at him with a deeper wince. ‘That’s real optimistic of you.’

‘I have to believe that, as Starfleet officers, we’re here to do our best for people who need us. That is our primary goal.’ His sharp blue eyes landed on her. ‘And even if you worry about others losing sight of that, don’t get dragged into it. Rise above. Be the officer you should be. Set the example. Even, yes, for your superiors if necessary.’

Shep worked her jaw. ‘You make it sound easy.’

‘It’s not. That’s why we’re Starfleet officers.’ There was a chirrup from his satchel, and he pulled out a PADD, an alert blaring on the screen. Shep was silent as he read, the tall Bajoran’s brow furrowing, then he sighed. ‘We’re about to be called back to the ship. You should get someone to fly that shuttle.’

‘Perks of checking in with Strat Ops,’ Shep mused, and tapped her combadge to call Lieutenant Tyderian in to replace her.

Only moments after she was done, both their combadges chirruped to life. ‘Endeavour to senior staff. Report to the conference room. That includes surface team.’

‘He sounds cheerful,’ Shep mused at Rourke’s brusque tones.

‘He shouldn’t be. We’re moving on,’ Harrian said grimly, but didn’t elaborate as they gathered with Far and Sadek to beam back up to the ship.

The rest of the senior staff were already there when they reached the conference room, Captain Rourke stood at the head of the table. He gave them curt nods as they stepped into the dimmed chamber, most light coming from the wall displays. ‘Thank you for coming so quickly. The squadron has had orders from fleet command. We’ll be leaving Vamuridian as soon as possible.’

Kharth, sat to Rourke’s left, tensed at that. ‘We’re going on the offensive?’

Rourke’s eyes landed on Harrian, who inclined his head and moved to the display on the wall. A flick of his PADD screen brought it to life with the strategic map of the Deneb Sector, now a lot more detailed than the one they’d studied days before. ‘We have a much better picture of Dominion fleet movements. For one thing, we’re confident this is not the entire Lost Fleet.’

‘Finally,’ mused Shep as she sat across from Kharth. ‘Some not-terrible news.’

‘They still have the advantage of numbers,’ Harrian pressed on, ‘but our technology is, of course, much more sophisticated than it was when last we faced the Dominion. This has let us monitor their numbers and begin to strategise what it’ll take for us to push back. And where we can push back.’

‘With our squadron as one of the most tactically capable in the fleet,’ Rourke said, jaw tight, ‘we’re being sent in as soon as possible. This is the big one, people. We’re liberating Izar.’

That brought a hum of responses around the table, including from Shep. Izar was the oldest and largest colony in the Deneb Sector, the heart of commerce, industry, and one of the last stopping points before any ship ventured beyond Federation space. Its fall had sent a ripple through the sector, and even the wider galaxy, determined to insist that this was nothing but a border raid, had struggled to downplay the significance of a disaster on such a notable world.

‘Izar is going to be well defended,’ Airex blurted, brow furrowed. ‘This will be a huge undertaking.’

‘Which is why our first mission,’ Rourke pressed on, ‘isn’t to rush for Izar itself. We’ve picked up reports of a Breen task group heading for the planet itself to join its defences. The squadron’s to enter enemy territory through the Ciater Nebula and take this task group out. Hit them before they can consolidate their forces. But that’s a couple steps ahead. Our first step is to finish up on Vamuridian.’ He straightened. ‘Begin the handover protocols for the Nighthawk. They’ll hold down the fort until reinforcements arrive from TG514 and then catch up. Then we’re crossing the border.’

Shep could feel the ripple of nerves running up and down the table, and clapped her hands together. ‘Beats sitting around, hey? You know what to do, people.’

She didn’t know how to read Rourke’s expression when he looked at her, but then he nodded. ‘You do, in fact, know what to do. Let’s be about it. Dismissed.’

Handing a humanitarian mission over to another, smaller crew, should have taken longer, or so Shep felt. But within the hour she was sat in her seat on the bridge, listening to reports flow in of teams coming back aboard and the handover completing. Before long, Commander Kosst’s face was on the viewscreen, and Shep thought she could see the quiet frustration in the eyes of the young captain.

‘We’ve got everything in hand, Endeavour,’ Kosst said with a firm nod. ‘Good hunting out there.’

‘You’ll catch us up before you know it, Nighthawk,’ Rourke reassured her. ‘We can’t venture too far into the nebula without losing you. But we can make sure the way is clear. Good luck down there. Endeavour out.’ As the viewscreen winked out, he turned on his chair to Lieutenant Whitaker. ‘Where’s the rest of the squadron?’

‘Already a light-year out, sir. They jumped ahead and are holding position.’

It was a standard protocol to see if it provoked any movement from the enemy, but if someone was watching, they’d not stirred any hornet’s nest. Rourke nodded and sank back on his chair. ‘Good. Take us out.’

The deck rumbled as Endeavour swerved away, breaking orbit and leaving the desolate shape of Vamuridian behind. In the careful hands of Nighthawk and whoever followed, perhaps they could be set on the road to recovery, but no matter what Starfleet did today, it would take some time.

They were approaching the edge of the system when Airex looked up from his post at Science. ‘Captain, I’m picking up movement on long-range sensors. Our side of the border. Not Starfleet.’ His brow furrowed, and everyone tensed until the tall Trill pressed on. ‘Cardassian.’

Rourke sat up at that, and Shep could feel him coil tightly. ‘Cardassian?’

‘Sir.’ This was Lindgren, comms station chirruping. ‘We’re being hailed by Gul Malek of the Third Order.’

For a moment, Shep watched as their captain’s expression shifted. A muscle in the corner of his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared, until he shook his head and sank back down on the chair, steeling his gaze. ‘Put him through.’

Starfleet Academy had taught Shep the importance of not stereotyping anyone, which was why she wouldn’t say that Gul Malek looked as smug and superior as she’d have expected out loud. He sat on the bridge of what Shep guessed to be a Keldon-class cruiser, the most common ship for a command-grade officer to fly.

But Rourke spoke first, voice sounding like he’d had to unwrap it from around his throat before he could form words. ‘This is Captain Rourke of the Federation starship Endeavour. What’s your business in this territory?’

Gul Malek leaned back, chin tilting up with rather supercilious surprise. ‘Captain. It’s a pleasure, I’m sure. And my business in this territory is no doubt the same as yours – we have a common enemy.’

Rourke’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t follow.’

‘It seems your superiors didn’t see fit to inform you, then. Hm.’ Malek gave a smile that did not reach his eyes but definitely reached into Shep’s gut to tie a knot of irritation. ‘Unlike the short-sighted Klingons or Romulans, my government has recognised the threat the Dominion presents to the galaxy. The Third Order has been dispatched to render assistance.’

‘I didn’t know the Union was in the habit of viewing the Dominion or Breen as an enemy,’ Rourke said coolly. ‘Unless my recollection of history is incorrect.’

Now Malek’s gaze hardened. ‘Your recollection of history could stand to consider the eight hundred million Cardassians slaughtered by the Dominion and Breen before the war’s end. Tell me, Captain. How many Federation civilians died?’

That stopped Rourke short. At last, he inclined his head. ‘My apologies, Gul. That was beneath me.’

At once, the Cardassian’s smile returned, though it did not lighten his face. ‘Bygones. We are allies now. My task group has been directed to reinforce local patrols. As our arrival is so fresh, I wanted to be sure local Starfleet forces know we’re no danger to you.’

‘That is good to know,’ said Rourke still sounding a little sour. ‘The Starfleet ships you can see on your sensors are moving out. I’m sure you’ll be joined by reinforcements from SB514 soon enough, but for now, this patch of space is yours to defend.’

‘We shall hold it, and the Alpha Quadrant shall stand firm together.’ Malek nodded crisply. ‘Good hunting, Captain.’

The viewscreen went dead, and Rourke took a moment to scrub his face with his hand. ‘At least some things can change in twenty-five years,’ he muttered. ‘Take us out, Whitaker. Airex – make sure you keep an eye on them, at least.’

‘I’ll have Harrian consult with Command to verify this,’ Shep said to him in a low voice.

‘I’m sure he’s legitimate if he got this far. But – yes.’ Rourke gave a gruff nod. ‘We press on. Izar awaits.’

‘How long have they had this information?’ Rourke growled as he and Harrian stormed out of the Triumph’s transporter room towards the nearest turbolift. His voice came as a low rumble not just out of suppressed anger, but because he had to fall silent at every crewmember they passed. These were Jericho’s people. His eyes and ears.

‘About an hour,’ Harrian replied, much cooler as he kept pace. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d been informed.’

‘No,’ Rourke huffed, and almost bowled a crewmember out of the way for the two men to claim the next turbolift. ‘No, I was not.’ Harrian had come to him minutes ago with a comment about the intel the Nighthawk recovered from the Jem’Hadar fighter, clearly expecting the captain to already know about it. They’d hurried to the Triumph at once.

Harrian waited until the turbolift doors slid shut before he spoke. ‘Communications are restricted as we approach the border. I expect Brennos couldn’t get word to you.’

‘It’s not Brennos I’m angry with.’ Rourke worked his jaw. ‘Is Jericho trying to keep the squadron in the dark?’

‘We don’t know what he’s found yet or what his reasoning is.’ Harrian shifted his weight. ‘You’ve been compartmentalising information, too.’

That kept Rourke silent. He was not prepared to share Beckett’s warning with anyone else and was too angry to prepare a fresh set of lies. The implication hung heavy between them, and when the turbolift doors slid open, he could still feel Harrian’s eyes on him as the two men proceeded to the conference room.

Rourke’s gut roiled when they stomped in to find not just Jericho, his XO Ranicus, and Commander Kosst present, but Commander Vornar of the Independence also seated at the conference table. Jericho looked up, unperturbed at Rourke’s arrival, and extended a hand. ‘Oh, Matt. I expect Cal told you. Grab a seat.’

They sat, and Rourke could feel the stiffness in Harrian beside him – awkwardness? His own anger and frustration? Guilt? But Harrian was the least of his problems. ‘So we took out a Jem’Hadar fighter and looted its computer for intel. Why wasn’t I told at once?’

Kosst looked stricken, but Jericho shrugged as he sat back in his chair at the head of the table. ‘We’re still figuring out what it means. I’d wanted one of us on their bridge while the whole squadron holds position at the outskirts of Ciater, but you’re here now.’

If you wanted that, Rourke raged inside, you could have given that order. Left Vornar and the Independence watching our backs.

Perhaps to deflect this tension, Kosst cleared her throat and leaned forward. ‘They were a scout, slipping across the border and running on lowest possible power to evade our sensors. From their navigational records, it looks like they altered course to avoid the approaching TG514 patrol and almost ran right into us by mistake.’

‘They picked us up, but there’s no sign they transmitted our location back across the border,’ Jericho said smoothly. ‘And their own sensor and communications records confirm the route of the Breen strike force we’re going into Ciater to intercept. Nothing to worry about.’

Again Kosst looked uncomfortable. ‘Except they already knew about that Cardassian task group from the Third Order.’ But Jericho cast her a sharp look, and she fell silent.

Rourke’s shoulders tensed, and he turned his head. ‘The Cardassians have a problem with information security?’

Commander Vornar’s gaze swept between them, perhaps also noticing how Jericho had silenced an uncomfortable officer. ‘I’m curious about your assessment, too, Commander Kosst.’

She shook her head, pressing on. ‘Not that we could determine. Before this scout ship set off, Dominion long-range sensors picked up the task group. A Dominion strike force is heading to intercept them right now. One bigger than I think they can handle.’

Jericho shrugged. ‘That’s for the Cardassians to worry about,’ he said brusquely. ‘What matters is we have more intel on the strike force. There are also more nav records of ship movements around Izar. We have everything we need to plan a solid assault.’

Rourke said, ‘We’re not going to warn Gul Malek?’ with a more incredulous air than he’d expected.

‘If the Dominion are making ready to intercept the Third Order and find they’ve been tipped off,’ said Jericho, shaking his head, ‘then they’ll know we’ve got this intelligence.’

‘This intelligence is, so far, pretty much nothing we didn’t already know – except for this strike,’ Rourke snapped. ‘And we might get some days-old, maybe weeks-old, intel on the troop movements around Izar. This border is changing all the time, the Lost Fleet’s deployment is changing all the time.’

‘Warning won’t do them much good,’ mused Vornar, ‘if they’re outgunned. The Dominion will run them down. We’d have to dispatch one of our ships to reinforce them.’

‘I’m not doing that. What’s more important to you here, Matt?’ Jericho challenged. ‘Liberating Izar or helping some Cardassians out of a tight spot?’

Rourke knew a false equivalence when he heard one, but while he didn’t let himself get dragged in, it still stoked the fires in his gut. ‘Let’s see this intel about the Breen we’re intercepting,’ he snapped, looking at Kosst.

Stiffly, she got to her feet and raised her PADD to flick data across to the main display. ‘Four ships. Three raiders, a cruiser.’

Rourke scoffed. ‘Triumph and Independence alone could take that, and with Nighthawk that’s an easy time. Let me take Endeavour to help the Cardassians, and catch up with you at a rendezvous point in the nebula after you’ve taken out the reinforcements.’

‘Send away our second-most powerful battleship before we launch an assault?’ Jericho looked horrified. ‘Hell, no. And we’re not warning them, either. If they evade the Dominion, those ships might come right back to Izar.’

‘They are the nearest task force of any tactical significance,’ Rourke pressed. ‘We team up with them to beat their ambush and press on to Izar together.’

‘I’m not splitting up the squadron. And if the squadron all goes to the Third Order, the Breen will make it to Izar and join the garrison. I’m sorry, Matt, but the Cardassians made their bed. They can lie in it.’ Jericho stood, hands planted on the table. ‘Request denied.’

Rourke rose to his feet, too, fists clenched. ‘They came to help us. They’re the only ones who came -’

‘You have your orders, Captain!’

The words echoed through the conference room, and Rourke could feel everyone reeling. Kosst’s eyes were on the table while Vornar watched both men with a quiet intensity. But his gaze remained locked on Jericho’s, the two men standing fast as they glowered across the conference room.

Ultimately, Harrian broke the moment, getting to his feet more lightly. ‘I’ll see about notifying TG514 so they are on standby to reinforce the Third Order -’

‘You’ll do no such thing, Commander,’ Jericho snapped, not taking his eyes off Rourke. ‘We proceed with the plan. You all have your orders. Return to your ships; we proceed into the Ciater Nebula at once. We won’t transfer between ships until this is over.’

Rourke worked his jaw for a moment, but knew words would get him nowhere. For once, his stance was crisp, military as he straightened, but he did not linger before his gait snapped him towards the doors.

The others followed, and they were almost at the turbolift when Vornar reached him, sliding to his side. ‘Captain Rourke. A quick word, if I may?’

Harrian and Kosst looked relieved not to have to share a lift with him, and the two men stopped in the corridor as the doors to the conference room slid shut to block Jericho and Ranicus from sight, and the lift whisked the two younger officers away. Rourke tried not to glare at Vornar as he regarded him. ‘What is it?’

‘This is a time of war,’ Vornar said coolly, ‘and Fleet Captain Jericho’s orders are very clear -’

‘I’m aware of this, Commander.’ Now Rourke didn’t try to stop glaring.

But Vornar pressed on, voice softening. ‘…even if we do not agree with those orders.’ He cast a discreet glance between the two sealed doors. ‘I’m concerned, too, about his disregard for the Cardassian Third Order. I worry his biases are blinding him. But he’s right that warning the Third Order risks them evading the attack, and then that Dominion strike force returns to Izar without a scratch on them. And we must save Izar.’

‘If they completely overwhelm the Cardassians, they still return to Izar, and we have to fight them another day,’ Rourke pointed out. ‘Our whole purpose here is to hit the enemy forces before they consolidate.’

Vornar’s expression pinched, and he sighed. ‘You’re not wrong, sir. But there’s nothing we can do. All I wanted was to assure you that I share your concerns.’

‘You’re closest to Jericho of everyone. You were his XO for years, for God’s sake. If he’ll listen to anyone, it’s you.’

A wince. ‘I’m not sure he’s listening to anyone right now, sir. It’s like the shadow of this war is smothering the man I’ve known all these years. It’s concerning. All we can do is hold course and try to pull this out of the fire. Anything else…’ Vornar sucked his teeth. ‘We’d be disobeying direct orders. Even if it’s to save lives.’

Save lives. The words hummed in Rourke when he was alone on the turbolift, being whisked down to the transporter room. It was a confined space in which to pace, but pace he did, as if he could wear a hole in the deck that could take him to another reality where any of this made sense. If even Jericho’s own people were expressing doubts…

‘Computer.’ He snapped bolt upright. ‘Deck eight.’

He hadn’t walked this part of the Triumph before, but didn’t care if any eyes were on him. The surprise of the crew was clearly shared by Sophia Hale when she opened the door to her quarters. ‘We need to talk,’ he said roughly, and pushed past her inside.

She rocked back, no less confused. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Starfleet is here to protect, not destroy,’ Rourke rumbled, already pacing anew now he had more room in her plain, spartan quarters. She’d kept her rooms on Endeavour the same, and once he’d thought it spoke of a simple reserve. He knew now something different in her left her living space barren. ‘That’s what you said on Vamuridian.’

‘I did. And you called yourself a soldier.’ Hale pursed her lips. ‘Are you still angry about -’

‘Jericho is out of line, and he’s ready to let anything burn to save Izar. But I don’t think it’s about Izar; I think it’s about beating the enemy. Izar is just how he beats the enemy.’ He considered saying more, but knew that would only fog the situation further. ‘I don’t think you should be aboard Triumph.’

Now she looked exhausted. ‘I’m not returning to Vamuridian or Farpoint – I was with you throughout Agarath; you know the good I can do to work with people -’

His hands came up, placating. ‘That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I want you aboard Endeavour for what comes next.’

‘That’s not your choice. The squadron commander’s asked me to be on this ship.’ But she sounded confused, not defensive.

‘The squadron’s about to go into the Ciater Nebula. It’ll be days before anyone’s transporting between ships. Come with me back to Endeavour, now, and beg forgiveness rather than ask permission. Jericho has bigger fish to fry than worrying which ship his diplomat’s sitting on.’ She was staring at him, and all he could do was try to not clench his fists as everything inside him coiled. Against Jericho it had been a tension of rage, ratcheting him tighter and tighter, but these nerves were completely different.

At last, Hale worked her jaw and managed, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s not safe on Triumph,’ he attempted, but then the words spilt from him, unbidden. ‘I don’t trust Jericho to do what’s right. I don’t trust him to not sacrifice others to achieve his goals.’ It wasn’t the extent of his distrust, but it was all he could say to her. Of that, at least, because other words kept coming. He’d wrapped himself up so tightly inside with paranoia and caution, with the apprehensions of an officer and a captain, that lesser feelings – the feelings of a man, flesh and blood – were oozing through the cracks. ‘And I could not stand it if that means you get hurt. Or worse.’

Her expression fell, and Hale raised a hand to her lips. ‘Matthew… we’re going into battle. On Triumph, on Endeavour, does it make a difference?’

‘It makes a difference to me.’ He took a sharp step forward, but she flinched and that rooted him to the spot. He forced his voice to soften even as blood sang in his ear. ‘When the fighting starts, my heart has to be with my crew, on my ship, and if you’re on the Triumph then my heart isn’t on my ship.’ He hadn’t known what he would say when he came here. But words he’d locked up for months came bubbling up now, unbidden and yet feeling more right than anything from this wretched landscape of war and distrust. She had frozen, still, and he extended a pleading hand. ‘Come with me.’

Her eyes dropped to his hand, and he thought he saw hers twitch like an instinct made her reach out – before being smothered. When she spoke, her voice was lower and more hoarse than he’d ever heard it, and still it sounded under the tightest control. ‘My place is here. And this is no – this is no time for anything like that, Matthew -’

‘Then it’s never time for it,’ Rourke burst, unapologetic. ‘I’m in the dark and trying to figure out my next step, trying to do what’s right, and that has always been easier with you by my side.’

She closed her eyes, tilting her head away like looking directly at him hurt. ‘That’s a very different sentiment to -’

‘To telling you how much you mean to me? I tried to convince you with logic and reason, and that didn’t help.’ But now, when Rourke swallowed, he tasted a flicker of bitterness. ‘But you – damn it, Sophia, are you ever going to let yourself feel again? Or are you really just going through the motions til you die?’

Now she stiffened, eyes snapping open. ‘Please don’t make assumptions about my feelings.’

‘You had a Klingon hold you at gunpoint as a hostage back on Agarath and you barely blinked while I killed my blood-brother’s sibling for you,’ Rourke protested. ‘I saw it in your eyes then, and after, I saw… you didn’t care. You didn’t care how close you came to dying.’

Hale’s shoulders hunched up. ‘Matthew…’

‘I’m not going to try to talk you into feeling or whatever,’ he said, unable to keep a note of resentment from his voice regardless, ‘but I’ve told you everything I feel and everything I know. Whether you do it for self-preservation, or for the mission, or… or for me… I still want you to come with me back to Endeavour.’

Again he extended his hand, and again she stared at it without moving. His arm fell by his side, and he closed his eyes. ‘Alright,’ Rourke rasped into the silence, and turned to the door. ‘I’ll respect your choice, and leave you -’

Then she’d taken three quick steps towards him, pulled him back by the shoulder, and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him. Her hands were at his cheeks, and wrapping his arms around her came as easy as breathing.

Soon, too soon, she pulled back, forehead pressed against his. ‘I wish I could,’ she breathed, and he almost fell against her then, almost shattered at losing this battle. ‘But if Jericho is as blinded as you think, I am the only voice on this ship against him. Even if none of them will listen to me.’ Her thumb grazed across his beard, across his lower lip, and her expression collapsed as she met his gaze. ‘And I’m not… I’m not ready yet.’

He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply; breathed her scent, her presence. ‘I really wish you were,’ Rourke murmured before meeting her eyes again. ‘Because I’m about to go do something really stupid.’

‘See?’ She gave the faintest smile, soft and sincere and sad all at once. ‘You don’t need me to help you figure out what’s right.’

He kissed her again, and this time it felt like the embrace could have lasted til each star collapsed into oblivion, or like it barely lasted a heartbeat before he dug deep and let her go. Let her go before she pulled away and broke the moment, so even if this all turned to dust, he’d be able to carry it with him. One perfect second.

Then he left, because words would have sullied the moment too, and stormed to the transporter room.

Harrian was waiting for him when he descended the transporter pad aboard Endeavour, the big Bajoran’s arms folded across his chest. ‘I can try to slip information back to TG514 anyway, whatever Jericho said,’ he burst at once. ‘See if they can redirect something to the Third Order without anyone realising we know…’

But Rourke reached out and planted a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, he hesitated, and then he shook his head. ‘You’re a good man, Cal. You might be the only one who’s kept a clear eye on what we’re doing and why we’re here. You should get some sleep.’

Harrian’s brow furrowed. ‘Matt?’

‘It’s late. We’ll be pressing into the nebula imminently, making contact with the Breen within 48 hours.’ Rourke sighed, trying to sound more downtrodden even as blood continued to sing in his ears. ‘I want you fresh for that. We might have to do something clever once this is all over.’

‘Alright.’ Harrian still looked nonplussed, but he nodded. ‘You should rest, too.’

‘Eventually. I’ll get us underway.’

The bridge was a low hum of activity when Rourke arrived. Nobody had enjoyed lurking at the periphery of the Ciater Nebula for this long, with possibly anything in its depths. Even though the longer they scanned and surveyed, the more they could pierce its veil, be sure of local movements near and far, it felt like standing at the walls of the empire, the barbarian hordes beyond.

And now they were about to venture into that darkness. For a time.

Rourke sank onto the command chair and glanced to his left. ‘Elsa, we’re under a communications blackout. We have our heading, and we don’t want to be detected as we move into the nebula. No incoming or outgoing communications with the rest of the squadron.’ She nodded, and he gestured forwards. ‘We start in formation with the others, Mister Whitaker, at the rear. Take us in.’

As one, the four starships of the squadron began to slide into the outskirts of the nebula. Quicker than he’d expected, the viewscreen filled with the purple-gold of its gases, the swirling maelstrom wrapping around them to obscure sensors or vision. And it would only get worse from here.

They proceeded for an hour before Rourke stood, and again looked about the bridge. Shep was not on duty right now, which was for the best. He advanced on the Helm and gestured Whitaker out of the way. ‘That’s good enough. Any Dominion eyes out there will see us entering the nebula with the others. Now we’re changing course.’ He reached out to tap a new navigational plan into the console.

At Tactical, Kharth straightened. ‘Captain?’

‘A Dominion strike force is headed for the Cardassian task group we exchanged words with at Vamuridian. We’re to join with the Cardassians and take the enemy out while the rest of the squadron deals with the Breen. Then we reunite and press on to Izar. This guarantees we take out both enemy units before they can consolidate at Izar, and keeps the Cardassians on the board as backup.’ Rourke straightened, expression inscrutable as he looked about the bridge. ‘But we’ll do a long curve through Ciater to return to the Cardassians. If there’s even a chance this fools any Dominion into thinking we’re still with the squadron, it’s worth it.’

The glances around the bridge were bemused, but not for long. It was a sound principle. As his officers got to work, Rourke returned to the command chair and eased down, gripping the armrests. ‘Let’s move.’

There was the hum of the deck as Endeavour broke away from the rest of the squadron, turning and fading into the nebula gases. When Rourke glanced to his left, he saw a notification blaring on the communications console for just a heartbeat – until Lindgren reached out and killed it.

Their eyes met. Then Lindgren returned her focus to her post.

Rourke sighed, slumping back in the chair, and ran a thumb over his lower lip.

I’m not ready yet…

You don’t need me to help you figure out what’s right…

It’s like the shadow of this war is smothering the man I’ve known all these years…

‘You lied to me.’ Harrian balled his fists as he stood in the gloom of the captain’s ready room. Beyond the window, stars streaming against the black of space gave testimony to his rage, the swirling mass of the Ciater Nebula nowhere in sight.

But Matt Rourke was impassive. ‘If that’s the case, I lied to everyone, Cal. You’re not special.’

‘I was in the room when Jericho gave those orders, and I wake up to find we’re heading back to the Third Order -’

‘What would you have done if you’d been on the bridge when I told them to bring Endeavour about?’ Rourke clasped his hands on the desk and looked up at him without emotion.’

‘What?’

‘If you’d been there when I told them those were our orders? To return to help the Cardassians? What would you have done?’

‘I’d have preferred it,’ Harrian growled, ‘if you told me before. But if you’re suggesting I’d have called you out, why did you even bring me aboard?’

Rourke watched him for a moment, then he sighed and leaned back, drumming his fingers on his desk. His gaze moved to the window. ‘I lied to you, and you went back to your quarters. Probably had some chow. Then hit your rack at some point before we left the nebula, so you didn’t know what had happened until you woke up, what, seven, eight hours later? By which point, coming about to catch up with the squadron would be difficult and dangerous, and risk exposing them to the Breen they’re trying to find. If we could even rendezvous before they hit the Breen at all. Much more sensible for you to go with the current mission. Make sure it’s a success, make sure we save the Cardassians. Not destroy the morale of this crew before they go into action. And let me be dealt with later.’

‘I don’t get what that -’

‘That’s what you can tell Jericho,’ Rourke continued, raising his voice, ‘when we get back and he wants my head. Otherwise, you’ve got to explain why you went along with this all along, at which point he’ll want both our heads.’

Harrian ground his teeth together as he stuck his hands on his hips. ‘What’s the point of having me aboard to help you, if I’m just being Jericho’s patsy?’

‘Because it’s not time for you to show your hand, show whose side you’re on, Cal.’ Rourke leaned forward, gaze set. ‘Not yet.’

Harrian swallowed hard. ‘I remain unconvinced,’ he said more softly, ‘that there need to be sides. Not aboard this ship and not in this squadron.’

‘You think I should have let Jericho hang the Cardassians out to dry?’

He shrugged. ‘What I think about that is irrelevant now. We’re going to save them. We have to make that count.’

A seasoned engineer could sometimes tell the condition of their ship just by the sound of the engines. Any other seasoned officer could sometimes tell the condition of their ship just by the sound of the engineers. That was the metric by which Shep presumed Endeavour had come through their fight against the Dominion relatively unscathed as she walked into main engineering, and into the low buzzing hub of activity of the team.

‘How’re we looking, Commander?’ she called to the gantry on the upper level, where she saw the tall shape of T’Varel surveying her kingdom.

The Vulcan looked down archly. But then, Vulcans did most things archly. Rather than shout back, she walked to the lift with, Shep thought, a rather casual lack of urgency in response to the XO asking for an update, and came to join her on the main deck. ‘My report was clear that we need an hour before we should be underway.’

Shep wasn’t convinced that even a Vulcan engineer wouldn’t bullshit her, though. ‘We took most of that fight on our shields. We can’t even hit a leisurely pace back towards Ciater while you fine-tune the power systems?’

‘If we were travelling in open space and not one of the most virulent phenomena in the sector, perhaps,’ said T’Varel. ‘Moreover, we are in a designated combat zone. Ship readiness levels must be higher before proceeding further into hostile territory.’

‘We’ve got the whole rest of the squadron to catch up to,’ Shep pointed out. ‘They’re out there engaging the Breen. We took a scratch; we don’t need to lick our wounds.’

But T’Varel’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker. ‘One hour, Commander. The longer you divert my attention, the longer it will take.’

Somewhere, her old ship, her old crewmates, were locked in a battle with a deadly foe. Endeavour had fallen from warp almost on top of the Dominion as they’d engaged the Cardassians, taking the enemy from the rear. Before anyone had realised they were there, they’d torn one Jem’Hadar fighter apart and moved to engage the cruiser, freeing up the Cardassian ships to dispatch the smaller vessels.

Head-on, Endeavour would have been forced to move through the screen of Jem’Hadar fighters to get to the capital ship, but their positioning meant they’d been able to exchange heavy broadsides while the enemy was in total disarray. What would have been a slaughter for Cardassian ships pinned down by the fighters so the cruiser could take them out was instead devastating for the Dominion, their skirmishers wounded from the start and the spine of their forces taken off the board. It had been almost too easy.

But that meant Endeavour wasn’t helping Triumph and the others elsewhere. But no amount of cajoling would get the Chief Engineer to let them get underway faster.

She found Kharth in the turbolift when she left engineering, and the Romulan cocked her head. ‘I’m the one who usually looks like that after talking to T’Varel.’

‘It’s – it’s fine.’ Shep’s nostrils flared. ‘Bridge.’

‘What’s the problem? We kicked some ass back there. Even if it was to save Cardassians.’ Kharth grimaced. ‘I’m sure the Triumph is fine.’

Shep shoved her hands in her uniform pockets. ‘They’ve not had a fight like this without me. Not in, like, ten years.’

Kharth nodded at that, rocking back on her heels. ‘Yeah,’ she said at last. ‘That’s rough.’

Shep wasn’t sure if the turbolift doors opening saved her from having to respond or stopped her from calling out Kharth for being too brusque. They stepped onto the bridge, where Rourke sat in the central chair and the viewscreen showed the face of Gul Malek. He looked, perhaps for the first time, not unbearably supercilious.

‘…can carry on from here, Captain. We’ll likely head for Vamuridian and conduct repairs with Task Group 514 to watch our backs. But I expect we’ll be operational within a day or so.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Rourke gave the two women a quick nod before returning his gaze to the viewscreen. ‘We’ll be underway inside the hour.’

‘Then I wish you good hunting, Captain. I hope I can repay the favour some day. Malek out.’

Rourke rubbed his forehead as the viewscreen went dead. ‘Never thought I’d have a Cardassian Gul owing me a favour.’

‘You once convinced a Romulan commander sent to defeat you to disobey orders and help you fight a group of renegade Klingons,’ Kharth pointed out in a low drawl as she assumed her post at Tactical.

Far looked back from Ops, eyebrows raised with an immensely impressed expression. ‘You’re quite the diplomat, sir!’

‘No,’ Kharth drawled. ‘He’s just good at recognising there’s a bigger bastard.’

Rourke looked quietly pleased at that, but there was a flicker of apprehension in his gaze when he turned to Shep. ‘Any luck with T’Varel?’

‘No dice,’ Shep sighed. ‘Turns out that Vulcan engineers don’t buffer their time.’

‘Or they’re better at not copping to it,’ Rourke groaned.

Kharth cast her a look. ‘This is what happens when your guy steals our engineer.’

Shep opened her mouth with a hint of defensiveness, but she saw the glint in Kharth’s eye, and shifted to a grin. It was the first time, perhaps, that anyone – especially Kharth – had made a comment about the rivalry between Endeavour and Triumph that sounded like a tease and not a jibe. ‘What can I say? Captain Jericho knows talent. Unfortunately, that means he dropped me like a hot potato, so I’m your problem now.’

Laughter rippled across the bridge but did not, she thought, quite reach Rourke’s eyes. ‘We’ll be back with them as soon as we can,’ he said as the amusement died down, and it sounded like a weightier promise than it needed to be.

T’Varel proved good to her word, at least. They were underway soon, though the journey back into the Ciater Nebula to meet the squadron at the rendezvous point took time. With navigating the phenomenon a matter of guesswork as much as science, Shep had the bridge when there was finally a chirrup at Airex’s console, and the tall Trill reported that they were coming up on the squadron.

She nodded and reached for the controls on her armrest to send a quick summons to the captain. ‘Bring us in, Whitaker.’

There was another chirrup a moment later, and Airex said, softly, ‘Oh, my.’ But the viewscreen filled with the sight of the squadron before he could elaborate, and Shep’s heart lunged into her throat.

They’d been hit hard. Independence looked in reasonably sturdy condition, but Nighthawk’s hull was scored and battered. But it was to Triumph that their eyes all fell. Worker drones buzzed around her, particularly her port nacelle. Shep could see multiple points where her hull had been breached, including one particularly vicious impact across the secondary hull. She pushed herself to her feet. ‘Hail them – hail Triumph,’ she told Elsa, and found her voice flutter.

When the viewscreen filled with the sight of Krish Malhotra on the bridge, nothing was in much better condition. A console behind him had clearly ruptured, its screens shattered and dead. Malhotra himself looked worn and dishevelled if unharmed, and nowhere in sight were his usual smiles.

‘Oh, Shep – it’s you.’ That did seem to take some tension from him, but he still gave a stiff, mournful shake of the head. ‘Took you long enough.’

‘We came as quick as we could…’ Shep shoved herself to her feet. ‘The Breen?’

‘Dust.’ Malhotra spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, without pride. ‘You better have saved those bloody Cardassians.’

‘They were fit to throw us a party.’ She could not manage to sound jubilant. Not with the anger in his eyes. ‘What happened?’

‘It turns out that when you split your forces on the assumption you have enough firepower to do both, one side suffers.’ Malhotra’s lip curled. ‘The intel was faulty. The Breen had an extra ship. Independence drifted off-target because of the nebula’s disruption to our sensors and was delayed in the initial assault. We took a big hammering before we could pull it back.’ But anger was fading from him. It had burst out in an impotent flurry only to begin to dissipate now. ‘Shep, we really needed you here.’

Now he didn’t sound angry. He sounded hurt. Shep swallowed hard. ‘How many did we lose?’

‘Seventeen. More in Sickbay.’ Something sick crawled into her gut as he shook his head. ‘Ryan’s gone. There weren’t even pieces of his fighter to recover. And, Shep…’ The corners of his eyes creased. ‘Shep, Dimitri’s dead.’

Her legs weakened. ‘What?’

‘He was at deflector control when we took a hull breach…’ Movement flickered at the edge of the viewscreen and Malhotra looked away, only to quickly step from sight. A moment later, Lionel Jericho appeared in front of the viewscreen, and Shep did not think she’d ever seen him so angry.

‘Commander. Lower your shields and power down. I’m about to send a boarding party across by shuttle.’

Shep stared, and despite herself glanced around the bridge. She found Airex’s eyes, but he looked no less confused and startled. ‘A boarding party – sir, what?’

‘You have two options: secure and arrest Matthew Rourke yourself and hand him over to said boarding party, or stay out of their way. Anything less and you will be considered a co-conspirator. Instead of the possibility I’ll show lenience.’ In the shadowed bridge, she’d thought his right cheek was smeared with soot and dust. When he stepped fully before the viewscreen, she realised it was a streak of blood. She did not think it was his own.

‘Arrested – what the…’ Shep raised her hands. ‘Sir, I think everyone needs to take a deep -’

‘You have abandoned your post in a time of war, Commander!’ The words thundered around the bridge, and Jericho looked like he might keep talking. But Ranicus was at his side, and when she stepped forward it looked like he was trying to control himself.

‘Commander Shepherd, just to be clear.’ The Triumph’s XO was ever a stiletto to the captain’s broadsword, and Shep could now feel the subtle knife being pressed to her throat. ‘Were you unaware that Captain Rourke was disobeying orders of the squadron commander when he diverted the USS Endeavour away from this battle to assist the task group of the Third Order in a skirmish?’

Shep stared. ‘He what?’

Whether he was mollified by this flabbergasted response or had simply gathered his anger enough to summon words again, it was Jericho who replied. ‘Then I look forward to your security team handing him over to Lieutenants Sterlah and Arys. They’re on their way. Triumph out.’

The viewscreen died, and as the humming in Shep’s ears began to fade, she realised all eyes on the bridge were on her. More than that, she thought very quickly about which eyes they were. Far was new to Endeavour. Whitaker was new to senior staff but had been aboard since her commissioning. Lieutenant Song at Tactical, a matter of months. Airex and Lindgren, on the other hand…

Her eyes snapped to Whitaker. ‘Lieutenant, clear the shuttle from the Triumph to land.’ Then to Lindgren. ‘Elsa – direct Security to Captain Rourke’s location.’

The communications officer bit her lip. ‘The duty officer or Commander Kharth?’

‘I… shit.’ Shep sucked her teeth. This wasn’t a conversation she could expect Lindgren to have. She smacked her combadge. ‘Shepherd to Kharth.’ There was no response. Somehow, her eyes knew to flicker to Airex, whose expression was too set. ‘You tipped her off.’ She didn’t know whether or not to be angry.

He met her gaze with an austere coolness. ‘I notified the Chief of Security when Fleet Captain Jericho made it clear he expected Captain Rourke to be brought into custody.’

Shep’s chest tightened. ‘We’re not doing this,’ she said after a heartbeat, shaking her head. ‘Captain Jericho’s orders were very clear.’

‘He seemed,’ said Commander Far in a very small voice, ‘really upset.’

‘He’s just lost his oldest friend in a firefight where we hung him out to dry,’ Shep’s voice wavered more than she wished, and she tightened her jaw. ‘If you’re suggesting everyone’s a little bit the fuck on edge, then you might be right, Far, but that means we do our jobs right now so everyone gets the chance to take a breath before they do something they might regret.’

For a moment, she considered heading down to Captain Rourke’s quarters herself. But that meant leaving the bridge to Airex – even if she gave Far command, there was no way she’d stand up to him. Perhaps not everyone was a devout loyalist to Rourke, but she wasn’t sure the others would oppose those loyalists. The situation was on a knife edge and if she so much as breathed the wrong way, it wouldn’t matter what happened below. Not if Endeavour herself wasn’t answering the call from Triumph.

For another moment, she considered taking a leap of faith on someone – probably Song – and ordering him to acquire a sidearm for himself and for her. But even if she could trust Song, that would do damage – that would show anyone else on the fence that she didn’t trust them, shove them into the other team.

Shep pinched the bridge of her nose. No. No teams. We’re one crew. ‘Okay,’ she breathed after a moment. ‘We stand fast. Everyone knows their job, and everyone knows their orders. This sucks.’ She lowered her hand and swept her gaze around the bridge crew. ‘I’ve no more idea than you what’s going on, I really don’t. So let me make one thing abundantly clear.’

She saw Lindgren tense, saw Airex tilt his chin up a half-inch as Far squirmed, and she drew a deep breath. ‘I’m your XO. You are my first damn priority. And I am cooperating because I have received lawful orders from the squadron commander, not because he was my old captain, and to do anything else exposes you all to an unnecessary and unacceptable risk. Right? We’ll get to the bottom of this. And through it.’

Whether those words had an actual impact, she didn’t know. But she sank onto the command chair anyway, and hoped she wouldn’t have to get used to this central seat in the near future. ‘We gotta trust the right thing’s gonna happen. Hold position.’

Far nodded and turned back to her post, and Whitaker frowned thoughtfully but did the same. But even as Shep sat there, she could feel the eyes of Airex and Lindgren on her, and she did not know if her words had made the slightest impact as, deep in the decks of Endeavour below her, matters unfolded beyond her control.

‘Runabout Cornwallis, you are cleared for landing in Shuttlebay 3.’ Lindgren fought to keep her voice neutral as she pressed her finger to her earpiece.

But her expression doubtless belied the tension roiling in her gut when a voice answered her. ‘Acknowledged, Endeavour. We’re coming in.’

Her eyes snapped shut. ‘Tar’lek, is that you?’

A pause. ‘Elsa, I have a job to do –’

She spun her chair away from the centre of the bridge so Shep couldn’t see her. The XO was, at least, too busy pacing near Tactical to pay her much mind. ‘It’s not that simple, Tar’lek. Arresting the captain?’

Tar’lek Arys had sounded at first like he was trying to brush her off, but now she could hear the burst of frustration in his voice. ‘He disobeyed orders of the squadron commander. In a time of war. There’s no excuse for that. I would have thought you’d know better.’

‘No, Tar’lek.’ If she kept saying his name, maybe he’d remember they’d been friends for a long time, maybe he’d remember he’d been one of them, once. ‘No, I think we just saved hundreds of lives by rescuing the Cardassians.’

‘At the cost of Starfleet officers. Officers I had to watch die. But caring about my feelings was never your strong point, was it? Cornwallis out.’

She’d been horrified at the idea of officers coming to arrest the captain, and hurt at the idea Tar’lek Arys, who’d served on Endeavour for years, would be one of them. But the personal bite should have cut deeper, she thought; the idea that he was in any way motivated by pain she’d caused him.

And still Elsa Lindgren glowered at the indignity of the universe as she pulled off her earpiece and muttered to herself, ‘Men.’

Kharth hadn’t been sure what to make of Eli Gault, prodigal son of Starfleet, Fenris Ranger back in uniform. But the fact his first move upon learning of the impending security squad from Triumph was to grab his phaser made her like him quite a lot more.

‘We knew it was gonna go down like this,’ he said, springing to his feet and buckling up his phaser belt. ‘That’s why Matty wanted bastards like us on his team.’

For a long time, she’d wondered why Rourke valued her. He’d insisted that he didn’t trust just anyone as his chief of security, made it clear that he considered it perhaps the most important role aboard his ship. They’d clashed over his actions at Teros, and he’d worked hard to demonstrate his faith in her, culminating in her promotion and elevation after Agarath. In an age where the Romulan people were on the back foot, for a Starfleet captain to trust her like this suggested he had one eye on a bright future.

But as she nodded and gestured for Gault to follow her back into the corridor, Saeihr Kharth couldn’t help but suspect he was right. Rourke valued her because he knew she’d claw and scratch and bite to get the job done, come hell or high water. Even against other officers.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ said Gault as they stormed down the corridor towards the turbolift and Rourke’s quarters. ‘Who’ve we got on our side?’

‘Shep’s got the bridge and the ship,’ said Kharth. ‘So nobody up there can lend us a hand. Airex tipped me off in the first place, so if we get that far, we can trust him.’

‘Captain first,’ said Gault. ‘Worry about the bridge later. We should call in Harrian.’

‘He’s not answering. I’ve got Kowalski, T’Kalla, and Griffin coming down. They’re all loyal to the captain or loyal to me. We secure the captain, then he calls the next move.’

‘Agreed.’

The turbolift ride across a handful of decks only took about ten seconds, but with Kharth’s heart thudding in her chest enough to deafen, it felt longer. When the doors slid open to show a gold-uniformed figure standing waiting, her heart lunged into her throat, but then she recognised them. ‘Griffin. You’re quick.’

‘I was in my rack,’ the young security officer admitted, but fell into step beside her as she and Gault pressed on. ‘What’s the emergency?’

‘Officers from the Triumph have come to take Captain Rourke into custody. We’re here to stop them.’

Will Griffin was not even twenty-two. He could not, she thought, possibly have an idea of the stakes when he blinked, said, ‘Oh,’ and adjusted his holster. ‘Alright, then, Commander.’

‘I told the captain to not leave his rooms. Let’s see.’ The captain’s quarters were not far, and she gestured for Griffin to advance the far side of the door, watch that end of the corridor, as she slipped up and rapped the metal sharply. ‘Captain? It’s Kharth.’

When the doors opened and she found Matt Rourke stood without a phaser in sight, her heart sank. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he hissed.

‘Protecting you! Of course! What did you think my message meant?’

‘To keep me in one place so the team from the Triumph doesn’t have to roam all over the damn ship looking for me, implicating more officers?’

‘Oh, hells,’ Gault hissed. ‘He’s being noble and shit.’

‘Crewman.’ Rourke’s eyes snapped down to Griffin. ‘Return to your post. Do not interfere with the lawful duty of the Starfleet officers boarding this ship.’

‘Don’t you damn well move,’ Kharth said to Griffin brusquely, and the young crewman faltered, short-circuiting at the conflicting orders despite Rourke’s seniority. She glared at the captain. ‘You put us together to back you up. Told us that we had to eat it from Jericho so that we were in a position to, one day, fight back. And today he’s sending officers to take you into custody and you’re just going quietly?’

‘Play this one out for me, Commander.’ Rourke looked her in the eye. ‘We stop the team from the Triumph. Then what?’

‘Then,’ said Gault with a cocky grin, ‘we take the bridge and kick Shepherd into the brig with them.’

‘And then? Take Endeavour and leave the squadron? Abandon the operation to Izar? I can take my chances with Command for rescuing the Cardassians. I will not subject this entire crew to charges of mutiny.’

There was a chirrup from her hip, and she looked down at the PADD sticking out from her belt. It was a message from Airex, short and simple: THEY’RE ABOARD. Kharth’s lip curled. ‘That’s why Harrian didn’t answer.’

‘I’m about to be taken off the board, Commander,’ Rourke pressed. ‘That part cannot be changed. There’s no need for everyone else to be taken out, too.’

She stared at him. ‘Then we’re still on the board. To do what?’

‘Commander -’

‘Compromise after compromise, and now we end up with Shep as captain, Jericho’s puppet. You say our only option in fighting means we take Endeavour and leave? I say we kick these assholes off our ship, take the bridge, and then tell Jericho to wind his damn neck in. If he cares about Izar so damn much, he can compromise.’

Rourke stared as she talked, eyes scraping over her expression, but he didn’t immediately disagree. Gault stepped up beside her. ‘She’s right, Matty. We don’t have to run from him. We just don’t back down. Then he’s got to escalate even more, and how does he justify that if there’s supposedly a bigger picture?’

But before the captain could answer, she heard the distant sound of the turbolift doors, the thud of booted footsteps. She went to push him back inside, let them secure the door to his quarters, but he didn’t move, so all she and Gault and Griffin could do was line up before their captain, phasers raised.

A heartbeat later, Lieutenants Sterlah and Arys rounded the corner with three security officers. Their phasers were in their hands, and they, too, raised them at this greeting.

‘Stand down,’ growled Sterlah, the big Andorian’s antennae twitching. ‘Captain Rourke, I am here under the authority of Fleet Captain Jericho, Commander, Endeavour Squadron, to place you under arrest and take you into custody.’

Kharth’s eyes landed on Arys. ‘Tar’lek, you little quisling, what do you think you’re doing?’

‘My duty,’ the young Andorian snapped. ‘Without prejudice or bias.’

‘Captain,’ Sterlah pressed again. ‘Order your officers to stand down now, and I only need to arrest you. Tensions are high. They don’t need to be.’

‘Like hell they don’t,’ spat Kharth, but then a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

‘Saeihr.’ Rourke’s voice was low. ‘Put your phaser down.’ He looked up at Sterlah. ‘I want you to know, Lieutenant – as I will say to Captain Jericho – none of my officers knew we were disobeying orders when we separated from the squadron formation. They thought this was the plan.’

‘As you say. Do they think this is the plan?’

Rourke looked down the line. ‘Eli. Christ’s sake, put it down.’

Gault adjusted his grip on his phaser. ‘I didn’t come back to Starfleet, Matty, just so assholes could keep on saying being the asshole was the “grown-up move” and get away with it.’

‘Listen to your captain,’ called Arys, but his clear voice held the hint of a waver. ‘Continuing this is madness.’

Kharth opened her mouth to snap back, then the grip on her shoulder tightened, and she felt Rourke push her to one side. It was a simple, firm move; not rough but strong enough that she hadn’t braced against it, and then he was stood between her phaser and Sterlah, his hands raised.

‘I surrender, Lieutenant. Bring me to the Triumph.’

Gault swore. ‘Matty, you shit.’ But with Rourke blocking Kharth’s line of fire and a Triumph officer advancing at Sterlah’s nod, he gave a groan of frustration and lowered his phaser.

Then it was over. Rourke was flanked by two security officers, who roughly cuffed him, and Sterlah advanced on the three of them. ‘I’m going to choose to overlook this insubordination,’ the Andorian said in a low, icy voice. ‘Make sure I don’t have to raise it with Captain Jericho.’

‘Or what,’ growled Kharth, shoving her phaser into her holster with a glower. ‘Then you might have to start arresting half the senior staff of Endeavour, and she can’t operate? That was my plan.’

‘Then be glad cooler heads prevailed,’ said Sterlah, ‘and Endeavour is in a position for us to save the lives of millions by liberating Izar. Don’t be children.

Kharth’s lip curled. ‘That’s “don’t be children, sir,” to you, Lieutenant.’ But that was all she had by way of come-backs, and then the team from Triumph were bundling Rourke down the corridor. In the emptiness, all she could do was stare and sigh, ‘This was a total clown show.’

‘Just the whole damn circus,’ Gault groaned, rubbing his temples.

But young Will Griffin stared at the corner around which Captain Rourke had been taken and looked much smaller and younger than Kharth normally thought of him. ‘But…’ He stopped and shook his head, and looked at Kharth almost pleadingly. ‘What do we do now?’

‘We’ll be ready, Commander. You can count on us.’

The best word Shep had to describe Lieutenant Tyderian, the fighter squadron leader aboard Endeavour, was ‘earnest.’ He cut the figure of a fighter pilot, with his dashing good looks and flowing golden locks, but she’d quickly discovered a marshmallow behind only perfunctory swagger.

Perhaps Jericho was right to put her in charge of these children.

But there was no time to dwell on that thought, not least because Tyderian was barely younger than her. Shep waved a dismissive hand to wrap up the briefing, and the pilots began to shuffle to their feet, looking to the doors of the Strategic Operations Centre. ‘We’ll reconvene when we have the battle plan. But you know the drill until then. Dismissed.’

They’d been joined by pilots from the squadron, even a handful from the Nighthawk, but it was the smattering from the Triumph that had looked happiest to find her in the briefing room. Most of them she’d known for years, though had rarely flown with them by now. Endeavour’s pilots, on the other hand, looked less enamoured with the situation.

One Triumph pilot she didn’t recognise bumped shoulders roughly with Tyderian on the way out, and Shep heard the accusatory grumble of, ‘Sure we can trust you not to run from the fight this time?’

But they were gone through the door before she could call them out, Tyderian keeping his cool, and Shep sank against the control bank with a groan. ‘That’s a great start.’

Whitaker watched the door with a perplexed expression. Then he shrugged. ‘Everyone will be fine once the shooting starts.’

‘Everyone will forget the squabbling once the shooting starts. That’s not the same as being fine.’

‘I’ll make sure my chaps are fighting fit, don’t you worry, Shep. I’m sure you’ll do the same with yours.’

She dragged her hand down her face. ‘Mine?’

Whitaker looked at her blankly. ‘Triumph’s pilots.’

There it was, she thought. When it came down to it, even the amiable Christopher Whitaker thought of her as an officer of Triumph, not Endeavour. Anything she could say would sound like a desperate protest to what hadn’t even been intended as a criticism, so Shep just grumbled to herself and wrapped up the meeting.

She had other, less savoury places to be anyway.

When she got to the corridor access to the captain’s ready room, the entrance that didn’t mean cutting through the bridge, she found Kharth waiting outside, leaning against the bulkhead and kicking her heels against it. The security chief raised a languid eyebrow at her as she straightened. ‘I bet you’re going to tell me that Malhotra’s great, and I should be happy.’

‘I’m running the support wing while Krish sits in the big chair,’ Shep burst before she could stop herself. ‘You tell me why that should make me happy?’

But Kharth rolled her eyes. ‘Sure. Fight over who’s getting the glory when our CO’s been thrown in a cell. That’s the part to focus on.’

That’s not what I meant, Shep opened her mouth to say, but Kharth had already gone to the door, hit the chime, and walked in.

Malhotra looked unusually small behind Captain Rourke’s desk, but that wasn’t the only thing that looked off. Perhaps he’d set the lights too bright or moved something around, but the room felt off-balance when they walked in, and even Malhotra rising with a cheerful wave of the hand for them to sit down did not make any of this seem right.

‘Shep, Kharth. Got those reports ready?’

Gritting her teeth, Shep pulled her PADD out from under her arm but did not hand it over. ‘I’ve briefed the pilots, and I’ll forward the report to Captain Jericho.’

Malhotra’s brow knitted. ‘No need for that, Shep. Pass it here and I’ll hand it over at the morning briefing.’

Shep wasn’t sure if she was going to argue this point – in her capacity of leading the support wing, she answered to the squadron leader, not Endeavour’s skipper – but she was saved by Kharth abruptly escalating the conversation.

‘You took the painting down,’ she said, staring at the blank bulkhead where only now did Shepherd remember there was normally an oil painting.

Malhotra looked embarrassed. ‘Oh, no – I was just moving things around, and the fastening broke. I haven’t had time to fix it.’

‘Oh,’ said Shep after a moment. ‘Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog. Yeah, you should fix that, Krish. It wasn’t just Rourke’s; it was Captain MacCallister’s.’ She tilted her head at his blank expression. ‘The skipper of the old Endeavour before Rourke?’

‘I’ll get to it,’ Malhotra said, now more impatient. He looked at Kharth. ‘Weapons systems are fully operational after your last engagement?’

The look Kharth gave him would have made an Andorian shiver. ‘We were fully operational by the time we reentered the nebula.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You guys had a pretty easy time of it out there.’

Kharth stiffened. ‘We had a plan and took the enemy by surprise. You launched an attack without checking if the Independence was out of position and decided to blame us for it.’

Shep winced as she watched Malhotra visibly mull over how to respond. Normally she’d expect him to deflect with smiles, but instead, he straightened, gaze going stern. ‘Good people died while your captain disobeyed orders to race off to a completely different problem. I won’t have you blaming them for us entering an engagement under strength. Not if you want to be at Tactical for the coming fight.’

Don’t scoff, Shep prayed silently, just as Kharth scoffed. ‘You’re not going to bench me for the battle, Commander.’

Malhotra planted his hands on the desk. ‘That’s Captain to you, Lieutenant Commander Kharth.’

But there was no harnessing of presence, and the slightest waver to his posture and his voice, and staring down Saeihr Kharth was going to take more than that. She met his gaze without wavering. ‘There’s one captain of this ship, Malhotra, and it’s not you.’

Malhotra opened his mouth, and Shep stepped in, shoulder bumping Kharth’s. ‘Sae? Get out,’ she said quickly, eyes not leaving her former Triumph shipmate. Poise meant she showed neither apprehension at whether Kharth would listen, nor surprise that she did, though she heard a low grumble as the Romulan left.

Malhotra watched her go, then turned back to Shep with an indignant look. ‘I wasn’t finished.’

‘You want to command this ship, Krish, or just run around telling everyone you were in charge so it looks good on your personnel record at your next advancement review?’

‘Hey -’

‘These people went from thinking everything was fine to being boarded by another Starfleet ship and their captain relieved of command.’ Shep stabbed a finger at the door. ‘By a squadron commander who’s split up their crew and stomped all over their mission the last few months and who then put one of his in charge.’

Malhotra opened his hands, confused and outraged. ‘Hey, you’re one of his, Shep, unless you forgot.’

‘I’m not saying it should have been me, Krish, but at least they know me. They don’t know who the hell you are. And you just tried throwing your weight around with one of the most senior officers aboard who’s a staunch loyalist for Rourke. Kharth can make your life real difficult.’

‘I don’t know, she seems to listen to you,’ he pointed out with quiet venom.

‘That’s ‘cos we’re friends, Krish. It’s like I decided to get to know these people best I could. She doesn’t agree with me about Captain Jericho, she thinks I’m absolutely a Triumph lackey, but she’s a smart woman and a professional and so long as she knows I respect her, we can disagree. You? Just showed a profound disrespect for this crew and what they stand for.’

‘Maybe because I don’t respect it.’ He straightened, chin tilting up an inch. ‘Crawling around appeasing the Romulans the last year and then spending months undermining the captain? They need to shape up and face reality.’

Shepherd rocked back, staring at him for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘Wow. Way to disprove the idea you’re only here as a box-ticking exercise for your career.’

His gaze turned surly. ‘Don’t get jealous because when push came to shove, Captain Jericho chose me.’

‘Oh, Krish.’ She sighed, unwitting sympathy rising. ‘You’re a smarter guy than that. Don’t let jealousy blind you here.’

‘I don’t -’

‘You’ve got a problem. You’ve got a crew who are at best confused, at worst hostile. You’ve got the biggest space battle of the decade in front of you, and correct me if I’m wrong, it’ll be your first time in command during combat? And you’re not only too busy trying to cement your command you’re pissing everyone off, you’re too busy getting into a dick-swinging contest to let yourself rely on me, your closest goddamn ally.’

Now Malhotra fell silent, but she could see too much surliness in his eyes to think he’d really listened to her. At length, he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I was thinking of putting Kharth on counter-boarding detail.’

‘You want Kharth on the bridge. She’s the best tactician in the squadron,’ Shep said bluntly. ‘And you want Lieutenant Song close to hand, both to protect the bridge crew if we get boarded and as relief tactical officer in an emergency. You want Lieutenant Rhade and Chief Kowalski running security details against boarding.’

‘Rhade’s an OOTW -’

‘Rhade was the goddamn Hazard Team leader. Keep up. And read the damn personnel files.’ She waved a frustrated hand. ‘Far and Whitaker are new to senior staff, but they won’t trust you. Airex and Kharth are tight. Lindgren will be all smiles and cooperation, and I genuinely think she means well and will want to help you, but she definitely knew Rourke was up to something and looked the other way.’

Malhotra raised his eyebrows. ‘And you didn’t report her -’

‘Do you want a witch hunt before a battle? Jesus Christ, Krish, think for five seconds. You’re captain of this ship. This ship.’ Shepherd stabbed her finger towards the deck. ‘That’s where your first duty lies. Remember that.’

He worked his jaw, glaring at the desk, before he looked up and said, ‘I’ll remember that. While you’re out flying a runabout in a combat zone.’

She had always thought their rivalry to be amiable. But then, it was easy to think the competition was friendly when you were winning. Now she saw the dismissal for what it was, and knew all she could do was give him a crisp nod and head for the door.

Kharth was waiting in the corridor outside, leaning still against the bulkhead. She raised a surly eyebrow. ‘I don’t need you smoothing things over for Jericho’s lapdog -’

Shep rounded on her and jabbed a finger in her chest. ‘I don’t care. I don’t care, Sae. We’re going into a goddamn battle, and we have no control over who’s in charge of this ship or the squadron. The only thing you have control over right now is if you play ball enough to be on the bridge in combat or not. The rest can come later. So what’s it gonna be, Sae?’

Kharth tensed, eyes narrowing. ‘If he wants to bench me -’

‘He won’t if you don’t make him. That’s as much as I earned you. The rest is up to you if you can keep your trap shut and do the right thing by the ship.’ Even if Krish won’t.

‘I didn’t ask for your help.’

Shep rolled her eyes and turned away to head for the lift. ‘I didn’t do this for you. I did this for the ship.’ A ship I won’t be on when the fighting starts.

That was the thought that burned through her when she continued the operational planning in her office, the flame she tried to douse when it was the end of her shift and she knew she needed to unwind lest she snap before the fighting started. But when she made it down to the Round Table and spotted a figure at the window alcove with a steaming mug of tea, the fire sparked anew.

‘Did you know?’ she demanded in a low hiss as she stalked up to Harrian Cal.

Harrian had been gazing out the window, at the swirling nebula gases of Ciater, and looked startled at her arrival. But after a heartbeat he gave a small frown and gestured for the seat across. ‘You’re going to have to be more specific.’

‘Rourke. Disobeying orders.’

He raised a defensive hand. ‘I didn’t know.’ For a moment, he hesitated, then he winced and shook his head. ‘Enough damned cloak and daggers. Rourke didn’t tell me to protect me from consequences.’

Shep’s eyes narrowed as she sat down. ‘You two don’t hate each other as much as you pretend.’

Harrian sighed. ‘No. But it has become abundantly clear that distrust among the squadron’s officers has become a potentially bigger threat than the Dominion.

‘That’s how it all was before the war, right?’ she grumbled, subsiding. ‘The pressure of the threat breaking open every pre-existing crack.’

‘It helped that they had infiltrators to manipulate this.’

Shep stopped, heart thudding louder. ‘You don’t think…’

Harrian leaned forward, meeting her gaze. ‘I think that everyone has been capable of being this bone-headed without any impostors or infiltrators. Don’t you?’

She thought of Malhotra, Kharth, even Jericho – all wound up tight, snarling at anything threatening them, and gave a rueful nod. ‘It’d be all too easy if we could wave away everything everyone’s doing with Changelings, wouldn’t it.’ Her shoulders sank, and she stared out the window at the nebula. ‘Captain Jericho’s got me flying with the support craft in the battle.’

‘Then that’s what you have control over,’ Harrian said gently, and she heard the unwitting echo of her instructions to Kharth. ‘That’s a lot of people in small ships and a lot of danger who’ll need someone with your skill and your care to guide them through, Shep. They should be your first priority. Otherwise, we’re just as bad as everyone scrapping.’

‘I know,’ Shep sighed. ‘I just…’ She tongued her cheek. Harrian was outside of the ship’s chain of command. Her gaze was guilty when it returned to him. ‘I don’t know if Krish Malhotra has the nerves for this battle.’

‘He won’t be alone on that bridge.’

‘No, he’ll be next to Kharth, who’d love for him to screw up.’

‘She wouldn’t love for him to get crewmembers killed,’ Harrian reminded her, then leaned forward. ‘But, I take your point. I’ll be there. You keep your head on your shuttles and fighters. I’ll keep my head on Endeavour.’ He extended a hand towards her. ‘Deal?’

Shep looked at him and laughed. ‘Sorry,’ she said at his expression. ‘All these factions. All these back-room deals and teams. Team Rourke. Team Jericho. Did we just make Team Endeavour?’

‘No,’ said Harrian, but he wore a gentle smile. ‘We just reminded ourselves we’re all Team Starfleet.’

Kosst hadn’t realised she was early to the conference room, but her keen social senses and diplomatic training told her she’d interrupted when she found Captain Jericho and Secretary Hale in an argument.

‘…will run this squadron as I see fit.’ Jericho’s words echoed off the bulkheads, enough to hit Kosst and Hale twice.

Hale, in contrast, was all poise; tall and gathered and unwavering as she stared Jericho down. ‘I am not seeking to overrule your judgement, Captain. But how will the Cardassian Union respond, do you think, when they learn that one of our officers was relieved of duty for rendering them assistance?’

‘For disobeying orders. Not for helping them.’

‘I doubt they will care for such a distinction.’

Jericho gave a smile that was more a grimace of bared teeth. ‘I leave such matters, as always, in your hands as a member of the Diplomatic Corps, Secretary.’

That made Hale shift a little. ‘To do that job, Captain, you need to include me in decision-making. By all means, choose to not follow my advice. If it’s your judgement that a diplomatic quagmire is yours to cause and me to deal with it, so be it. But we cannot stumble into such matters because we didn’t talk. Fundamentally, I should not have heard of Captain Rourke’s relieving of duty in the mess hall.’

Neither of them had reacted to Kosst’s presence, but if her keen training was telling her anything now, it was that neither one would back down. And they had a staff briefing. She cleared her throat and shifted her feet so the doors slid open again at her presence. If they wanted to pretend she’d only just arrived, that would be good enough.

‘Sorry for intruding,’ Kosst said, mostly sorry she was here and not ascending to the astral plane. ‘The others are on their way.’ She had no idea if the others were, but surely they had to be.

Their responses were mixed. Hale looked less frustrated at Kosst’s presence, more inclined to keep up the argument anyway, while Jericho looked irritated at her arrival but happy to use her to deflect. He waved a hand to one of the seats around the long table. ‘Captain. Gagneux is putting the coffee on.’ He looked up at Hale. ‘We can continue this later.’

But Hale took a seat at the table. ‘I think the best way to continue this, Captain, is for me to continue to be involved in these meetings.’

‘I don’t -’

‘So no military decisions are made that I will have to account to the people of Izar for later.’

Then the doors slid open to admit Malhotra, Shepherd, and Harrian, with Endeavour’s new skipper reporting that Vornar wasn’t far behind, and it was time to get to business. Ensign Gagneux served the coffees soon after, and Kosst settled down, knowing it was her duty to listen. Nighthawk filled in the gaps on operations like these.

Fleet Captain Jericho sat at the head of the table, but Commander Harrian stood before the central display and spoke first. ‘Izar. The biggest and oldest colony in the sector. The whole system has defensive systems in place, but resource management meant local security were keeping their eyes on the Breen and Kzinti borders – not the direction the Dominion came from. The Lost Fleet landed on them almost out of nowhere, and the governor was forced to surrender with hardly a shot being fired. Which means we are not expecting to liberate a war-ravaged colony, however harsh Dominion occupation must have been. But we are expecting to face a Federation world whose defensive systems will have been turned against us.’

Shepherd was chewing on her PADD stylus and had to pull it from her mouth to speak. ‘They can’t have stripped those systems away from our command software. Surely we’ve got the authorisation codes to take them back?’

‘One step at a time,’ Jericho warned, and looked to Harrian. ‘What’re we facing on arrival, Commander?’

Harrian inclined his head. ‘The Breen reinforcements were successfully intercepted and destroyed. The Dominion warships who crossed the border to engage the Cardassians were stopped from returning to Izar -’

‘There’s no telling,’ Malhotra blurted, ‘that they’d have even returned to Izar.’

Kosst’s breath caught at the young officer’s interruption, his dismissal of Endeavour’s action, but Commander Harrian stared him down without a word, and only when silence resumed did he continue. ‘Our efforts have been successful,’ he said briskly. ‘Dominion forces have been denied the chance to consolidate at Izar. We’ll be facing only the garrison left there when the Lost Fleet tried to push onward.’ The press of a button brought up the tactical map. ‘This is based only on long-range scans and our intelligence. But our observations remain limited by the Ciater Nebula.’

‘In short,’ Vornar mused, ‘we won’t know what we’re facing til we get there.’

‘Just so.’ Harrian nodded. ‘But our initial plan stands. Forty-eight hours to wait on Pathfinder to join the squadron. They have speed and a sophisticated sensor array; enough to navigate as close to Izar as possible from within the nebula’s shrouding to conduct a final survey – I cannot recommend any of our other ships attempt that; we’d have to get much, much closer than Pathfinder and we’re liable to be noticed. Once the intel has been confirmed, Pathfinder has the speed to take out listening posts, both Dominion and our own, we know are near Izar. Speed here is essential; we want to cover our actual approach but also blind them from other directions, so the Dominion don’t know our exact vector.’

He reached to the holographic display hovering in the middle of the table, and spun it to bring the view closer to Izar. ‘From there, the squadron closes in on the system. Independence deals with any weapon emplacements, while Endeavour and Triumph engage enemy starships. Nighthawk is to stay behind our lines and try to get a bead on where the Dominion are running the centralised control of Izar’s defence platforms. There are multiple Federation-built platforms it could be, or perhaps they’ve figured a way to run point from one of their ships. Once identified, Triumph escorts an assault wing of our support craft to drop a boarding team on this location, and we restore control of the system defences.’

Kosst tilted her head. ‘If we want those system defences to help us, then we better not blow up too many of them.’

‘Just so,’ Harrian said again. ‘Independence will clear a field for us upon our arrival and we make only a cursory effort to advance past enemy ships that engage us. The point is to tie up their forces and buy your officers time to trace the control signal.’

Shepherd leaned forward. ‘And what if the Dominion keep their ships back and let us hang out at the edge of the system? They can sit tight and force us to come to them through all their defences.’

‘Except there are multiple potential control points of the defence infrastructure across the system, and there’s no way the Dominion can keep it active and completely locked up against Federation access codes. If they let us run riot around, say, the moons of Izar VII, then a Starfleet systems engineer worth their salt can probably wrestle at least a section of the defences back under our control through the central mining station.’

‘They have to come to us,’ Jericho rumbled, cutting up the speculation of more junior commanders. ‘Izar’s system defences are a double-edged sword to them. They’re only a weapon against us if they protect them.’

‘It’ll be hard work for us to find an appropriate control point and fight our way to it,’ Harrian agreed. ‘And any landing party is no doubt going to have to face a garrison of Jem’Hadar soldiers.’

Kosst sucked her teeth. ‘Who’s leading that?’

Jericho looked to Malhotra. ‘You should put Kharth on that.’

But Endeavour’s new CO shifted his weight. ‘I’ve taken Shep’s advice to keep her at Tactical,’ he said awkwardly.

‘I’ll be leading it,’ said Shep, leaning forward and looking Jericho in the eye with a slight tilt of the chin.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re leading the support wing -’

‘I’ll be on the King Arthur, coordinating the runabouts and fighters,’ she agreed. ‘Who will then be pressing on to secure the target. At that point, the plan rather is, “keep the bad guys off our asses while we save the whole system,” and I’m sure Lieutenant Tyderian can run that show. We’re sending in security officers to face down Jem’Hadar soldiers. A senior officer needs to be with them.’

Jericho shook his head. ‘I don’t -’

‘Are you sending Commander Ranicus or Lieutenant Sterlah?’ she challenged, and at his silence, pressed on. ‘Endeavour is down her CO and XO on the bridge, which is why I insisted Kharth stays where she is. Nighthawk doesn’t have a spare officer with experience, and Independence is going to start this action strung out and alone. We’re thin on the ground, and this is the best call.’

Kosst ground her teeth as she listened. It was a grim reckoning; Brennos would have been well-suited to such a task, but it left Nighthawk with no redundancies. He was her tactical officer, and if something happened to her, the only person aboard who could assume command. The idea of forcing Fox or Percian into the centre seat at a time like that was laughable.

At length, Jericho leaned back in the chair. ‘Alright. Put boots on the ground, Shep.’

‘I can advise,’ interjected Hale in a gentle but clear voice, ‘that you take Lieutenant Rhade with you, Commander. His service at Agarath was exceptional.’

‘I wanted him on Endeavour,’ Shep sighed, ‘but you make a good point.’

‘Someone has to watch your back,’ she agreed.

Jericho cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for the briefing, Commander Harrian,’ he said, like he’d not been disagreed with and nearly overruled. ‘Once Pathfinder –’

‘If I may.’ Vornar sat up, hands clasped before him. ‘I don’t think we should wait for Pathfinder.’ At the looks he received, he grimaced. ‘Pathfinder is already behind schedule. They need to find us in the nebula. The longer we stay here, the more likely the Dominion will find us – the more time they have to realise what happened to the Breen reinforcements and come looking.’

‘The more time,’ Kosst ventured, ‘to conduct repairs.’

But Vornar looked to Jericho, and Kosst’s spine tensed as she realised something unspoken was rumbling between them that she could not sense. ‘Let Independence perform Pathfinder’s part of the plan. We can take out the listening posts and rendezvous with the squadron. This isn’t a task you want to trust Commander Valance with.’

That made Hale sit up, less poised and more intent. ‘Karana Valance is an excellent officer with an excellent combat record.’

Nothing Kosst had ever heard of Commander Karana Valance made her doubt her suitability for this mission, but they’d never met. Kosst’s eyes swept up and down the table, checking the other officers for their opinions, only to realise that Valance had left Endeavour without working with any of them. She’d been Rourke’s strong right hand for years, and Matt Rourke wasn’t here.

Her eyes flickered back to Jericho. Surely not…

Jericho gave a slow nod, scowling. ‘Ramius is right. We can’t wait for them.’ He nodded to his old XO. ‘Independence can take out the early warning systems. Nighthawk, you’re on the weapon emplacements alongside the support ships. Keep them off our backs while we engage the starships.’

‘And trace the command signal,’ Kosst checked, keeping her voice toneless.

‘That’s a job for one officer.’

He was right, but Kosst couldn’t help but conceive of the myriad of things that could go wrong. If Nighthawk was heavily engaged, that meant power systems reallocation when this task, this major task, needed sensitive and sophisticated sensors and computer systems. But she was catastrophising, she knew; Nighthawk was not as fast or sturdy as a Defiant-class, but she could take the heat.

She had to.

‘I would like to suggest a secondary objective for the boarding team,’ Hale said, cutting through the tension and looking to Shep. ‘To, if at all possible, secure control of system-wide comms to transmit a message to the people of Izar.’

‘They’ll see we’re here,’ Jericho said, frowning. ‘We can say “hello” when it’s over.’

‘Over is a strong word when, as you say, there will be Dominion forces garrisoned across the system. A call to action once we have a secure foothold could turn the tide.’

‘They’re civilians -’

‘In a war-zone,’ Hale pressed. ‘Many of whom have worked and lived in Izar their whole lives. Are you telling me that miners have not been waiting for the right time to turn their knowledge of a platform’s systems against the Jem’Hadar to lock their guards out? That traffic controllers couldn’t gridlock New Seattle at the press of a button? That all these people would not be prepared and willing to disrupt all efforts from the Dominion to respond to our arrival?’

Jericho planted his hands on the table. ‘I will not ask these people to take up arms against trained soldiers.’

‘I have no intention of telling them what to do,’ said Hale coolly. ‘I expect occupation has made that decision for them. But we can tell them that now is the time to do it. Now is when it will count. Now is when you will not be alone. And if you would like, Captain, I can compose and record a message so it is coming from a government official. So nobody can accuse Starfleet of deputising civilians.’

His eyes remained on her. ‘You talked just earlier about avoiding diplomatic messes.’

‘I think,’ Hale said lightly, ‘my point was that we should make informed messes.’

Harrian cleared his throat as the two argued. ‘If we are intent on not waiting for Pathfinder, I will need to fine-tune our plan.’

Jericho didn’t look at him as he drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘We’re intent,’ he said at last. ‘Run some numbers. Put them on my desk in six hours. I want us departing in twelve.’ Now he looked down at the officers, and Kosst’s back remained tense as she remembered she was not, in fact, the most junior captain in the room. That was Krish Malhotra, who’d had so little to say on such a major plan, who’d been put in his position over Shepherd, who’d to Kosst’s eyes had demonstrated how much more steel she had in her veins in just this meeting.

But then again, this war would not be won by words.

‘Finish repairs,’ Jericho said to her. ‘Endeavour will provide support and material, since they came out so unscathed saving Cardassians. And anyone who’s not making the ship ready to go should get some sleep.

‘Tomorrow, we take Izar.’

Like worker bees in their hive, Endeavour’s deck crew buzzed about Shuttlebay 3 with intense, constant focus. Harrian had to side-step to avoid being almost bowled over by a petty officer, but the press of people meant he could slip through the crowd towards the gathering before the runabout King Arthur and watch unnoticed.

‘You don’t need me to remind you the stakes,’ Commander Shepherd was saying to the gathered security officers. They all wore the form-fitting, padded and armoured suits designed for Hazard Teams; hard-wearing gear to protect them against most elements and melee weapons. Many had phaser rifles slung over their shoulders, while Shepherd’s gear was only on her heavy belt.

‘We hang out in a firefight, trying to not die, and when we find where we’re going, we storm somewhere garrisoned by Jem’Hadar. And when we win, we turn every inch of Starfleet technological brilliance back on the Dominion and kick their asses out of Izar. Fight the bad guys. Win the battle. Simple as.’ Shepherd side-stepped to tug Lieutenant Athaka out of the crowd, the young Coridian looking small and out of place among his fellow officers, but wearing the same heavy-duty gear as the rest. She clapped him on the shoulder. ‘This here is the most important person on this mission.’

Athaka faltered. ‘Commander, you -’

‘I can fly us through the eye of a needle and shoot the wings off a butterfly on a Jem’Hadar’s head, but you’re the guy who’s gonna retake control of the system defences.’ Another clap on the shoulder, and Shepherd cast her eye about the security officers. ‘He’s our package to deliver. No genius, no day-saving. Still.

‘I won’t soften this,’ Shepherd pressed on. ‘We’re charging the gates of hell, boys and girls. But the thing is, we beat the demons once before; we know their tricks and they don’t know ours. Shit, Chief Kowalski’s been to hell and back before and scalped some demons along the way!’ A wave of the hand at Endeavour’s Master-at-Arms elicited a few low, apprehensive chuckles, but the veteran Tom Kowalski, knowing the part he had to play, folded his arms across his chest with a stern nod.

‘We can win this,’ Shepherd said, softening. ‘We know because we’ve won it before. It’s that simple.’ She gave it a beat, then clapped her hands together and nodded. ‘To your posts. We launch the moment we drop out of warp. I’ll see you at the LZ.’

Harrian shouldered through the crowds as most of the team dispersed, leaving Shepherd with Athaka and the broad figure of Lieutenant Adamant Rhade. ‘Pushing for a war in heaven, Shep?’

‘I don’t know if we’re the angels,’ Shepherd said with a sunny grin, ‘but I know we’re better than them. And hey, Commander, didn’t gods side with us already once before?’

And then let the caged demons out. But Harrian just shook his head wryly. ‘They give us the means to win. We have to step up and do it. Which I know you will.’ He looked over at Rhade. ‘Make sure our XO comes back, Lieutenant.’

Rhade gave a stern nod. ‘On my life, Commander.’

‘Oh, jeez.’ Shep blew out her cheeks. ‘Let’s plan for them to die instead, huh? Chill out, Rhade, just once.’

‘I know my mission priorities,’ said Rhade, not in the slightest any less serious. ‘As you say, we must protect Lieutenant Athaka.’ He looked at the young officer, and his gaze softened. ‘I suspect my wife would not let me hear the end of it if anything happened to you.’

Athaka winced. ‘I wish Pathfinder were here.’

‘Timing is everything,’ Harrian said firmly. ‘We’re striking while the iron is hot. And speaking of that, the temperature’s rising. I should get back; I wanted to see you off. And wish you good hunting.’

Shepherd lingered as Athaka and Rhade headed for the King Arthur. She grimaced. ‘I thought Krish might have been here.’

He winced. ‘I think he’s busy arguing with Kharth on the bridge.’

‘That’ll end well.’ She sighed and extended a hand. ‘Don’t let the ship get broken while I’m gone.’

‘Don’t hunt glory while you’re saving the day.’

But Shepherd gave one of her sunny smiles and laughed. ‘I don’t need to hunt glory, Cal. I’m glorious in all things.’

When he left, he wondered if that was how he was going to have to remember her forever: soaked in the bright lights of the shuttlebay, resplendent in her armour of humour, confidence, and steel, laughing in the face of death.

But his reflections were broken when the turbolift doors slid open and Commander Far jumped at the sight of him, her nose in a PADD. ‘Oh, hey, Commander – you’re with us up top? Not in SOC?’

‘The die’s cast,’ Harrian said with a gentle smile. ‘I can monitor and advise from the bridge. Last-minute calculations?’

‘I…’ She winced. ‘Letters. You know, in case something… Mom would scour a junkyard to kick my corpse’s ass if we got blown up and I didn’t send her one last reassurance I was eating properly or something.’

‘You’re close with your mother?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, Dad bailed pretty early so it was just me and her for a long while.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘It’s not like I’d leave her alone if I died; like, I left for the Academy over ten years ago, but it feels like I would.’ Her voice had been picking up speed, and though she shook her head, the babble didn’t stop. ‘Sorry, here I am, talking about how bad it’d be if something happened to me, when, I mean, you were in the Occupation, I bet your family life’s way harder -’

‘My father died when I was very young. So I’m close to my mother, too.’ He cut her off with firm, kind tones, and a quiet smile that he could see calmed her. ‘We can’t control the battle, Commander Far. We can only control what’s in front of us. Focus on that, and worry about the rest later.’

‘You mean,’ she said, chewing on a thumbnail, ‘worry when we’re dead?’

The turbolift slowed, the doors slid open, and Harrian realised that he might need to worry while he was alive when they stepped onto the bridge to find Krish Malhotra and Saeihr Kharth in a shouting match. Or, rather, Malhotra was in a shouting match, while Kharth’s icy glare and tone of voice were the picture of steely control.

‘…don’t need to stay in Triumph’s shadow,’ Kharth was saying in a rather flat voice. ‘If Nighthawk is on the weapons platforms, we need our capital ships well-dispersed to engage enemy ships.’

Malhotra threw his hands in the air. ‘You don’t seem to be listening, Commander. Our weapons coverage -’

‘Means we should be engaging Jem’Hadar battlecruisers and let Triumph handle the fighters. A good helmsman lets us bring our emplacements to bear while multiple smaller, powerful ships could overwhelm us, or at least cut down our options. We’re at our best when we have freedom to move and pick our assault vector.’ Kharth started to sound, Harrian thought, tired. This was one fight the tactical officer was not relishing.

‘Captain.’ Harrian stepped forward to join them, dropping his voice and hoping everyone else would in response. ‘The plan for Endeavour to stay close to Triumph assumed that Independence would be there to pick off the smaller ships, not long-ranging to take out the listening posts. Almost no officers in the fleet have experience of how to tactically deploy a Constitution III-class, but Commander Kharth, after Agarath and the Gradin Belt, is one of the few.’ He spoke gently, trying to place the emphasis on the rarity of Kharth’s expertise rather than its quality; drive home to Malhotra that it was no mark against him to defer to her.

The young captain’s nostrils flared a moment. ‘We have to be flexible,’ he grumbled at last. ‘We’ll see when we get there.’

Harrian cast Kharth a glance as Malhotra turned away, but the Romulan just rolled her eyes and returned her focus to Tactical. He grimaced and followed to the three command chairs.

‘I’ve taken the liberty,’ Harrian told Malhotra, still in that low voice, ‘of rerouting the SOC feed to the bridge.’

But Malhotra gave him a wary look. ‘You don’t want to be down there?’

‘The SOC is best for detailed analysis. On the fly, I’m more useful being able to feed you data directly.’ He’d be best, Harrian thought, on Triumph, near Jericho. But Jericho had made his decisions, which meant he didn’t feel much guilt by pressing, at Malhotra’s hesitation, the captain’s name. ‘The Fleet Captain suggested I be on hand if needed.’

It was meant to paint him as a sympathetic, supportive figure, but Malhotra’s eyes clouded, and Harrian could see the apprehension there, the question. Did this mean Jericho didn’t trust him?

‘Captain.’ Whitaker’s voice broke mercifully through. ‘We’re coming up on Izar. Dropping out of warp in two minutes.’

Lindgren turned to the centre, finger pressed to her earpiece. ‘Squadron is going to red alert.’

Malhotra sat in the captain’s chair, and Harrian eased onto the tertiary command seat to not be presumptuous, though he felt the imbalance with the XO’s spot empty. ‘Red alert,’ Malhotra said, and this time he did bring through a modicum of steel. After a moment’s pause, he looked to Lindgren. ‘Put me through to the whole ship.’

She gave a small, sincere smile. ‘Patching you through, Captain.’

The address made the young man swell, and he tilted his chin up before pressing on. ‘All hands. This is Krish Malhotra. I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t with you when you took down the Wild Hunt, or fought the D’Ghor, or the Romulan Star Empire. When you rescued the crew of the Odysseus and saved the people of Whixby. Or when you stopped a superweapon from falling into the hands of the Devore Imperium.’ Another apprehensive pause before Malhotra ploughed on. ‘Put like that, it’s clear you all know what you’re doing. It’s clear liberating Izar is just one more day for the crew of Endeavour. I look forward to you all showing me how it’s done. I’ll see you on the other side. Bridge out.’

Something eased in Harrian’s chest at not just the rhetoric but the humility in Malhotra’s voice as the connection closed, and the young captain leaned back in the command seat. Malhotra had to know eyes were on him, and glanced about at Kharth, Airex, even the worried eyes of Commander Far. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said with light modesty. ‘I did my reading.’

I assume because Shepherd assigned it to you, Harrian thought but didn’t say. Still, it didn’t matter why Malhotra was embracing, or pretending to embrace, the crew’s expertise. It was the right thing to do. He gave a small, approving, and – he hoped – encouraging nod, which he fancied made Malhotra’s shoulders ease a little. It was an awkward position, being the ranking and most experienced officer on the bridge with an insecure captain. One he would need to navigate carefully to not undermine him.

Elsa Lindgren’s voice was light as she looked to the viewscreen, their arrival at Izar imminent, and said, gently, sweetly, and sincerely, ‘Like Captain Rourke would say: Let’s save the day.’

It could have gone down like a lead balloon, hitting them hard that their captain wasn’t with them and reminding them why Malhotra was. But after Malhotra’s words, it felt like a reminder of what they’d all been through and endured instead of a reminder of what they’d lost.

Though perhaps, Harrian thought as he glanced around, it was because, for many of these people, the stories Malhotra invoked were just that – stories. Lindgren had been there for them all, as had Kharth, but Airex’s service aboard Endeavour was spotty, Whitaker had been only aboard and a junior officer for half of it, and Far was new. The crew who had done these deeds was gone, shattered and splintered by Lionel Jericho.

Still, Harrian remembered what he’d explained to Far and Shep as they’d raced to the Deneb Sector, days that felt like lifetimes ago. The capacity of people is boundless with the right inspiration.

‘Here we go, day-saving right ahead!’ Whitaker called. ‘Dropping out of warp in five, four…’

The stars slowed, the dreary dream of warp fading for reality to rush up on the viewscreen. Cold, hard reality.

Klaxons went off at once, and Harrian’s heart lunged into his throat as he saw the tactical feed emblazoned with the enemy forces arrayed against them. Izar and its inhabited planets were distant dots, their trajectory bringing them out of warp at the edges of the system, the ninth planet nothing but a dustbowl but the perfect home for defensive emplacements and platforms. Already these were powering up to engage Starfleet ships, Federation technology transformed and warped to not know friend from foe, and Harrian could hear Kharth immediately warning of targeting locks landing on them from these platforms.

That was a lesser concern. Because the three starships of Endeavour Squadron had dropped out of warp with two battlecruisers and a flight of Jem’Hadar fighters waiting for them.

Malhotra half-rose from his chair. ‘What the hell…’

‘Battlecruiser Alpha bearing down on the Nighthawk!’ Kharth was already calling. ‘Triumph has moved to intercept. Jem’Hadar fighters heading our way.’

‘Our support wing is still launching,’ Lindgren warned.

‘Tell…’ Malhotra’s voice warbled on the first syllable. He coughed. ‘Tell Shep to launch ASAP and take them on.’

‘We have a battlecruiser heading for us, too,’ shouted Whitaker.

‘Bring – bring us about to face them,’ Malhotra faltered.

‘But -’ Kharth sounded like she cut herself off, then hissed an oath and pressed on anyway. ‘Captain, we have to protect the support wing as they launch and form up.’

‘Why are they this close?’ Malhotra said. ‘Why are they waiting for us?’

It was a good question, Harrian thought. But it was also very much beside the point as distant weapons fire from the lead Jem’Hadar fighter raked across them. Endeavour weathered it with barely a waver, her metaphasic shields standing firm against long-range fire from a quarter-century old frigate, but it was a warning and a reminder.

Harrian leaned in and dropped his voice. ‘We hold position, put all power to forward shields, and protect the support wing as it launches and forms up,’ he murmured to Malhotra. Shepherd didn’t just have to get her birds in the air, but link up with Triumph’s. ‘Don’t close to engage sooner than we have to.’

Malhotra cast him a sharp look, and Harrian braced not for a rebuke, but to gather the self-control to not snap back if one was coming.

Then Lindgren’s voice cut across the bridge. ‘Orders from Triumph,’ she called. ‘Cover the support wing’s launch and formation, then engage the Jem’Hadar fighters while the support wing and Nighthawk turn on the weapons platforms. They’re going for both battlecruisers.’

There were a dozen things wrong with stage two that Harrian could see – Endeavour was at her weakest against the fighters, while the support wing could take on weapons platforms but couldn’t protect Nighthawk, and two battlecruisers was a lot for even the mighty Triumph. But no combination of forces didn’t cast his gut into knots at this point.

At the least, even if Malhotra didn’t want to listen to Harrian, he’d listen to Jericho. He drew another quick breath. ‘Do it,’ he said at last. ‘Full power to forward shields, Far. Whitaker, make sure you keep us between the support wing and the Jem’Hadar. Keep our distance as long as you can so the support wing can deploy.’

‘Aye, sir!’ called Whitaker – then, his voice catching – ‘Oh, shit, there’s a battleship around the third planet!’

Harrian found himself responding before he could stop himself. ‘One problem at a time, Mister Whitaker!’ That did ease Whitaker’s shoulders an iota as the young pilot focused on the Jem’Hadar fighters, but it wouldn’t last.

Next to him, Malhotra clenched his fists. ‘Why were they waiting for us?’ he hissed.

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Harrian said firmly. ‘Now, we fight.’

But he, too, could not shake the gut-rending terror at how quickly the plan had gone very, very wrong. And the question at the root of it all: what had happened to the Independence?

The King Arthur’s pilot was a young Vulcan named Shiera, and Shepherd wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it when she reported, ‘I anticipate we will take some fire upon launch,’ in a toneless, Vulcan voice before hurling the runabout into a maelstrom.

‘Hells,’ Shepherd hissed, gripping her armrest and hating that she wasn’t flying. Across the runabout cockpit, the buzz of comms reports and the flight team’s frantic coordination washed over her. It would have been distracting if the canopy hadn’t been filled with stars and flames and if she didn’t have a job to do.

But the job still required her to hear. Shepherd grabbed her headset and shoved it on as she flicked the comms systems to a channel to the support wing. ‘All craft, this is Shepherd. Form up on Endeavour’s aft; the great bird’s gonna cover our asses.’

I hope. Sending a ping on her sensors gave the craft launching from Endeavour, Triumph, and even Nighthawk a rendezvous point, but it was like a needle in a haystack of death. She watched on her feed as Endeavour turned to present her starboard hull to the Jem’Hadar, and her insides screamed as the ship made herself a bigger target. Even if it gave the smaller ships cover.

Then all three of the Constitution III-class’s torpedo launchers opened fire, and Shepherd’s chest eased when she remembered that however much she worried about Malhotra, Kharth was a goddamn professional who’d make lemonade out of the lemons of hanging her ass out for Jem’Hadar to shoot.

And still she had an urgent voice in her ear from Triumph, Commander Ranicus handling coordination between the squadron’s forces. ‘Support wing, you are directed to reinforce the Nighthawk. They’re taking heavy fire.’

I fucking know. But snapping back wouldn’t help, so Shepherd swore under her breath so her reply afterwards could stay cool. ‘I gotcha, Triumph. We’re on our way.’

She still took a moment to cast a glower at the universe in the general direction of Adamant Rhade, sat beside her. ‘They want us every damned where at once, huh?’

But Rhade just gave an agonisingly calm nod. ‘Let us settle for being where we can be.’

That made her smirk, and she flicked comms back to the support wing’s channel. ‘All craft, we’ve gotta hustle to the Nighthawk. Form up on me now; we’re going in. If you’re too far out, rally at these coordinates, then reinforce us as one.’ Some of Triumph’s craft were slower, but that was fine; the shuttles were being launched only as torpedo gunboats, unsuited for close-range engagements.

But she had the fighters and the sturdier runabouts, which would have to do. ‘Shiera!’ Shepherd called. ‘Take us in to kick some ass.’

‘I will take us in, Commander,’ called the young Vulcan pilot. ‘The condition of our engagement is beyond my purview.’

And onward they raced.

‘Captain; the support wing has joined with the Nighthawk. They’re taking on the weapon emplacements.’

Jericho nodded at the report from Lieutenant Quinn at Science. ‘Tell Nighthawk to get us a fix on the control centre ASAP. Without it, all we’re doing is dancing out here.’

‘Our partner,’ came the crisp call from Sterlah at Tactical, ‘is stepping on our toes.’

His eyes snapped away from the tactical feed for the whole squadron to the battle consuming his ship. Charging into the breach to take on two battlecruisers was not his most measured action. Jericho’s fist curled around the edge of his armrest. ‘Tar’lek – any time one battlecruiser tries to close, flip us around to put the other between us. Don’t get entangled; don’t let them get us into broadsides.’

Sterlah looked up from Tactical at that. ‘We will unlikely deal significant damage if we cannot focus on one target.’

‘That’s not our goal. Our goal is to soak attention.’ Triumph shuddered as enemy fire raked across her shields. There was a small yelp from the Science console, and Jericho raised his voice. ‘We’ve weathered worse, people! We stand in the fire while the rest of the squadron rallies!’ He knew what his ship could take. They had a way to go yet.

So long as the heat would come down soon. His eyes snapped across to Ranicus at mission control. ‘Any word from Independence?’

Her expression was unsettlingly emotionless. Tiarith Ranicus was a professional who never showed fear or uncertainty in a crisis. So when her eyes were blank, he knew they were in trouble. ‘No word from Captain Vornar.’

‘Whatever happened out there, it’s a bust on the listening posts! Tell him to get his ass in here!’

But that was all he could do about that. Nighthawk and Shepherd were on the weapon emplacements, still slinging fire at the Starfleet assault forces. Endeavour was tangled in a web of swirling shooting amidst the Jem’Hadar fighters. And Triumph had to keep the bigger bad guys off all of them.

‘Battlecruiser Alpha is trying to break past us,’ Arys reported from Helm. ‘They want to close on Endeavour.’

‘They’ve evaluated our tactics,’ Sterlah warned. ‘They know we mean to tie them up.’

‘Bravo is closing in.’

Jericho paused. Then he nodded. ‘Close on Bravo. Get to point-blank range, and let them taste the twenty-fifth century.’

Alpha had been cautious in slipping past, as if anxious Triumph would move to block her. Bravo had been approaching like a hunter anticipating its prey to try to slip the noose. Neither expected the Starfleet ship to turn the tables, her nimble manoeuvring thrusters letting her pivot faster than either lumbering battlecruiser. Before Bravo knew what was happening, Triumph was on her, launching a full volley of weapons that raked across the shields – then through – then impacts blossomed in sparks of golden fire against the violet tritanium hull.

‘Bravo is listing!’ Sterlah called with satisfaction. ‘If we hold for another volley -’

‘No.’ Jericho grimaced. ‘Get Alpha.’

‘If we hold we can finish -’

‘Endeavour needs us to keep these battlecruisers tied up. Chase down Alpha.’

‘Captain!’ Lieutenant Quinn sounded quizzical. ‘I’m picking up a massive power surge on Izar VI-c.’

‘What’s there?’ Ranicus challenged, the XO ever ready to filter what she deemed a possible distraction to the captain.

Quinn shrugged. ‘Ore mining? It doesn’t match the profile of any industrial equipment that should be there, though.’

Jericho raised a hand. ‘We’re in no position to get anything to VI-c. That’s a problem for the next step.’ Like that battleship. His eyes snapped back to the viewscreen and the present. ‘Tie up that battlecruiser.’

‘Shields at sixty percent!’

Not for the first time, Daniran Kosst was glad that her tactical officer was not one of her staffers barely two years out of the Academy. From Commander Brennos, such a portentous announcement was delivered in a low, cool voice.

Even if it meant they were potentially screwed. Kosst winced. ‘How’s the support wing?’

‘Avoiding the worst of the fire. Emplacements Gamma and Hotel are down.’

In many ways, the support wing was faring much better against the weapon emplacements at the periphery of Izar than the Nighthawk. But that was definitely because Nighthawk drew the lion’s share of fire. More, Kosst feared, than they could soak.

‘This should have been Independence’s job,’ she couldn’t help herself from hissing, then realised she’d spoken louder than she meant. But the only officer who could have heard her was Percian, who was frowning at his sensor feeds as if nothing else existed. She frowned at him. ‘Ensign, where are we on tracing that signal?’

That elicited an exasperated expression from him, at least. He gave a hapless shrug. ‘I – it’s slow work in the middle of a firefight, Captain! I’m picking up high power readings on VI-c, but it doesn’t match the profile of a weapons control platform -’

‘Then it might as well not exist, Ensign,’ came Brennos’s snap. ‘Locate the control centre, we get out of here.’

Kosst sucked her teeth. ‘Fox, maintain evasive. Buy us some breathing room while the support wing focuses on taking out these emplacements. Maybe we can get space to do our job and look around.’

‘Aye, Captain!’

Nighthawk surged at Fox’s work, and for a moment, it felt like they were tumbling carelessly through the air, not pirouetting through fire. Kosst allowed herself a tight, hopeful smile. A small ship like the Nighthawk had a small bridge to match. She’d liked that when she’d first come aboard; thought it gave the bridge a close, intimate feel, with everyone on top of each other and never, ever alone. But it meant the captain’s chair sat in the centre – no XO’s seat, no mission advisor’s seat. It ensured she could never forget that she was alone, no matter how easy or hard a day, no matter what Nighthawk faced.

Her smile faded completely when Brennos spoke again. Because now he wasn’t reporting disaster in a cool voice.

He was shouting.

‘Incoming –’

And everything went black.

‘Nighthawk is down! Repeat, Nighthawk is down!’ Airex’s voice came like a whip-crack through the heart of Endeavour, and to Kharth it was like it had cut her off at the knees.

But if she was silent as she reeled, Malhotra’s eyes widened, and his head snapped around. ‘What? What happened? They were handling the emplacements -’

They weren’t, Kharth thought. But she had Jem’Hadar fighters to concern herself with, and as Malhotra fretted, had fired a quick attack pattern to Whitaker. Malhotra wanted them to spray fire to occupy the fighters, likely mimicking how Triumph would handle the fight, how Triumph was handling her fight. In a breather, Kharth wanted to hunt down one enemy fighter and kill it before moving on.

But she had to keep one ear open, as Airex explained. ‘She was hit by a high-velocity kinetic round. Launched from the surface of Izar VI-c.’

‘A mass driver?’ Far also looked around, eyes wide. ‘Point defences should have -’

‘Nighthawk’s limited point defences were occupied with torpedoes from the emplacements.’ Airex shook his head as he explained, speaking in a fast clip to cover complex information in simple, quick terms. ‘The Dominion must have installed a mass driver in VI-c’s mining facilities. Effective only against a ship in a relatively static engagement.’

Malhotra’s lips thinned, and he looked back to the front of the bridge. ‘We need to keep moving, then,’ he snapped. ‘Make sure we don’t -’

‘Dav, what’s the rate of fire on an emplacement like that?’ Kharth interrupted. ‘They can’t shoot that all day long.’

‘I’ll monitor it,’ Airex agreed, giving her a sharp nod. ‘And notify the squadron if they’re capable of firing again. Now that we know to look for it, we’ll see shots coming; evasion should be straightforward.’

Harrian said, ‘What’s Nighthawk’s condition?’

‘Hull breaches on multiple decks; her main power’s offline; she’s drifting,’ Airex said, jaw tight. ‘Sir, she’s so badly damaged Izar’s automated defence systems are ignoring her and turning their fire on the support wing.’

Harrian leaned in to Malhotra, saying something in a low, urgent tone that Kharth couldn’t quite hear. But Endeavour’s new skipper shook his head.

‘We can’t help them,’ Malhotra snapped. ‘We beat these fighters, then we help Triumph take down the battlecruisers, then -’

‘Sir?’ Lindgren always had a talent for cutting through a bridge’s hubbub, the voice of Endeavour bringing word from far beyond them. ‘Orders from the squadron commander. We’re to assist the support wing. Weapon emplacements are almost beat; we finish the job, then we  all dispatch the fighters.’

Kharth caught Malhotra cast Harrian a small, sharp look. Jericho’s orders, she suspected, were what Harrian had already been suggesting. But if Malhotra would overrule Harrian, he wouldn’t ignore Jericho.

Malhotra straightened. ‘I – alright. Bring us in towards the emplacements. We’re going to have to get close.’

She sucked her teeth. ‘Sir, if we’re drawing more fire from the platforms and dealing with these fighters, we’ll be real cooked real quick.’

‘Commander.’ Harrian turned to look at her. ‘Can we target the platforms with torpedoes from here? If the support wing feeds us their targeting data?’

She brightened. ‘Yes, sir.’ But she realised Malhotra’s nostrils were flaring and looked at the acting captain. ‘With your permission.’

He grimaced and jerked a hand. ‘Do it. But don’t forget these bloody fighters.’ Before Kharth could snap that she would hardly do that, he’d turned back to the front of the bridge, leaning hard on the armrest. His next utterance was what they were all thinking, but none of them had expected the ship’s commander to be the one to voice it with such uncertain fear.

‘Where the hell is the Independence?’

‘Long-range emplacements disabled.’ Airex’s triumphant, relieved call felt like it had come after a thousand years, but the battle could not have been raging more than an hour. Or thirty hours. Kharth wasn’t sure.

‘Alright.’ Malhotra didn’t sound very sure of anything as he scrubbed his face with his hand. Before them on the viewscreen pulsed the main tactical map, giving the horrifying view of the battle of Izar, an engagement that had already spiralled out of control. Around them hovered the small dots of their support wing and the larger dots of the Jem’Hadar fighters, while nearby was the dull, faded dot of the downed Nighthawk. Deeper into the system, the dots of the Jem’Hadar battlecruisers and the USS Triumph sat atop each other, their engagement unresolved.

‘Alright,’ Malhotra repeated at last. ‘Only a few emplacements left, then; lock on with torpedoes and take them out -’

‘We don’t need to,’ Kharth found herself snapping over the captain. ‘We just move away, sir. The remaining emplacements won’t have the range as we get deeper into the system.’

As Malhotra reeled again, Lindgren called out. ‘Orders from Captain Jericho. We’re to wrap up the fighters and move to support Triumph.’

Malhotra looked at the map, and his lips moved wordlessly for a moment. ‘They’ve been in that fight for too long,’ he murmured. Then he frowned and shook his head. ‘Get me Shep.’

Lindgren pursed her lips but obeyed, and the viewscreen changed to the crimson-bathed cockpit of the King Arthur. It looked like they’d taken a few hits themselves, Shep already rather dishevelled. ‘Little busy here, Krish!’

‘I need your runabouts and fighter flights to take out the Jem’Hadar fighters,’ Malhotra said, clearly trying to be cool and commanding. Kharth didn’t buy it. ‘We’ve got to help Triumph.’

‘Help Triumph? Triumph can do this all day – you do know the Jem’Hadar fighters aren’t, like, Valkyries, Krish; they’re escorts –’

‘We have to protect the flagship,’ Malhotra said plainly. ‘You have your orders. Endeavour out.’

‘You know,’ Kharth said in a flat voice as the viewscreen winked back to the tactical map, ‘she doesn’t take orders from you.’

‘She doesn’t have to. We’re going in. Whitaker, disengage us from the Jem’Hadar fighters and take us in to join Triumph against those battlecruisers.’

Lindgren had a finger to her ear as she winced and listened. ‘Sir, Commander Shepherd is vociferously complaining.’

‘If we don’t take those cruisers down,’ Malhotra snapped, ‘this is all over.’

On the Triumph’s bridge, Jericho leaned forward and frowned at the tactical map. ‘What is he doing?’

‘Coming to join us.’ Commander Ranicus’s voice was tense. ‘It would seem Captain Malhotra’s assessed that the support wing can manage the Jem’Hadar fighters on their own.’

Jericho sucked on his teeth. ‘We need to trace that control signal for the defence systems. Yesterday.’

‘Krish is right,’ ventured Lieutenant Quinn, and Jericho tried to not give her a pitying look as she expressed support for her boyfriend. ‘If Shep can contain the fighters, then between Endeavour and Triumph we can take out the battlecruisers quickly. Once we get even five minutes of disengagement, we can trace that signal.’

‘We consolidate our forces,’ Ranicus said to Jericho. ‘Finish the cruisers. And trust Shepherd in the meantime.’ She did not, Jericho thought, sound very happy. Even by Ranicus’s standards. But she’d affirmed his instincts – how to salvage his over-keen protege’s tactical blunder – and all he could do was stay the course, now.

And hope Shep didn’t lose too many people as a result.

‘Pull us back,’ Jericho called at last. ‘Bring us between the battlecruisers and Endeavour. We face them as one.’ He glanced over his shoulder to Lieutenant Sterlah. ‘You give them my tactical solutions and my attack patterns. And let’s see if Rourke’s Kharth is as good as everyone says she is.’

Kharth’s eyes flashed at the precision of the attack orders transmitted from Triumph scrolling across her tactical console. She glanced up with a rueful gaze. ‘Commander Malhotra, I have our heading.’

‘I see it.’ With Triumph effectively holding their hand, Malhotra now sounded calm. ‘Follow the big bird in, Commander.’

At his left, Harrian turned to Lindgren. ‘Lieutenant, how’s our support wing?’

‘Angry,’ Lindgren said plainly, ‘but holding on.’

‘They’ll hold on,’ Malhotra said with, Kharth thought, unearned confidence. ‘We’ll come back for them.’

‘Son of a -’ Shepherd’s breath caught as one of Triumph’s fighters went from full shields to wreckage in one salvo from the Jem’Hadar. ‘This isn’t working.’

Shiera had just a hint of tension in her voice, which from a Vulcan was rank panic. ‘Maintaining evasive manoeuvres, Commander.’

‘We need a whole other squadron to handle these Jem’Hadar.’ Shepherd pulled off her webbing and stood. It wasn’t strictly necessary, and the surging of the deck almost threw her off her feet, but she staggered to Shiera’s controls and grabbed the back of the pilot’s chair. ‘The last weapon emplacements. Short-range point defence. Take us closer. Direct the wing to come in closer.’

Rhade spun on his seat at King Arthur’s tactical controls. ‘Closer?’ He hadn’t said anything for a while, she realised now, and his dark eyes were clouded.

The runabout rattled at weapons fire, and Shepherd clutched the chair tight. ‘We’re more manoeuvrable than the Jem’Hadar. Bring the fight into the cross-fire of the short-range defences. We can evade the platforms’ attacks, and it’ll give the Jem’Hadar a hell of a time to not be blown up by their own weapons.’

‘What if they ignore us and go to the battlecruisers?’ Rhade asked.

‘Then we hit them in the ass!’ Shepherd clapped Shiera on the shoulder. ‘Do it.’ But when she slid back into her seat and snapped her safety harness back on, she spared Rhade a less-sombre look. ‘You okay?’

The big man frowned softly. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Then he hesitated. ‘My brother serves on Nighthawk.’

Shepherd swallowed an oath. ‘The ship’s not broken up. There are survivors. We’ll get them.’

If they stay alive long enough. The runabout shook again as it surged away into the new battlefield, and Shepherd gripped her harness with a grimace. If we stay alive long enough.

‘Battlecruiser Bravo’s starboard shields are down,’ Sterlah called with crisp enthusiasm. Jericho could almost hear the battle-blood singing through the Andorian’s ice-cold veins.

But after so much of this battle had been setback after setback, the adrenaline coursing through him at this first sniff of victory meant he could only share Sterlah’s feelings internally. He rose to his feet. ‘Target their power systems. Quantum torpedoes, full spread! Direct Endeavour to…’

‘Sir.’ Ranicus’s cool voice was an unpleasant balm on the surging sense of success. ‘Endeavour has broken away from the attack run.’

‘What the – oh, hell – fire, Lieutenant,’ Jericho snapped at Sterlah. He’d deal with Endeavour in a moment.

Triumph’s hull lit up like the skies of Mars as phaser fire and torpedoes cascaded away. The phaser blasts struck first, the initial burst flashing off the scant percentages of shields the Jem’Hadar had struggled to restore, before those, too, collapsed. Energy splashed across the hull, scoring and wearing it.

Then the torpedoes hit. Blazing beacons of fire ripped through violet-hued tritanium, tearing the protective hull apart. The second volley thundered into the space it had been before finding its true target: the power systems. Conduits were sundered, venting plasma throughout the belly of the ship. Then it began, the cascade reaction, as junction after junction overloaded.

The Jem’Hadar battlecruiser exploded in a blazing inferno. Just as its counterpart came bearing down on Triumph’s aft. After all this fighting, the Dominion had plainly identified where Triumph was weakest, the angle of approach where she would struggle to bring all her weapons to bear.

But before the second Jem’Hadar ship could unleash a fierce volley on Triumph’s weak spot in vengeance for her fallen ally, Endeavour was there. Swooping in, the Constitution III-class moved close enough to take half the volley on her shields, splitting the impact across both ships – and returned fire.

‘Battlecruiser Alpha is breaking off its attack,’ Lieutenant Sterlah reported, and even he sounded faintly relieved.

Jericho blew out his cheeks. ‘Come around to get us a new targeting solution, pattern Gamma-Echo-4. Hail Endeavour.’ The viewscreen flickered to the other starship’s bridge, cast in crimson shadow, and Jericho had to give his young protege in the captain’s chair a lopsided smile. ‘Good call, Krish.’

But Malhotra shifted his weight. ‘You should thank Commander Kharth’s vigilance.’ Perhaps knowing Jericho would do no such thing, he pressed on. ‘If we can finish this battlecruiser and source the control signal, sir, we can still win this.’

He looked breathless, giddy with success. Jericho’s experience told him this would be short-lived, the older man far cooler – more jaded – in the face of only one victory. Many more would need winning. But he did not disagree that it was possible.

Then an urgent call came over his shoulder from Sterlah. ‘Captain! The Dominion battleship has broken orbit from the fifth planet and is on an intercept course. And…’ Possibility died as the redoubtable Andorian faltered. Swallowed. And pressed on. ‘Multiple Dominion signals approaching from the far side of the system. At least another three cruisers.’

The light had not yet gone out from Malhotra’s eyes, but Jericho looked from Sterlah to the damage reports from Triumph, from Endeavour. Then his gaze again fell on his protégé. ‘Krish,’ he said, his throat thick. ‘I need you to take out this cruiser. We’ve got to take this battleship.’

Malhotra tensed. ‘As quick as we can, sir. Then we’ll reinforce you -’

‘No.’ Jericho heard his rebuttal echo off the bridge bulkheads, off the shocked faces of his crew. He flexed his hand. ‘Take out the cruiser. Find the signal. Then recover everyone you can from the Nighthawk and the support wing and get out of here.’

‘Sir -’

‘With the control signal sourced, the next assault can do this.’ His chin tilted up an inch. ‘We’ll cover the retreat.’

‘Sir –’

‘Once you’re clear with as many people as you can rescue, we’ll disengage. And be right behind you.’ It was, on the one hand, not an outright lie. Jericho truly hoped it would be possible. But it was also the kind of lie you told your children when they were very young. And, bright-eyed as Krish Malhotra still was, he believed, and nodded.

‘Yes, sir. We’ll get them out.’ His eyes clearly flickered to Jericho’s right, and he felt the brief pang of guilt that here, in front of everyone, in the middle of a battle, was no time for the young man to give parting words to Olivia Quinn. Probably forever. Instead, Malhotra drew a deep breath, and said, ‘Good hunting, Triumph. Endeavour out.’

The viewscreen winked back to the tactical map, and Jericho took a moment to watch the tiny dot of Endeavour swoop back towards the single battlecruiser still engaged. Then he gave a long, slow look around the bridge, forgetting other ships, other fights. For a moment, there was just his ship. His people. From the stern, confident gaze of Ranicus, to the light of battle in Sterlah’s eyes, to the resolved acceptance of Arys, to the quiet, nervous determination of Quinn, they were all here. With him. His.

‘Heroes and monsters, people,’ Lionel Jericho gently reminded the crew of the USS Triumph. ‘But the time for heroes has passed. So.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Set an intercept course for the battleship, Tar’lek. Let’s show them what real monsters are.’

‘I don’t…’ Malhotra’s hand shook, before he gave it a quick flex. ‘Kill this battlecruiser. Quickly.’

Kharth paused a beat, expecting more; an attack pattern, a course bearing, anything. Then in the silence, she looked up to Helm. ‘Whitaker, keep us out of its firing arc. We’re quicker than them; we can stop them getting a firing solution and hit them hard with everything we’ve got.’

‘Good,’ Malhotra said, a little distant.

Harrian pushed to his feet like he’d just shaken loose restraints, and took quick steps to the mission control console behind Kharth. ‘Their shields have taken a pounding from Triumph,’ he said. ‘But these ships are made for endurance. We need to run their deflectors down – if we can’t break through, it’ll still strain their power systems.’

‘Do it,’ came Malhotra’s still detached comment.

At Kharth’s direction and Whitaker’s command, Endeavour swung through the outer regions of the Izar system, free now from any concern but this sole Dominion ship still larger than her. The most advanced Starfleet ship of the war a quarter-century ago would have struggled on its own against such a foe, but this was the twenty-fifth century. Nevertheless, Endeavour had taken a beating in the battle so far. Victory was not just a matter of life, but the crew’s skill.

And even as Endeavour rained fire on her foe, her commander turned in his chair to the communications console. ‘Lindgren, how’s Triumph?’

‘They’ve engaged the battleship,’ she reported in a terse voice. ‘Sir, our support wing is struggling against the fighters.’

Malhotra looked at the display on his armrest. Then sat back. ‘Shep can handle it. If we get this cruiser, we can help Triumph –’

‘Our orders,’ said Harrian, turning from his console, ‘are to save lives and salvage this mission.’

‘There are three hundred and fifty people on the Triumph. Only two hundred on Nighthawk, and not another hundred-fifty on the support wing,’ Malhotra snapped. ‘We’re going to save the most people.’

Harrian tensed. ‘More Dominion ships are incoming. Triumph is buying us the time to save who we can -’

‘Sirs.’ Kharth couldn’t – wouldn’t – fight the snap in her voice. ‘We have a battlecruiser still on our asses.’

Malhotra gave her a sharp look. ‘I expect you to finish it off, Lieutenant Commander.’

Harrian’s expression was flat, but he looked to the front of the bridge. ‘Far, try to trace this command signal.’ He turned back to the control panel. ‘The cruiser’s struggling to maintain shield strength on their starboard side.’

‘Because,’ Airex chipped in sternly, ‘that’s where their weapons are strongest, so that’s where they’ve been facing us. If we attack them there, we’ll struggle to evade their firing arc.’

‘We’ll take a hammering,’ Kharth agreed, ‘but we’re here to take them out, rescue people, and run.’

‘I’m working on this signal!’ Far called. ‘But Nighthawk was doing the tracing so I’m starting from scratch here.’

Malhotra shoved himself to his feet. ‘Find it,’ he snapped at Far, as if he hadn’t failed to instruct one of his bridge crew to perform one of the few tasks Jericho had charged them with. ‘If we can turn the defensive platforms against them, it’ll help.’

Turning the defence systems of Izar against the Dominion, Kharth wanted to remind him, meant boarding a facility to seize control of it. But she could fight that when – if – Far prevailed. For now, she had an actual fight, as her fingers ran over the scans of the battlecruiser. ‘An attack run at long-range can give us the space to manoeuvre, fire from all torpedo launchers and most of our phasers, and frees us for some evasive,’ she said out loud.

Another dismissive wave of the hand from Malhotra. ‘Do it. And -’

An alert went off on Kharth and Harrian’s tactical displays, but it was Lindgren’s voice that cut him off. ‘Captain.’ Those who’d served with her a while knew when bad news was coming. ‘I’ve lost contact with the Triumph.’

Malhotra stopped. And turned. ‘Explain.’

‘Our communication link is down.’

‘They’ve lost their comms -’

‘I’m hearing from the ship. I’m not hearing from the bridge.’

Harrian’s voice was coiled. ‘They’ve taken a hit to the bridge, Krish. The ship’s drifting. Some systems operational, but…’

Malhotra spun to face him. ‘You’re saying they took out the bridge and…’ But his fire of desperation faded as he sputtered.

Kharth frowned as she read the sensor feed. ‘Impossible to say what happened. Perhaps a breach, perhaps not. Their shields are holding, but they’ve stopped manoeuvring, stopped firing. Nobody’s home.’ It could have been anything, from a direct hit that had rattled the bridge crew and they were still rallying, to systems damage disrupting the bridge’s control over the ship, to a complete hull breach venting the entire command crew into space.

Malhotra stared at Harrian. Then he turned to the viewscreen, its tactical map already showing the Triumph as a static, dying dot. Then he looked at Whitaker. ‘Helm. Get us out of here.’

Kharth’s hands planted on her console. ‘Sir, this battlecruiser is still right here; if we try to pick up the Nighthawk –’

‘Disengage us from the battlecruiser,’ said Malhotra, voice utterly toneless, ‘and get us to warp.’ Whitaker had turned at the order, staring wide-eyed at his captain. But when he looked, panicked, to the other bridge officers, Malhotra took a sharp step forward. ‘Now!’ He wasn’t toneless any more, wasn’t empty, but frantic, nearly hysterical.

‘Like hell we’re running,’ Kharth found herself saying. ‘Our support wing’s still engaged, we don’t know how many of the Nighthawk are still alive -’

‘Exactly!’ Malhotra spun, his breathing ragged. ‘They could all be dead, we can’t take on the battlecruiser and the fighters, the Triumph are dead! We have to go.’

‘We cannot,’ she snapped, ‘abandon everyone.’

His waves of the hand had been dismissive before – handle it, fix it, make the problem go away. Now it was a dismissal of her. ‘You’re relieved, Commander. Mister Harrian, assume Tactical.’

Kharth froze, hand holding the edge of her console. She’d been here once before at Teros, when Rourke had given the order to destroy a disabled Romulan ship, killing everyone aboard. She’d stood on the bridge, refusing orders, with her commanding officer telling her to step down, because she’d wanted to save lives. But as she’d hesitated, Valance had come in, taken her post, and she’d known her only choice was to fight back or submit.

When Harrian stepped away from the mission control console, her fist coiled, and she knew this time, she would not submit.

‘You’re relieved.’ Harrian was sharp, crisp, controlled. ‘Commander Malhotra.’

Everyone froze. At last, slowly, Malhotra’s head turned to the Bajoran man. ‘Commander?’

Harrian stepped towards the central chair. ‘We could argue about seniority. There’s no time. Step away from the chair. I’m assuming command of Endeavour.’

Perhaps it was the complete lack of protest from the bridge crew, who’d been so clearly horrified at Malhotra’s orders to run. Perhaps it was relief at being relieved, of surrendering responsibility as the skies burned and there were no good choices. Perhaps it was Kharth’s unsubtle move of her hand from the tactical controls to the phaser holstered at her hip.

Krish Malhotra stepped away. ‘You’re going to get everyone killed.’

‘Perhaps,’ was the cool response as Harrian took his place. ‘But we’re going to die trying to salvage the mission, and save our friends.’ He gave the bridge crew a long, level look. ‘If any of you want to protest, it’ll be logged.’

Only silence answered him, and Harrian Cal sank onto the command chair of the USS Endeavour. ‘Let’s finish that battlecruiser. Helm, set an attack course for their starboard side. Far, make sure our shield power allocation protects us as much as we can. Kharth, get ready to hit them with everything we’ve got.’

‘Aye,’ Kharth said, and her chin tilted up an inch. ‘Captain.’

Perhaps Malhotra left the bridge. Perhaps he merely faded into irrelevance for her, as the world narrowed to the battle.

It was not easy. Whitaker’s keen skills brought Endeavour around with lightning speed, and by his deft touch they avoided the worst of the battlecruiser’s long-range assault. But Kharth still had to clutch her console to stay steady as she unleashed barrage after barrage into the Dominion ship while blow after blow thudded into Endeavour. Far called a warning as their shields wavered, Harrian gave the order for the ship to pivot, sacrificing a whisper of firepower for more defences.

The deck rumbled as Endeavour sank her teeth into the enemy, the two great beasts scratching and clawing at each other. Then the rumbling slowed. Then it stopped.

Kharth’s breath caught in her throat with a feeling she’d not felt in some time: relief. ‘Captain – battlecruiser is drifting! Their power system’s out, they’re going nowhere.’

Harrian was on his feet in an instant. ‘Bring us about!’ he called. ‘Get back to the support wing; chase off those Jem’Hadar fighters and pick up Shep and her pilots. Then we’re grabbing everyone EV and everyone we can get off the Nighthawk.’ He turned back to Far. ‘That signal -’

‘I’m working on it,’ she said in a slightly high-pitched voice. ‘You know, some officers don’t do their best work in the middle of a complete tactical disaster -’

‘Captain,’ Kharth called, voice getting heavier. Relief was short-lived. ‘The Dominion ships from the far side of the system have reached the battleship – who’ve launched small craft, I think they’re putting boarding parties on the Triumph. But they’re forming up and they look like they’re about to head this way.’

Harrian clapped his hands together. ‘Then we do this quickly. The battle is lost, but every life we save is someone who goes home to their families.’

‘Captain.’ This time it was Airex, clipped and tense. ‘More ships dropping out of warp, near our exit vector.’

‘Oh, come on!’ protested Far.

One dot flashed onto the tactical map. Two. Then another pair, then another, but though everyone froze at the sight before them, this time it was with surging elation and hope, not the crushing despair that had first met Airex’s words.

Harrian’s jaw hung open for a moment. Then he gave a slow smile. ‘Hail Independence and Pathfinder,’ he said, ‘and ask them what took them so long. Oh – and when they had time to pick up the Cardassians.’

‘Pathfinder and Endeavour have got Triumph, Captain. Trust me.’ Even though Valance was just an image on the viewscreen, her eyes still bored into him, and Rourke could not summon a rebuttal.

He wanted to. He wanted to insist he stay with his ship, even if he was sat in Independence’s captain’s chair. He wanted to insist that he lead the fight against the thickest knot of enemy forces, with his far greater combat leadership experience than Valance or Harrian. A small, petty part of him wanted to be the one to rescue Jericho. But most of all, he wanted to rescue her.

Rourke’s fist curled atop the armrest of this unfamiliar command chair, and he looked at the tactical display showing Shepherd’s support wing forming up with the replenished allied forces of the Battle of Izar. Gul Malek had answered his call much sooner than expected, and the Cardassian had been eager to engage after the ambush Endeavour had rescued him from. Crossing the border for the fight of their lives had clearly been more tempting to the Third Order’s task group than standing guard and waiting. Their numbers had turned the tide of this fight, but that didn’t mean it was won. That didn’t mean he could afford to lose focus.

His eyes flickered up to meet Valance’s. ‘Go get them, Captain. We’ll finish this.’ Valance gave a curt nod before her image disappeared, and Rourke turned to Rosewood. ‘Ops, signal Commander Shepherd to ready her ships. We’re heading for Izar V. Helm – take us in.’

The young Vulcan, Lieutenant Sovak, brought Independence swerving around. Rourke felt the deck lurch, gripped the armrest tighter, and had to fight a small grin. Four years ago, he’d captained the Diligent-class USS Firebrand, a ship far leaner, faster, scrappier than the might of Endeavour – even than her Manticore-class predecessor. Independence was swifter still, but in him burned the memory of every engagement where wits and skill were far more prized than firepower and brute force.

But they’d never faced anything like this before.

‘Breen raiders breaking orbit on V. Setting an attack course,’ Lieutenant Hadrian reported crisply.

‘It looks,’ said Commander Ra-Talorei, ‘like the Breen ships had put in for repairs. There’s signs of damage on the hull, days old.’

‘That’ll be why we didn’t expect them as part of the defences,’ Rourke mused. ‘I can live with finishing someone else’s job. Let’s take them out.’

‘Matt.’ Rosewood had turned in his seat and was fixing him with a quizzical look. ‘I’m picking up another communication from Nighthawk.’

Rourke pursed his lips at the other man’s confusion. ‘Then put it on.’

‘People of Izar. My name is Sophia Hale…’

His grip on the armrests was iron tight as the pre-recorded message flooded through the bridge. By taking Independence away from the engagement around Triumph, he’d tried to put those feelings in a box, shove them away so he could focus on the here and now.

‘We’re fighting for you. And you are not alone.’

But here was her voice, almost as if she was right beside him. Rourke swallowed the quavering mouthful of emotions he couldn’t begin to process but knew had sunk into his bones as he fixed his gaze on the viewscreen. On the distant shape of Izar V, on the orbital complex from which the system defences were controlled, and on the Breen ships between them and their destination.

‘You heard the lady,’ Matt Rourke rumbled, chin up an inch. ‘Let’s finish this.’

‘Breen cruiser is listing. Our last volley breached the hull,’ Kharth reported with satisfaction.

‘Pathfinder has finished off that cruiser,’ Airex confirmed from across the bridge.

‘That’s… impressive shooting,’ Kharth said, unable to keep begrudging admiration out of her voice. ‘I know they were damaged, but she’s not a warship.’

Harrian did not share her consideration, already moving on to the next issue. He looked at Lindgren. ‘Triumph?’

‘Commander Cortez reports they’re restoring power to security systems. Jem’Hadar boarding parties are being locked down by forcefields.’

Kharth’s lips thinned. ‘That’s good, but they’re not going to rejoin the fight any time soon.’ Her eyes landed on the Jem’Hadar battleship. ‘That’s going to have to be our problem.’

Far twisted in her chair. ‘That – we’re not a warship either; don’t we really need an Inquiry for this?’

‘We have our allies,’ Harrian said, leaning back in the chair. ‘Signal Pathfinder to keep the raiders and fighters off the Triumph, Elsa, and ask the Third Order to join us. Nobody’s winning this alone.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Kharth, hands already flying across her controls. ‘But I bet they haven’t figured out that Triumph hammered their port manoeuvring thrusters in the fight. If we stay on their aft, they’ll have a hell of a time bringing their weapons to bear.’

But Harrian gave her a sad, thoughtful look. ‘Which means their weapons are on our allies instead.’

Kharth hesitated. ‘Are you saying we’re taking them down from in front of them, sir?’

‘Our metaphasic shields are far more resilient than anything the Cardassians have. And Endeavour is more manoeuvrable. So, yes.’ He turned to face the viewscreen. ‘We’re taking point on this. You’ve got to hit them hard, Commander, but also keep their interest. Mister Whitaker? Keep our weapons to bear as much as possible, but minimise taking direct fire.’

‘Break the ship in two and do the impossible,’ Whitaker drawled, before cracking his knuckles. ‘Nobody told me leaving a cockpit would be quite so sexy.’

‘Their defences on this section are failing; take us in!’ Shepherd’s voice rang out across the King Arthur’s cockpit, and she gripped her safety harness tight as Ensign Shiera took the runabout in a hard turn. Through fire and death they plunged, breaking from the chaos of the engagement in the skies above Izar V. Below them shone the barren surface and its scattered habitat domes, but before that came the station and their target.

She hit the comms and pressed her headset closer. ‘Independence, we’ve found an opening. We’re going.’

Rourke’s voice came back, and with the headset, it sounded all-encompassing. ‘I hear you, Shep. We’ve got your backs out here. Go save the day.’

The two had not yet seen eye to eye on any particular matter. Shepherd had watched for months with gentle discomfort at how easily he had seemed to command the respect of Endeavour’s veterans and how he hadn’t sought hers. At how she hadn’t felt whatever everyone else felt for this grumpy, implacable man who moved from belly laughs one moment to stern rage the next.

It was not that he won her over with those simple words in her ears. But for the first time, she thought she saw it. Thought she felt it. It was enough.

‘Point defences are locking on,’ Rhade warned. ‘Remodulating shields to compensate. We will take fire on this approach.’

‘Lieutenant, I must keep this docking manoeuvre steady,’ said Shiera with all the crisp coolness of a Vulcan facing death. ‘So our shields must hold.’

Adamant Rhade’s face was like granite as he watched his tactical readout. ‘They will hold.’

Shepherd closed her eyes.

Without docking permission, they were brute-forcing themselves into a landing bay. Away from the Dominion and Breen defenders they plunged, arrowing so close to the station the enemy craft had to break away lest they, too, be targeted by the point defences. Flak and phasers crashed against them as if they had surged into a storm deadlier than anything nature could unleash.

The King Arthur bucked. Jerked. Then passed through lightning, and with the precision of a sniper, Shiera threaded them into the station’s auxiliary shuttlebay.

The landing was less neat, but the moment the ship had set down, Shepherd was on her feet. ‘Alright, people, let’s move!’ She turned to the pilot, expression set. ‘Only wait for us so long as it’s safe. If the bay gets overrun, launch.’

Shiera turned back with a faint frown. ‘Then you will be cut off.’

‘If we can’t take the control centre, we’re all screwed. We’re coming back with our shields or on them.’ Shepherd marched into the rear compartment, Rhade half a step behind her, and regarded the security team double-checking their equipment. ‘Let’s make the Spartans look like little babies, people.’

It was a little more complicated than that. They deployed into the shuttlebay unassailed, but breaching into the corridors came with a volley of weapons fire, Jem’Hadar soldiers already rallied to resist them. Rhade stepped up to lead the assault while Shepherd fell behind cover, crouching with Athaka, who was rather desperately clutching his tricorder.

‘You’re sure it’s down this way?’

‘Positive!’ the young officer almost squealed as energy weapons blazed overhead. ‘Control centre, one hundred metres! It’s not far!’

Shepherd gave the Jem’Hadar soldiers blocking their way a dubious glance. They could make one hundred metres very far. She patted his shoulder. ‘Stay low!’

She’d seen her share of action aboard Triumph. Served during Operation: Gatecrasher as Klingon insurgents were driven from Federation space. Clashed with renegade Cardassian soldiers on the border. Fought hand-to-hand with Remans as the Romulan Star Empire collapsed.

Nothing was like fighting the Jem’Hadar. Starfleet had the element of surprise, and Rhade was a seasoned combat leader. She could tell he’d studied this enemy, pored through every record of every encounter he could get his hands on. Sweeping fire and grenades took care of shrouds, while he lured soldiers into approaching to apply overwhelming force only to reveal additional firepower once they were close enough to take down in a volley.

Section by section, they advanced. It was only one hundred metres, but the Jem’Hadar made them pay.

‘This is it!’ Athaka called as they reached the set of heavy double doors. ‘If you cover me…’

‘Griffin! You’re on the L-T!’ Shepherd called, ushering the young security officer forward. The crewman advanced with Athaka to the controls without hesitation, and she knew she didn’t have to elaborate on the orders. If he had to put his body in the way to keep Athaka safe, he’d do it.

‘Another six on the approach,’ Rhade reported in a low growl, spinning to unleash weapons fire down the next corridor. The doorway was in a junction, an unforgiving spot for protecting themselves. ‘Bravo Team, secure this passageway ten metres down. We need cover.’

Before the doors slid open, one shot had sizzled past Shepherd’s ear. Another security officer had not been so lucky. ‘In!’ she barked. ‘Move, move!’

Griffin took a Jem’Hadar soldier in the face the moment they were through; the next two were dropped by snapshots from Rhade, and only then did Shepherd soak in their surroundings. The orbital platform’s command centre. Gleaming lights of the Federation-built system that was, she believed, once meant to coordinate system-wide mining facilities as much as defences.

A Vorta in the middle of the room, hands raised.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You are inconveniently quick.’

Shepherd’s lip curled as the security team barrelled in behind her, and the doors closed. ‘Lieutenant Rhade, secure the prisoner. Athaka, you know what to do.’

Security officers grabbed the Vorta, patting him down before cuffing him at Rhade’s instructions. ‘More soldiers are coming,’ the Vorta warned. ‘You will be overrun here soon enough.’

‘Soon isn’t now. Athaka?’

‘I’m on it.’ The Coridanite was at the central control panel already, tricorder open. ‘It looks like they’ve forced someone to give them administrative control of the whole system rather than remove the Federation software or isolate the defence grid.’

‘Can you break it with the command codes Captain Jericho gave us?’

‘No. This will take some time,’ Athaka said with another wince.

The Vorta gave a happy smile. ‘Time you do not have.’

Shepherd rounded on him, hand on her phaser. ‘You can unlock this?’

‘I can. I won’t.’ As her hand tensed, he rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t waste anyone’s time by posturing, Commander. Even if you had the will to use that on an unarmed prisoner, in death, I am only reborn to serve the Founders’ will.’

‘Are you?’ Shepherd pushed. ‘This far out, twenty-five years later, on a mission the Dominion of this century never allowed? Don’t you think you’ve probably been replaced by now?’ She saw the hesitation in his eyes and drew her phaser. ‘Just how willing are you to face death?’

The Vorta’s gaze flickered. ‘You’re Starfleet. You won’t.’

‘The Starfleet you know has been through a lot the past quarter-century. You don’t know who we are.’ Behind the Vorta, Shepherd saw Rhade shift his weight. What would he do, she wondered, if she pushed it further? And even if he wanted to stop her, would he be quick enough?

Perhaps the Vorta saw that or sensed it. Perhaps he simply found a shred more courage. Either way, he straightened and looked her in the eye. ‘You’re right. I don’t know what Starfleet is this century. So show me, Commander.’

She should, a part of her thought, be more fascinated by this moment. Vorta were entities of myth, almost – as were the Jem’Hadar. Seen only in pictures and holograms, and yet here she was, blasting her way through these fortifications, staring one down and threatening his life. Try as she might, Shepherd could not summon anger or hate. However hard the fighting outside raged, however much she despised the occupation, the invasion, the violence, she could not find it in herself to hate this entity.

It was her first time meeting a Vorta. She had no qualms about defeating him. But nothing in her burned to be an executioner.

Shepherd holstered the phaser and turned to Athaka. ‘Let’s show him. How long is this going to take, Lieutenant?’

Athaka gave an unhelpful grimace. ‘Twenty minutes?’

‘We don’t have that.’ She tapped her combadge. ‘Shepherd to Independence. We’ve secured the control centre. This isn’t as easy as just dumping in our command codes; anyone got any bright ideas before Athaka has to hack our own systems?’

Rourke’s voice came back a few moments later. She suspected he’d been consulting the crew. ‘Stand by, Shep. We’ll try to cook something up – hang on. Pathfinder wants in.’

The new voice of Karana Valance came over the comms. ‘Shepherd, Pathfinder. Jericho had us working on this en route. My Chief of Operations has an unfinished piece of Trojan Horse software to access a Federation operations management system like this. Are you in a position to use it?’

‘How unfinished?’ Shepherd’s nose wrinkled at Athaka.

But the young man had sprung over, eyes bright. ‘It’s Lieutenant Athaka, Com- Captain! Tell Lieutenant Thawn to send it over! I know her coding, I can fill the gaps now I can see what the Dominion have done!’

‘Understood. Transmitting.’

Athaka’s tricorder lit up moments later, and with a gleeful grin he spun back around to the control panel. ‘Lieutenant Thawn’s a genius,’ he gushed as he worked. ‘This code; it’s so elegant and flexible. This will actually be easier for breaking into the whole system rather than just the defence controls…’

Shepherd turned to smirk at the Vorta. ‘Starfleet’s same as we ever were. We find another way.’

Rhade had straightened with a rather smug look. ‘Your work was never going to be a match for my wife.’

‘Commander!’ Griffin was at a panel near the door. ‘We’ve got Jem’Hadar heading for this section. There’s no way this door’s going to hold forever.’

Shepherd looked at Athaka. ‘Once you reset the defence system, can you make sure nobody else gets back into it?’

‘I…’ Athaka swallowed. ‘We could just frag the controls once we’re done. But you mean so we run, right?’

Shepherd shouldered her rifle. ‘Sure,’ she lied.

The Vorta clasped his hands, smile thin and superior. ‘You’ll be overrun. Do you want a heroic sacrifice in a battle you’ll lose anyway? Or a surrender?’

‘Oh, shut up, you bargain bin holo-drama villain,’ she snapped, approaching the door. ‘Whatever happens here, this battle will be won.’

There was a thunk at the door, the tell-tale sound of weapons fire on metal. The Vorta’s smirk widened. ‘Are you sure it’ll happen in time?’

‘Defensive positions!’ Shepherd called, bracing herself against a console. ‘Whatever comes through that door, we shoot it!’

The sizzling drumming did not stop. Thunk. Thunk. Thunkthunkthunkthunk –

Nothing.

She looked around. ‘…did they just get bored?’

‘Uh.’ Griffin ducked back up from behind his console and checked the feed. ‘Commander, they’re, uh. They’re all gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Someone accessed the nearby airlock controls and, uh… spaced them.’

Just as Shepherd wondered if she could find hitherto unknown expressions of utter bafflement, the comm system crackled, and a new voice came in. ‘Starfleet – this is Craig Vadney, Mining Union, down on the bottom deck. Dominion couldn’t cut us out of every control on the station. We got your message. Seemed like now was the time to step up and lend a hand.’

Hale’s message. Now Shepherd found a whole new grin. ‘Mister Vadney! Welcome to the liberation. Two more minutes here, and it’s about to be a whole different light show.’

‘I think it’ll be a different light show everywhere,’ came Vadney’s reply. ‘Folks didn’t sit idly on Izar just waiting to be rescued. I think you’re going to find a lot of people everywhere were waiting for the right moment, and, well. This is it.’

‘Nix on that “two minutes,”’ chirped Athaka triumphantly. ‘I’m in, Commander.’

Shepherd couldn’t help herself. She turned to the Vorta and winked. ‘Another way. Told you so. Ath? Set our weapons on these sons of bitches.’

‘Taking heavy fire!’ Rosewood warned.

‘Keep us evading, Mister Sovak,’ called Rourke in a low, calm voice. ‘Don’t let them pin us down.’

‘We have a Breen raider on our aft,’ said Ra-Talorei. ‘They have been… persistent.’

‘I can’t reinforce aft shields while we’re targeted by the weapons platforms.’ Hadrian’s voice was low, clipped. ‘And I can’t get a firing solution.’

‘Bring us about,’ Rourke ordered. ‘We can’t leave them attached to us like this.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Sovak was the only person who sounded at all calm. ‘This will be difficult. They -’

Then the blip of the Breen raider disappeared from their tactical displays. There was a long pause, then Rosewood leaned back with a short fist-pump. ‘They’ve done it, Captain! Orbital weapon emplacements are targeting the Dominion and Breen!’

‘Ha!’ Rourke rose to his feet triumphantly. ‘Show me the system map!’

Once, it had been a sea of red blips for their ferocious enemy, with far too few blue and green of Starfleet and their allies. Now, not only had the weapon emplacements changed colour as the landing party’s gambit succeeded, but as Rourke watched, one by one, the dots of Breen and Dominion ships went dark.

‘I’m getting comms from other facilities, New Seattle, the moons, the habitat domes,’ Rosewood continued, his grin a mile wide. ‘Anyone who can do anything down there is messing with the Dominion. Cutting power, flooding comm lines, sealing doors and sections so they can’t move about. They say they got Ms Hale’s message.’

‘People of Izar, now is the time. Rise up,’ Rourke echoed. Something in his chest felt fit to burst, but they weren’t done. He eased back into the chair and gripped the armrests tight. ‘Let’s make sure they’re not alone. Direct the Third Order to form up on us, Commander. We’re heading to Izar III. It’s time to finish this.’

‘We went through the Nighthawk deck by deck.’ Cortez’s face was still smoke-stained. They had towed the battered Reliant-class across the system into orbit of Izar III, and the engineer had only beamed down to the central plaza of New Seattle ten minutes ago. Though the sun shone brightly down on a liberated city, her eyes were shrouded, hollow. ‘We found Commander Kosst’s body on deck eight.’

Shepherd watched as Lionel Jericho rested his elbows on the makeshift desk made of supply crates and buried his face in his hands. ‘She couldn’t get to an escape pod?’ he groaned.

‘Her helmsman reports Kosst chose to stay aboard to find and help trapped crewmembers,’ Cortez said with a grimace. ‘She had been dragging the injured out of an unstable section. The ceiling caved in when she went back for some of the last.’ She shifted her feet. ‘She saved four crewmembers in that section alone.’

‘Completed the mission, left out on their own, and still she kept fighting,’ Jericho sighed. ‘That’s heroic.’

‘They should never have been put in that position to begin with,’ came Rourke’s terse rebuke.

Shepherd’s eyes turned to the roof of the large canvas tent they had set up as an ad hoc command centre amid the relief work filling the heart of the city. With the defence platforms turned back to Starfleet’s side, the Dominion forces had been destroyed or routed with little difficulty. Those fleeing had diverted to try to evacuate soldiers, and Rourke had ordered the allied ships to let them do so – that it was better for them to take the Jem’Hadar somewhere else than be forced into pitched fighting on the surface. It also, Harrian had pointed out, meant the Lost Fleet probably didn’t have cloning facilities up and running if they weren’t prepared to throw their soldiers into a sacrificial furnace just to bloody their enemy. Over a matter of hours, Izar had transformed from a city under Dominion occupation to a liberated world.

But the scars remained. They had beamed to New Seattle to be greeted by a lieutenant-governor whose face was a mass of bruises and injuries and was barely able to assume leadership of the planet. But the governor had been murdered early into the occupation. While there had been little fighting on Izar itself, the signs of Dominion occupation had remained: barricades for checkpoints, defaced Federation insignia, and, rapidly dismantled from its place in the centre of the plaza, a gibbet. It had not been empty when Starfleet arrived. It was certainly not the only one.

The squadron had settled into orbit to offer assistance. In practice, it was as much so they could lick their own wounds. Some day there would be a full Federation relief effort, but today, it was just what remained of the crews of what could only generously be called five ships. Control of Triumph had not been fully restored until the Dominion’s rout, but Jericho had at once directed the various commanders of the squadron to see to their ships and then meet on the surface.

So now they stood, the respective commanders – and acting commanders – of the different facets of the battle: Shepherd from the support wing, Harrian from Endeavour, and Rourke from Independence, joining Valance from Pathfinder and Jericho himself, with Cortez only just arriving from her relief effort on Nighthawk.

Jericho was acting like he was still in command. But the look in Rourke’s eyes made it clear to Shepherd that the leadership crisis was not necessarily over. The fleet captain’s expression was cool as he looked over. ‘Tell me about Vornar.’

Rourke’s grimace shifted at that. ‘There’s no telling how long ago the Changeling got aboard. We assume he and the other one made the swap at at Vamuridian? The usual security protocols have begun across the ship, and so far, it’s an all-clear.’

‘I listened to him.’ Jericho slumped back on the stool, rubbing his brow. ‘Throughout this, I listened to him. And he was manipulating us all.’

Now Rourke’s expression softened. ‘I listened to him, as well. He voiced concerns about your judgement, and I took them seriously because I thought someone who knew you very well was questioning your choices.’

‘That would explain,’ Harrian mused, ‘the purpose of attacks such as Vamuridian. We assumed this was a matter of undermining Federation morale. But if they were luring in starships so they could plant Changelings aboard…’

Shepherd winced. ‘This means Ramius is dead, right?’

Jericho bit his lip. ‘Probably. We may never know. As well as at least one other officer. But after the battle, it’ll be very difficult to take stock of who went missing, when.’

‘I will begin containment protocols,’ Valance said in a clipped voice, ‘for Pathfinder. We can’t have been infiltrated.’

Jericho looked at her with a relieved glint. ‘Good thinking, Captain. I take it we have you to thank for securing the defence systems so quickly, too?’

She shrugged. ‘You gave the directive before we even arrived in the sector to work on what we knew of Izar’s systems. I have an excellent operations officer.’

‘Another reason,’ Rourke said roughly, ‘we shouldn’t have rushed this assault.’

Once, Shepherd would have expected Jericho to push back at that. Instead, he ignored Rourke and looked to Harrian. ‘Krish?’

Harrian made for a much less-combative mutineer. ‘Reported to Sickbay,’ he said gently. ‘He’s been thoroughly shaken by the whole affair. He wasn’t ready to be left with sole authority over the entire battle after your incapacity, sir.’ But the words were unaccusing, a statement of fact and a defence of the man who had almost left Izar and all who fought in her skies to burn and die.

‘Perhaps.’ Jericho fidgeted with a PADD stylus. ‘Have you notified the Fourth Fleet of our victory?’

‘I have.’ Harrian hesitated. ‘While we’re seeing victories like this across the sector, that appears to be rattling the Lost Fleet. Intel suspects they may be forming up for a final push on Farpoint.’

‘We should assist,’ Rourke said briskly.

Jericho looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head. ‘Nighthawk is incapacitated, Triumph is in a terrible condition, Independence isn’t fast enough, Pathfinder is a small science ship. What are you suggesting, Rourke?’

‘Endeavour,’ came the simple reply. ‘She’s fast and can fight and in repairable condition.’

Jericho got to his feet. Once, he would have been angry, but Shepherd had never seen him look so tired. ‘This battle was a mess,’ he said quietly. ‘We snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, and it shouldn’t have been so close. I recognise your skills, Captain Rourke. I acknowledge you helped to uproot our Changeling infiltrator, I acknowledge you brought in reinforcements from the Third Order, and I acknowledge you assumed command and lead the squadron to ultimate victory.’ He looked to Harrian. ‘And I acknowledge you, Commander, seized command in a legitimate crisis and salvaged the situation aboard Endeavour when total defeat was likely.’ Jericho then straightened and regarded them all. ‘And I acknowledge that I made decisions which pitched us into a battle under less than ideal circumstances, where we were vulnerable to sabotage because even one move by the enemy cast us into a total crisis. However. Once this meeting is over, Mister Rourke, Mister Harrian, you are both under arrest.’

Rourke’s shoulders sank. ‘Still?’

‘The safety of Izar remains our priority, and Commander Rosewood can continue in command of Independence. Your place is still the brig, Rourke.’ Jericho turned to Harrian. ‘I ask you, Mister Harrian, to remain on license, continuing as Strategic Operations Officer while on duty and also reporting to the brig when your shifts end.’

Harrian’s expression didn’t shift as he inclined his head. ‘Absolutely, sir.’

Rourke shook his head. ‘I hoped we had moved past this.’

‘Perhaps we were all just innocents manipulated by the evil Changeling,’ said Jericho. ‘But I don’t think we can let ourselves off that lightly. And once this is over, once we’re done in Deneb, I will report to Fourth Fleet Command for a full inquiry of my actions. Because I sure as hell know a whole mess of this is my fault. Perhaps they’ll exonerate you both. Perhaps they’ll exonerate us all. But that’s not my decision, it’s sure as hell not yours, and so until then, I am the commander of this squadron. Let’s worry about the people.’

In the silence that followed, Cortez wiped her face, merely streaking smoke stains further. ‘Captain Rourke’s right about one thing, sir. Endeavour is still in feasibly fit fighting condition. She could proceed to Farpoint.’

But Jericho’s eyes turned to Shepherd, and her heart ached at the glint there. ‘She could. But I want you to stay at Izar, Shep.’

The indignation was exhausting. ‘I… you took me off my ship to lead the support wing, you put Krish over me…’

He raised a hand, not the implacable leader she’d known for a decade, but an exhausted and worn man. ‘And I was wrong to do that, you hear?’ He hesitated, then looked at the command staff around him, the people he was supposed to lead. Shepherd watched him wrestle with how much to say in public, then he sighed, and his shoulders sagged. ‘I’m asking you to stay, Shep. It’s your choice. But I’m asking.’

Only in the last few weeks of their decade of serving together had she learnt how to say “no” to him. She still wasn’t very good at it. Still, she hesitated. ‘Someone should take Endeavour.’

‘Well.’ Jericho clicked his tongue. ‘There’s one person left who’s got the experience and isn’t about to be arrested.’ His eyes rose to one of the officers around him. ‘I know we’re playing a goddamn game of musical chairs, but how’s your XO for taking on your ship while you ride in on Endeavour to Farpoint like she’s a white horse, Commander Valance?’

Valance’s expression shifted to a flicker of a frown. ‘Commander Dashell is more than qualified to lead Pathfinder in my absence, especially on the duties of long-range surveillance. But the squadron’s operations staff is gutted, and Endeavour’s Commander Far has been taking point in resource management on Izar…’

‘Take your Lieutenant Thawn. If you didn’t all know each other, I’d call it a needless disruption, but…’ Jericho’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head. ‘I know this is a damn mess. Triumph, Pathfinder, and Independence will help Izar. Gul Malek’s Third Order forces are pushing outward to chase off nearby Dominion forces, so we have an early warning system. If Farpoint falls, this is all for nothing, though.’

This is a fucking mess, Shepherd thought, and couldn’t quite swallow the resentment coiling in her as Valance gave a crisp nod, now returned to the central chairs of a ship she’d left behind. Shepherd’s boots, still planted on Izar’s surface, felt very, very heavy.

‘I think it’s safe to say,’ Jericho pressed on, straightening as he regarded them, ‘this will be the last time we all work together. One way or another. I will accept the judgement of Fourth Fleet Command, whatever it may be. But we have prevailed on Izar. I won’t take credit for it. You all should be proud of yourselves. Against all odds, against our greater demons, the battle was won. And whatever I say to JAG will include the bad and the good. So in the meantime – Endeavour to Farpoint. The rest of the squadron to secure Izar. And we help these people get back on their feet. You’re all dismissed.’ But his eyes landed on Shepherd. ‘If you could stay a moment?’

Beyond the heavy canvas of the field command tent was the blazing sunshine of New Seattle, a sea of grief and suffering amid a backdrop of exuberant victory celebrations mere heartbeats away. But Shepherd stayed in the darkness just a moment longer as Rourke, Harrian, Cortez, and Valance left.

Once the flap had fallen shut, she set her hands on her hips. ‘You’re benching me again?’ She wished she was angry. Wished she could rail at him. Instead, she just felt exhausted, betrayed. Like she’d failed.

Jericho raised a hand, expression crumpling. ‘I asked –’

‘Do I ever say “no” to you?’

‘Yes.’ His shoulders sank. ‘You did. Before the battle. You have the past few weeks. Months. I know this has been screwed, Shep. I know they’ll probably take my pips for this. My ship for this. But Rourke is a mutineer, and the chain of command has to stay together for just… days more, Shep. If something goes wrong, I can’t have people looking between us, not sure who they should follow.’

‘So you want me to back you up?’

‘I want you to call me the hell out when I need it.’ Jericho scrubbed his face with his hand. ‘We have to get through the next few days with this fractured, battered squadron, and then we can play the blame game, then Command can beat the crap out of all of us who deserve it. But we have to get there. So I need someone who can challenge me, disagree with me, fight me without someone thinking it’s time for yet another fuckin’ mutiny. And it won’t be Tiarith, will it?’

Tiarith Ranicus, XO of the Triumph, loyal to a fault. Shepherd bit her lip hard enough to taste blood and shook her head.

‘I trust you, Shep,’ Jericho pressed on. ‘Because I raised you, trained you – and you surpassed me, you hear me? You’ve been the one, all along, who didn’t get bogged down in the politics. Who kept her eye on doing the right thing. Let Valance have one more battle; you’re already a hero for the Battle of Izar. If you don’t get covered in glory I will blow every single last shred of capital I have left and burn the skies for you. But I need you to help me through this one last step.’

Shepherd’s shoulders had sunk. Once, it would have broken her heart to see the man she’d looked up to for so long be so shattered. She shook her head. ‘What happened to you, Captain?’

Jericho lowered his head. ‘I guess… if you don’t see to your soul scars, then someday they catch up. The Lost Fleet made that day come fast.’

‘How bad was it?’ she ventured. ‘On Triumph?’

His eyes fixed on a spot a thousand yards away. ‘Bad,’ he rumbled. ‘And not so bad. Because a part of me thought it’d be better for us to all die… together.’ He straightened. ‘I’ve been holding on to you all too tight. Let all of the losses in my past twist me up so hard I couldn’t dare risk losing you. So instead, I pushed Krish before he was ready. So instead, I kept you somewhere you… wouldn’t slip through my grasp. So instead, I nearly doomed us all. And I’d have let us all die on Triumph if it hadn’t been for Cortez. For Hale.’ Now he looked her in the eye. ‘I’m not kidding myself, Shep. Once this is over, I’m not fit for command. So I’m asking you to stay. Get me through these final steps. And then we’ll see where the gavel falls.’

He extended his hand, and she could feel the plea for help barely shrouded in a dutiful offer. When she stepped forward to clasp him tight, it was as much of a grip to hold onto one last shred of stability as a handshake to seal the deal.

‘I’ll stay,’ said Shepherd, then drew a quavering step. ‘And then, Lionel? I’m gone.’

‘I’m sorry, Captain, Commander.’ Livia Hadrian, likely designated the ranking security officer with the least personal bias, looked genuinely apologetic as she met the team of command officers at the edge of the New Seattle central plaza. ‘But you’ve got to come with me.’

Behind them were the shelters and workstations of the relief team, the squadron’s officers mingling with the people of Izar with the skills and wits to help the populace in the immediate aftermath. Down a long street leading into the sunshine, the crowd was different. Rourke could hear cheering, see flags waving, people embracing and dancing. The line between grief and celebration was thin. Likely, people crossed it in a trice. But they needed both.

‘You have to do your duty,’ Rourke told Hadrian with a sigh. ‘I wish it hadn’t come to this.’

‘We knew the consequences,’ said Harrian with the same annoyingly level, contrite look in his eyes. ‘JAG will decide whether we did our duty or served our egos.’

‘I already know which I did. I’ll let them decide what happens, not what I think,’ Rourke said simply. He turned to the other two, and his eyes landed on Valance. ‘I leave Endeavour in your care, Karana.’

Valance rolled her shoulders, expression troubled. ‘I should have been here.’

‘You had your own ship. Your own duties. As it should be.’

She shook her head. ‘I was too far out.’

‘Then this time,’ he said, extending a hand, ‘you’ll be right where you need to be. Take care of her. I might not be back.’

‘If there’s any justice,’ she said, ‘you will be.’ She shook his hand and stepped back. Then her eyes fell on the greasy, smoke-stained figure of Cortez. ‘Isa…’

‘Oh, hell are we doing this here,’ said Cortez, grimacing. ‘You’ve got T’Varel. She’s alright. I’ve got ships to fix and a city to rebuild. All in a day’s work for a Starfleet engineer.’ But the corner of her lip curled, despite the obvious effort to fight it. ‘Go be the cavalry. Again.’

As the two women left, Lieutenant Hadrian again looked between Rourke and Harrian. ‘Sirs?’

But a figure had emerged from one of the relief tents, and Rourke gave her a suddenly anxious look. ‘Lieutenant, could you… please… give me just one moment?’ Barely waiting for her begrudging nod, he turned away from the pair and took four quick steps back towards the plaza.

Then the eyes of Sophia Hale, bathed in sunlight in the plaza of New Seattle, landed on him. His feet were at once too wooden to move.

He’d seen her like this on Vamuridian, when they had both been snarling and snapping at each other, both coiled too tight for various reasons. But they had not exchanged so much as a look since he had left her on Triumph, days that felt like lifetimes ago. He’d heard her voice, though. Heard her voice as it had piped across the system, inspired the people to rise up and begin their resistance, fighting back in actions which had only urged the Dominion foot soldiers to fall back quicker. Harried their operations so thoroughly they could not even begin to think of fortifying for a ground defence.

But all of that was done. And now they were here, in the sun, in a moment of victory, with just their words and memories.

And as his feet refused to move, she came towards him. ‘You came back.’

Rourke swallowed, the blazing sunlight suddenly drying his mouth. ‘You stayed alive.’

Hale gave a soft, fraught smile he wasn’t sure he’d seen on her before. Wasn’t sure he’d ever before seen slip past her poise. She glanced to Lieutenant Hadrian, still waiting with Commander Harrian some metres away. ‘What did Jericho say?’

‘Still under arrest,’ Rourke grunted. ‘But he’ll pay the price for bad judgement too, and he knows it.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll say what I can to any tribunal and inquiry.’

‘I know. That’s not…’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying here.’

‘I do.’ Despite those words, Hale still faltered as she half-raised a hand. Then something seemed to steel in her. She took a step forward. Grabbed him by the wrist. And kissed him.

It could not last. And yet it made the distant cheering of victory all the louder in his ears, in his heart.

When she pulled back, forehead resting against his, her breath was quivering. ‘Whatever happens. We’ll talk when it’s over.’

He could have defeated a Dominion fleet by spitting at them at that moment. A tribunal seemed like nothing. Rourke beamed. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

When he returned to the other two, Lieutenant Hadrian was studiously looking elsewhere. Commander Harrian, on the other hand, wore a tight, amused smile.

‘Trust you,’ said his old comrade, ‘to save the day and get the girl.’

Rourke gave a short bark of laughter as behind him, Hadrian tapped her combadge to instruct Triumph to beam them up. His eyes flickered to the bright blue sky, to the crowds of liberated Izar – to Hale, watching from a distance.

He grinned. ‘Not bad for a day’s work,’ mused Matt Rourke. ‘Even if this is my last.’