‘The hardest part isn’t forgiving yourself.’ He’d exuded a quiet confidence so far, but now he sat forward, broad shoulders hunching, and clasped his hands together. ‘I used to hate going to sleep. It felt too much like a surrender of my sense of self, like I’d wake up back in the Collective. I’d dream about being back all too often because it’s kind of like my subconscious belonged there.’

His words sank into the silence of the small group, sat in a circle in the counselling office. Eventually, Lieutenant Forrester shifted her weight. ‘Did it stop?’

Jack Logan’s lips twisted. ‘Yeah,’ he said at last. ‘It stopped. So here’s where it gets really screwed up: it stopped, and I missed it.’

‘The fear?’

He shook his head. ‘The Collective.’ His eyes swept over the gathered. ‘That’s the part nobody will want to tell you. You’ll cherish your freedom, hate yourselves for what you did, and never trust yourself again. You’ll want to burn the Collective to the ground. And still, a part of you will crave it like oxygen. The belonging. The purpose. The peace.’ In the next silence, he shrugged and grimaced. ‘Maybe. I were in the Collective for just over five years. You were there for hours.’

Counsellor Carraway leaned forward at that. ‘Thank you, Jack,’ he said softly, sincerely. ‘Even if this isn’t a universal feeling, one thing is universal: there’s no playbook for recovery. No checkpoints to meet. It can be as messy and complicated as you like, and this is the place where you can share these things without judgement.’ He looked around the gathered, the highest-priority counselling group after Frontier Day. The officers who’d killed or done awful things. ‘Does anyone want to go next?’

Logan gave a gentle scoff in the silence. ‘I really lightened the mood, huh?’

‘No,’ grumbled Forrester. ‘I mean, it helps, sir.’

‘Jack. In here, it’s Jack.’ He dug deep and found a smile. ‘I don’t want to say you’re lucky. One thing I never had to deal with was turning on my friends and loved ones. The people I hurt… they were strangers.’ Countless worlds. Slaughters. Genocides. ‘But you got one thing I didn’t: you’re not alone. ‘Cos coming out of the Collective… loneliness is the real killer.’

‘Is that the true “hardest part?”’ Forrester drawled.

He gave a short laugh. ‘You got me. What’s hardest changes on a daily basis. What you’re going through is a generational trauma, and that’s got its whole mess of baggage. Everything you went through is unique. And it’s also what everyone else went through.’

Forrester’s gaze dropped. ‘Not everyone else killed their mentor. Who forgives that?’

‘You won’t believe me when I say “the Borg did it,” but they did, and someday, you will believe that.’

‘And everyone in this room, Tes,’ pressed Carraway gently, ‘has done something they find unspeakable.’

Forrester looked like she might snap at him, but she caught the eyes of her shipmates; of Zherul, and all she’d done in the Mess Hall, of Tyderian, and all he’d done to the deck gang. Of all the other officers of Endeavour brought together to be guided back to living each day without choking on guilt.

‘And,’ Carraway pressed on, ‘that’s an example of a self-sabotaging thought. Which is what I want the group to reflect on for next time: these kinds of thoughts that block you off whenever you’re trying to move forward. However irrational or impenetrable they feel. We’ll next time work on more positive reframing.’

‘What,’ growled Forrester, ‘I killed my mentor; I’m a great shot?’ But she subsided at Carraway’s gentle look, and the session ended without further commentary.

‘I think that went okay?’ said Logan, fidgeting with his sleeve as the last patient left.

Carraway raised his eyebrows at him as he headed back to his desk. ‘You kidding me? You’re a great help, Jack; I really appreciate this.’

‘Might as well put my crappy story to good use,’ Logan grumbled, standing.

‘For so many of these kids, they’re at the bottom of a well and they think the last light above them’s gonna be snuffed out,’ Carraway said, waving a hand at the door. ‘They can’t imagine going back to anything that could be considered normal. But they sit here with you, who’s been through what they have, only worse and for longer, and they hear you talking about it with reason and acceptance. That’s so important.’

Logan’s lips twisted. ‘So, do I tell them?’

‘Tell them what?’

‘That I got out of the Collective, but I never had anything normal again?’

‘Jack…’

‘No vacations with the family, no meaningful relationships, stuck out on my own for fifteen years, Starfleet not wanting me…’

‘You have a place now.’ Carraway looked him in the eye. ‘Captain Valance wouldn’t bring you on Endeavour if she didn’t believe in you. If she didn’t accept you. Besides, I know you’re thinking something you don’t want to admit.’

Logan scoffed. ‘You just met me, Greg -’

‘Maybe half of Starfleet being temporarily assimilated might make you a bit more accepted,’ Carraway pressed before he could be brushed off.

Logan stopped. ‘We don’t know what’s gonna happen.’

‘We don’t.’ Carraway’s gaze had been fixed, serious. Then he smiled. ‘But I know to the kids on Endeavour, you’re a rock. I talk to the lot of them, Jack. They feel better having you on the senior staff because what they fear is not being trusted by you guys. They think that with you around, they have someone in your corner. And the senior staff think they’ve got someone who can help them understand.’

‘Who said that?’ Logan narrowed his eyes.

‘What?’

‘What senior staffer?’

‘Hey, you know I can’t reveal this stuff.’

‘You revealed a lot.’

Carraway blew out his cheeks. ‘It’s from drinks and chatting with people I worked with for years, Jack. Not therapy sessions. Would I lie to you?’

‘We just met.’ Logan hesitated. ‘You strike me as a terrible liar.’

‘Oh, I am. Sweaty palms, stammering. It’s not a good look. You gonna be around for the next session?’

‘Unless Endeavour actually goes someplace.’ Logan rolled his eyes. ‘Chief of Security on a ship heading nowhere.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Carraway muttered. ‘There’ll probably be a crisis soon enough.’

Logan left him there, heading into the main counselling offices of Gateway just in time to see an officer finish a conversation at a desk and head into the corridor. ‘Hey! Wait up!’

But he wasn’t waited for, and had to break into a jog, out of the office and into the foot traffic of the station’s daily hustle and bustle to catch up. Running would have made ignoring him more conspicuous, so it wasn’t hard to reach Nate Beckett before he got to a turbolift. ‘You didn’t talk much in the session, kid.’

Beckett looked a little sour at the sight of him. ‘I don’t think I talked at all.’

‘That’s what I meant. You gonna clam up in your one-on-ones with Greg?’

‘I’m not sure that’s your business, sir.’

‘Sure,’ said Logan. ‘I got no vested interest in anyone coming out the other side of assimilation. Do you like that card? Should I play “Chief of Security” instead? Or how about “you were decent to me when I came aboard, so I’m looking out for you?”’

That made Beckett hesitate. But the hustle and bustle of Gateway’s day-to-day crowds, the station not touched by Frontier Day directly and its people thus further from its shadows, did not make him look like he wanted to open up. ‘I don’t know why I’m in those sessions,’ he said at length. ‘I didn’t kill anyone. Carraway insisted.’

‘You didn’t kill anyone,’ Logan confirmed. ‘You just wrapped your hands around your friend’s throat and left her for dead.’

Now, the young man looked like he might throw up. ‘Is this looking out for me?’

‘The Borg made you do something abominable. Violence against a loved one, and it were real intimate. But because you didn’t kill her, you’ve got, what, impostor syndrome about being in the highest-level therapy group? You get that that’s crazy?’

‘I’m not sure you should call people in therapy crazy.’

‘I ain’t your therapist, I can say that,’ Logan retorted. ‘Because what you’re feeling? Like you don’t deserve help? That one isn’t original. Take it from an expert.’ Beckett looked away at that, falling silent, and Logan’s shoulders sank as he watched the spark in the young man fade. ‘You spoken to her?’

‘I have no idea what to say or if she can even look at me.’ Beckett shifted his feet. ‘We were arguing. When it happened.’

‘Does that argument matter now?’

‘I don’t know. I think it was a mistake for her and me to keep on working together.’

Logan scratched his beard. ‘Look. I don’t know half of anything. And maybe she can’t look at you right now – and if that’s the case, that’s a reality you gotta deal with, and me and Carraway can help with that, too. But right now, you’re shadow-boxing with your own thoughts, not dealing with what’s actually in front of you. You got mutual friends? Reach out. Find the score. Then decide from there.’

‘I… alright.’ For one horrible moment, Logan thought Beckett was going to choke up. Perhaps if they hadn’t been in public, he would have. But the young man swallowed hard and straightened. ‘Find the score. Decide from there.’

‘One step at a time. One day at a time. Like Greg says. You got this, kid.’

As Beckett left, Logan had to stand in the crowd that had rushed by them, unseeing and uncaring, and try to hide his doubts. It was not that he’d lied. To Beckett, to Carraway, to any of the therapy group. He believed that they had it. That they would endure, persevere, and move forward.

He was sincere. He just knew there was a very real chance, when it came to the Borg, that he was wrong.

The pain wasn’t so persistent any more. She’d have asked Doctor Winters for more painkillers, but then he might not have cleared her for duty, and that was untenable. So Thawn applied an anaesthetising spray down her throat just after breakfast. The guidance said to take care after use; to not speak too much, too loudly, or sing, due to the risk of causing further straining an injury.

Thawn thought there was little risk of that.

Because they were departing from Gateway, she’d stayed at Rhade’s quarters the night before the mission. When she emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and in uniform, she found him at the breakfast bar, pouring from a steel cafetiere and laying out plates. Her heart fell. ‘I’m meeting Elsa for coffee this morning.’

Rhade hesitated. His expression didn’t shift, but despite her best efforts, she couldn’t miss the sense of his heart dropping. He set the cafetiere down. ‘Then breakfast, at least,’ he said kindly. ‘You should eat something.’

She’d considered a pastry with coffee on the Arcade, but indulged him, pulling up the stool. ‘I don’t have long.’

‘I know.’ But he shifted his weight. ‘I was surprised you accepted this mission. I thought you were taking longer to recover.’

‘Commander Kharth needs me.’

‘If I’d known you were up to it,’ he said after a beat, ‘I would have tried to have a conversation.’

She bit a croissant so she didn’t have to answer at once, looking up at him with dark, guilty eyes. He only met her gaze, and at length, she swallowed and said, ‘Oh?’

His brow furrowed. ‘Please let’s not pretend. Rosara, we’re married – but only by Federation law. There’s still been no ceremony on Betazed. This doesn’t fulfil the arrangement between our Houses.’

‘Are you saying you want us to go to Betazed? Leave will be -’

‘I’m asking,’ he said, with a hint more firmness, ‘if that’s what you want. I was… not at my best when you left for the Pathfinder. We didn’t talk about any of this properly. We almost cancelled the arrangement last year, after the Century Storm, and then you didn’t. I came to Endeavour because I hoped we could get to know each other better, make a more informed decision of our arrangement. Instead, you’ve just seemed more trapped.’

She had another mouthful of croissant. ‘We can’t pretend that you coming aboard didn’t speed up the timetable on our arrangement.’

‘That wasn’t my intention,’ Rhade said, straightening. She believed he was sincere. She just knew that didn’t matter. ‘After… after Blood Dilithium, after Dathan, after losing Tyrell, it would be easy for me to make brash choices. This is too important for that.’

Thawn paused, assembling thoughts. Or, rather, assembling the argument that would get her out of this conversation quicker. ‘What do you want me to say, Adamant? I said we should get married. Now we’re married. If we can arrange leave to go to Betazed, we can do that – at some point our duties allow.’

‘I’ll accept that,’ Rhade said guardedly, ‘if you can explain to me why you broke our agreement a year ago and then returned to it.’

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you -’

‘You didn’t hurt me,’ he said, and this time she thought he was lying. But she knew his pain was not the point he was making. ‘But I don’t understand you, Rosara, or what you want. I can make this work. I will be whatever you need in this companionship. But you’ve committed, and still… you seem even further away than ever. This arrangement can be what we both need from it, but that requires us to both be honest, and to both be here.’

‘Well,’ said Thawn after a moment. ‘That does mean we’ll have to have the conversation later. Because I’m about to not be here. I have an assignment, Adamant. And I’m going to be late for Elsa.’

He did not stop her as she left.

Lindgren waited for her at Bean Me Up, the cafe on Gateway’s Arcade, sat in a booth whose bright orange upholstered bench was only not blinding because of the pristine white tables. A frothy-looking coffee sat before her.

‘Don’t try to get a cappuccino,’ Lindgren warned by way of greeting. ‘They gave me this wannabe latte and I nearly started a fight with a barista.’

Thawn gave her a quizzical look but didn’t ask until she’d picked up a much safer-looking flat white and joined her at the booth. ‘Transferring to Command has changed you.’

Other, pricklier members of Endeavour’s crew would have protested. Lindgren proved she hadn’t changed too much with her bashful smile. ‘I got excited by having a real coffee shop on our door. They let me down.’

‘It’s very nice coffee,’ Thawn rasped after a sip.

‘I thought we should make the most of it before we leave. But should you be having hot drinks?’ Lindgren’s gaze flickered from her mug to her neck.

There was no bruise any more. Winters had quietly asked if she’d like him to run the full set of treatments with the dermal regenerator, which she knew he hadn’t been doing for everyone. Plenty of survivors of Frontier Day were going about their business with bruises faded yellow by now. Most of them hadn’t been strangled and left for dead.

Thawn’s eyelashes flickered as she self-consciously pushed hair over her shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t be going on an expedition to hunt down pirates if I weren’t.’

Lindgren’s gaze was dubious. She glanced about the hustle and bustle of the cafe, full of the morning crowd of Gateway’s residents – mostly Starfleet before the alpha shift. ‘You definitely would,’ she said at last. ‘But forget “fit for duty,” okay. How are you doing?’

Swallowing felt, for a moment, as hard as it had when she’d woken up on a biobed. Thawn fidgeted with her mug while she gathered her thoughts. ‘You’re not going to take “still alive” as an answer, are you?’

‘I do have higher standards than that, yes.’ Lindgren paused. ‘I’m not – this isn’t me trying to push. If you don’t want to talk about this, then we don’t. But… I spoke to Nate.’

Something creaked deep in her chest, and Thawn felt her expression fall. ‘How is he?’

‘Horrified.’ Lindgren studied her expression for a moment. ‘He wanted to know how you are.’

‘Is he… Is he staying away? I didn’t want to crowd him.’

‘It sounds like he doesn’t want to crowd you.’

‘I don’t blame him.’ Thawn’s eyes rose. ‘If that’s what he thinks. I’m not going to have a panic attack and relive it all at the sight of him, I…’ Her mouth snapped shut, further explanation dying as words became unfit for purpose. ‘Is that what he thinks?’

‘It’s what he’s worried about. That’s why he asked me.’

Thawn drummed her fingers on the table. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ she said at last. ‘When we’re back.’

Lindgren grimaced. ‘First,’ she said, finishing her disappointing cappuccino, ‘we have to find the Three Lost Crows.’

‘Kharth! Commander!’

Kharth had heard the initial call, but hoped she could slip onto the turbolift and get away before she had to acknowledge it. But then Jack Logan’s hand was sticking in the door before it shut, and he slipped in after her. The glint in his eye said he knew she’d avoided him.

The lift was unfortunately empty save them, and Kharth cleared her throat as she looked at the ceiling. ‘Shuttlebay Bravo, Deck 126.’

His eyes were on her, but he said nothing for a moment. She heard him get his breath back after jogging to catch up, then he said, ‘Computer, halt turbolift.’

Kharth turned, tense. ‘Commander?’

Logan raised his hands. ‘Okay, we could dance about this for ages, like you’ve avoided me the past couple weeks, but we’re about to work together properly, and I don’t like playing games. We should talk.’

Her jaw tightened. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about.’

‘It’s pretty clear what’s going on. We hooked up when you thought I’d be gone in the morning. Then Valance promoted you and asked me to take Security. Does this have to be awkward?’

‘You’re the one who chased down my turbolift.’

The corners of his eyes creased, pained but darkly amused. ‘And here I thought we’d been getting on. Now you won’t even talk to me?’

Kharth fought to gather words. ‘Commander Logan. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression…’

‘What impression’s that? What do you think I think?’ He spoke calmly, with a hint of indignation but not like he was angry with her. That tone and the direct question were more disarming than she’d expected after a lifetime of being close to people who played games with words and never said what they meant. At her hesitation, he gave a small smile. ‘How about I tell you?’

Wrong-footed, she nodded mutely.

‘I think we get on. I think we both get that this galaxy’s a crapsack place and the best you can do is fight the good fight that’s in front of you. I think we both have complicated relationships with people, but our reasons are real different.’ He straightened, sobering. ‘I think you’d just been through a hell of a time and wanted some sort of escape, but I think it wasn’t just me ‘cos you thought I’d be gone not long after. I think that helped, for sure. But I think the fact we had a connection meant I was, I don’t know. An easier escape route.’

She worked her jaw wordlessly, then managed, ‘I wouldn’t have slept with you if I’d known you were about to be posted to Endeavour.’

‘Can I ask why not?’

Kharth frowned. ‘It’s unprofessional.’

‘It’s surely not unless we fail to be grown-ups about it. So… let’s be grown-ups about it. Was I wrong about your motivations?’

‘…no.’

‘Then do I get to tell you mine?’ At her cautious look, his lips twisted. ‘I thought I’d be shipping out soon. But I like you, and I’d like to get a drink with you sometime. And I know you’re about to bite my head off just for suggesting it, so you note, I’m not asking you out for a drink.’

She frowned, heart thudding in her chest. ‘You’re just saying you’d like to.’

‘Yeah.’ Logan reached for the button on the turbolift controls to start them back up again, then winked at her. ‘Ball’s in your court.’

Kharth didn’t say anything, glaring at the doors until they opened again and let them back into the humming network of Gateway to reach one of the station’s main shuttlebays. It had been a while since she served on a starbase, and the Canopus-class was larger than her old posting. It was easy to forget how cavernous they could be; how this shuttlebay was twice the size of Endeavour’s largest and was not even the starbase’s primary bay. But their chariot awaited them, the sleek figure of the large Arrow-class runabout Vigilance sat in the centre of the bay amid the hustle and bustle of the bay.

Logan gave a low whistle. ‘You don’t see these babies very often.’

‘Captain Rourke – Commodore Rourke – doesn’t want us going into a possibly hostile area under-prepared,’ Kharth said briskly, heading towards it. She was quietly relieved they’d been given a ship as big as the Vigilance; there’d been some discussion of giving them the Starfall, one of Gateway’s Orion-class runabouts – smaller but faster, tough and swift and discreet, and it would have absolutely forced the four-man team to share the two rooms.

‘We’ll still have to run if we hit trouble,’ Logan said, sobering.

Lindgren was already running the pre-flight check when they got aboard and glanced back from the pilot’s seat with a smile. ‘Rosara’s down at the computer core making sure we’ve got the processing power we need for the scans. We can head off at any time, Commander.’

Kharth glanced at the flight controls. ‘You’ve both stowed your gear?’ At Lindgren’s nod, she shrugged. ‘Then take us out as soon as you can. We’ve got to get to Scarix and pick up the trail.’ She looked back at Logan, hovering by the door. ‘You should grab a bunk and get reading, Logan. I want you to brief us on the Three Lost Crows over dinner.’

He looked like he might protest – he’d probably already read everything they had on the pirate group – but then nodded and left. When Kharth went to take the co-pilot’s seat, she caught Lindgren looking at her. ‘What?’

Lindgren faltered. ‘Sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

Kharth sighed. ‘I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.’ She liked Lindgren; it was hard not to like the polite, considerate, thoughtful, and above all, often quiet young officer. ‘This mission could get… complicated, that’s all.’

‘We’re both doing new things,’ Lindgren said, with more insight than Kharth necessarily appreciated. Then she smiled. ‘But I was just thinking, Commander: we both look pretty good in red.’

Despite herself – despite her tension at her new responsibility, despite the possibility they were racing into a new lion’s den, despite the proximity of Logan and all her anxieties surrounding their new security chief – Kharth couldn’t help but sit back in her chair, watch as Lindgren eased the Vigilance out into space, and smile.

Beckett felt like he was swallowing daggers before he drew a deep breath and said, ‘I need your help.’

And because he was asking Adamant Rhade, the broad-shouldered, golden-haired, lantern-jawed Betazoid stood from his desk and just said, ‘Lead the way,’ before he’d even finished explaining.

‘It’s not that Narien won’t talk to me,’ Beckett insisted once they were in the station corridor heading to the guest quarters they’d secured for the monk. ‘But he’s under no obligation to cooperate, and I think he knows I’m here to find out if he’s a bloody liar.’

‘I’m happy to assist,’ Rhade said, honest brow furrowing. ‘Though my interview training likely doesn’t align with yours.’

‘I don’t need you to ask questions.’ Beckett hesitated. ‘He spoke very highly of you. You in particular, sir; it’s clear he appreciates you saving him at Scarix, that he didn’t expect it of Starfleet, and I think he suspects you’re an outlier. I need you here, so he trusts me.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’ But then silence fell, and Beckett could feel the unspoken weighing down on them as they walked. Worst, Beckett knew he had far more unspoken than Rhade did. After all, they’d both kissed Rhade’s wife. Inevitably, Rhade looked at him and said, ‘How are you, Lieutenant? We’ve not spoken in a while.’

‘We don’t serve on the same ship any more,’ Beckett pointed out quickly, like that was the only reason. ‘But I assume you’re asking about Frontier Day.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Rhade said, firm and clear and with such sincerity that Beckett wanted to punch him. ‘I hope you acknowledge that. And Rosara doesn’t either.’

Beckett’s gut tied itself in knots, and he stared down the corridor as they walked. He was dealing with a Betazoid. However ethical Rhade was, he had to keep his emotions clamped down. The good news was that blistering, smothering, suffocating guilt was both unsuspicious and deeply sincere. ‘She’s said as much?’

‘No,’ Rhade allowed. ‘But – we haven’t properly talked about it.’

Shocker.

Either Rhade was more self-aware than Beckett knew, or he heard that. ‘I’m giving her space,’ he added quickly. ‘But the way she acts, the way she speaks of what happened to her… I know she knows you’re her friend, and you’d never hurt her.’

They reached Narien’s quarters, which stopped Beckett from throwing up in rage. ‘I’ll ask you to go in first, sir,’ he said sweetly.

The monk Narien was a scrawny Romulan with scraggly long hair tied back and a pronounced brow that gave him the look of a perpetual scowl. He looked suspicious on letting them into his small, very generically decorated quarters – bigger than Beckett’s on Endeavour, thanks to the space of a starbase – but brightened at the sight of Rhade. ‘Commander! It’s good to meet you in the flesh.’

The two shook hands, and Rhade’s calm smile looked to put Narien at ease immediately. ‘I’m glad we can meet. It looks like you’re settled in and have everything you need?’

‘What I need is to be on my way,’ Narien said with a tongue click, but he ushered them to the seating area. ‘But this young man keeps asking me if I’m a thief.’

Beckett gaped. ‘I’ve never asked that.’

‘You wanted to ask me about the history of the Order of Ste’kor. You’re very clearly trying to tell if I’m from the Order of Ste’kor, and that if I’m not, you assume that means I stole the artifacts from the monastery.’

Rhade raised his hands placatingly. ‘We have the greatest respect for the traditions of your people and want to understand them – not only to expand our own knowledge but to help you preserve your culture. But yes, Lieutenant Beckett does want to make sure that you’re not transporting ancient artifacts of the Order of Ste’kor to sell them to the black market.’

‘I’m not selling them to the black market,’ Narien said huffily. ‘I’m selling them to the Republic’s Institute of Science.’

Beckett leaned forward, gaping. ‘You’re telling me you’re a monk, and you are selling them?’

‘The Order of Ste’kor is dead. I am a monk. The Republic will preserve these antiquities, study them, put them to good use. I and my people do need money,’ Narien said simply.

Rhade frowned. ‘Your people?’

Narien hesitated. Then he looked at Beckett. ‘The Order of Ste’kor was founded in the earliest days of not merely the Romulan Empire but the exodus. As we travelled, as we embraced our passions free from the restrictions of the Vulcan dogma, we found we could not connect with our natural abilities so easily. It was the belief of some that our feelings inhibited our telepathic capabilities. The Order sought a way to stay connected without abandoning who we are.’

‘So you’re telepaths,’ Beckett said softly. ‘I knew that much.’

‘It is why our artifacts are essential,’ Narien continued. ‘I’m not any more telepathic than your average Romulan. I have a little more connection to these abilities through training, but it is… insignificant. Over the centuries, the order thus gathered objects – some of Vulcan history, some of other cultures, some things we brought with us – that were imbued with psychic energy. That allow us to expand our minds and retain some connection to something stripped from us by Vulcans.’

Rhade shifted his weight uncomfortably. ‘Experiments with psychic energy can be dangerous.’

‘Everything can be dangerous,’ Beckett cut in. He didn’t want Rhade’s experience with blood dilithium to cast a shadow over this discussion and looked back at Narien. ‘Where did you take these artifacts from?’

Narien hesitated. ‘I’m not here to supply Starfleet scientists with a new location for them to plunder.’

Beckett bit his lip. Then he said, ‘We know the monastery at Tirellia still has extensive storage facilities that nobody’s returned to. Did you take it from there?’

Narien tilted his head, staring at Beckett. At length, he replied, ‘Tirellia isn’t one of our monasteries.’

And Beckett smiled. ‘You’re right. It’s not.’

There was a beat, then Narien laughed. ‘A test. Very good, Lieutenant. Are you satisfied I am who you say I am?’

‘Yes,’ Beckett allowed, ‘but that doesn’t explain why you need to sell these goods. You could go to the Republic with them, surely, and continue your work?’

‘That’s not my duty any more. It hasn’t been my duty for twenty years – since before the supernova.’ Narien sighed. ‘What does it matter any more; the Star Empire’s gone. I was arrested for working with the Reunification Movement when I only wanted Vulcan research. The Empire exiled me. I’ve been with the Khalagu ever since.’

‘The Khalagu?’ Rhade said.

Narien looked like he might say no more, but then he met Rhade’s eyes and sighed again. ‘Exiles. The unwanted. Since before the supernova and continuing even as the Star Empire fell. Rejected from our society, we slunk to the Synnef Nebula. We’ve been there for decades, maybe centuries, a culture of nomads hiding beyond the reach of the Empire or Starfleet. I joined up with them twenty years ago upon my exile. I returned to Imperial space only to secure artifacts to sell to the Republic. The Khalagu are my people now. My home now. My purpose now.’

Beckett’s brow furrowed. ‘I’ve never heard of this group.’

‘Why would you? We crossed the Neutral Zone illegally and hid there. Then Starfleet turned their backs on the Romulan people. The nebula hides us.’ Narien shrugged. ‘There are planets and stars within it. We’ve a network of ships, stations, settlements scattered that have set up the resource acquisition we need, but for the most part, we wander between them, gathering and processing nebula gases for fuels. And we want to be left alone.’

‘So why head back to the monastery?’ Beckett asked softly.

Narien grimaced. ‘Aside from Rator’s collapse making it safer? The same reason I’m telling you all of this. We lived in a degree of harmony with the local troublemakers – we had nothing they needed, sometimes we traded, but otherwise, the gangs left us alone, and we them. But something’s changed. They’re expanding their operations, like you saw with the Three Lost Crows at the asteroid belt.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not selling artifacts of my order so we Khalagu can live more comfortably. I’m selling artifacts so we Khalagu can pay the likes of the Three Lost Crows to leave us alone.’

Rhade leaned back, eyes going to the ceiling. ‘The Three Lost Crows and other gangs use the Synnef Nebula. Of course they do. They can hide out there, smuggle there. It blocks half our sensors, half our comms.’

‘We know how to navigate it,’ said Narien. ‘Better than they do. But we don’t want much, Commander. We only want to be left alone.’

Beckett gave a slow nod. ‘I’d love to hear more from you about the Khalagu. This is a whole society thriving near us that we’ve never known about. Starfleet is in Midgard for the long haul, Narien; we can help each other. Thanks for putting up with the scrutiny, and I’m sorry for having to double-check your story.’

Narien shrugged, more relaxed now that he wasn’t being directly challenged. ‘It would be regrettable if artifacts of the order fell to the black market,’ he allowed.

‘We can let you be on your way-’

‘No.’

Both turned at Rhade’s interjection. The big man grimaced apologetically. ‘That is to say, of course you can be on your way, Mister Narien. We won’t stop you. But I ask you to stay a little longer.’

Narien frowned. ‘Why?’

‘We’re looking into the Three Lost Crows as we speak. Starfleet is here, and we’re here to stay, and that includes pushing back on a group that preys on innocent people. I’d appreciate it if you helped us as much as you can – and then we, in turn, can make the nebula, the region, safer for everyone.’

It was perhaps manipulative, though Beckett believed Rhade didn’t have a manipulative bone in his body. But it also meant that a source of sociological information as valuable as Narien might stick around. He straightened. ‘We can also help you make your sale to the Republic without going through dangerous territory. If we facilitate that trade… will you help us?’

‘No.’ Narien frowned, and Beckett’s heart sank. Then he looked to Rhade. ‘I will accept the offer of facilitating trade if you wish to make it. And I will stay a little. And I will help you. But not in exchange for that help. But for you, Commander. You saved my life. I owe you my time at the least.’

Well, thought Beckett as Rhade and Narien again shook hands, and he considered the work ahead of him trying to help broker the deal with the Republic. Fuck me, I guess, for trying to improve cultural connections when Captain Starfleet’s here to save the day.

And still, when they left, and Rhade clapped him on the back and said, ‘Good work, Lieutenant,’ it was impossible to not feel a little better at the vote of confidence.

They picked up the trail at Scarix. Initial sensor sweeps showed very little, but Thawn insisted they stop for several hours more. Kharth had been suspicious, yet once the radiation oozing from the dense clusters of borite in the asteroid field had been filtered out, the Betazoid officer gave them firm readings and a firm heading.

‘It’s some days old,’ she allowed. ‘But this was definitely the Kaplans’ course.’

Logan looked dolorously at the map display in the middle of the Vigilance’s cockpit. ‘Odds are good they headed for the Synnef Nebula.’

‘If they got too deep,’ chimed Lindgren, ‘no way we can track them.’

‘One step at a time,’ Kharth had said, not feeling very optimistic. The burdens of command meant she had to be the one reminding them they had to explore all options instead of warning how it might go wrong. It was not a pleasant feeling.

It took another two days of hunting. After one, they almost lost the trail, the Kaplans skirting near an ion storm that had since dissipated but obscured their warp trail. Kharth was sure this was intentional by the pirates, a small band wanting to avoid being followed after a confrontation with Starfleet. But their efforts to cover their tracks were, it turned out, no match for the sensor sorcery of Rosara Thawn.

‘It’s possible they took a more circuitous route so they could shake a tail,’ came her summary at last. ‘But if they were heading for the heart of the Synnef Nebula, I’m not sure why they wouldn’t travel at top speed. We’d never find them once they got too deep anyway. They ran the risk of someone catching up with them to hide their tracks.’

‘Which suggests,’ said Logan, scratching his beard, ‘they’re not just disappearing into the nebula.’

Lindgren reached up to the cockpit map display. ‘Sot Thryfar,’ she said, pointing at a dot on the coreward periphery of the nebula. ‘Intel always suggested it was the hub of raiders and smugglers in the region, but this was based on reports from the Republic. Those elements haven’t turned their eye towards Federation holdings before.’

‘Now we’re here,’ Kharth said, ‘that might be about to change. Don’t jump to conclusions yet, though. Follow the trail, Lindgren. If that leaves us to Sot Thryfar… so be it.’

The route wasn’t direct. But they followed the trail and, a day later, were entering the periphery of the Sot Thryfar system.

‘I’m picking up a lot of traffic,’ said Lindgren on the approach. ‘Most ships aren’t much, if any bigger than us, and the ones that are, are mostly cargo haulers.’

‘There’s one old Romulan bird-of-prey lurking around here,’ warned Logan from Tactical. ‘I think it’s more for show than anything else, I’m not reading a lot of activated systems.’

‘It’s a watchdog,’ Kharth agreed. ‘Any sign of our friends?’

Thawn at last shook her head. ‘Maybe I could pick out their warp trail, but now it’s overlapping with dozens. It would take time.’

Kharth looked from the sensor display to the view through the canopy. Sot Thryfar boasted numerous worlds and moons, many of which had settlements or platforms on the surface or in orbit. But it was the station at the heart of the system, a spoke-wheeled construction of old Romulan design modified and expanded over the years, that stood as the beating heart of activity. The nebula masked the system from most long-range sensors while allowing those here to see danger if it came their way. All manner of outfits, from smugglers to raiders to those whose business was simply illegal beyond Federation or Romulan space, could pitch up a hub or a base, and be about their business in a cease-fire of mutually assured destruction.

‘That station’s been there for decades,’ Lindgren said with a frown. ‘Since before the Supernova.’

‘The Neutral Zone may have kept peace between the Federation and Star Empire,’ said Logan, ‘but it also provided a no-go area for Starfleet and Galae Command, which was a gift to people who don’t care about interstellar law. Starfleet would shoot you down rather than let you breach the Neutral Zone, but if you crossed it first, they wouldn’t go after you.’

‘We’re being hailed,’ Thawn warned at a chirrup from her console. ‘It’s the station. Voice only.’

‘Put them on.’

‘Starfleet ship! Welcome to Sot Thryfar. This is a place of peace, of business, or negotiation. How can we help you?’ The voice was masculine, deep but ebullient.

Kharth heard the warning slide in. ‘Sot Thryfar Station, this is Commander Kharth of the Federation runabout Vigilance. We’re not here for trouble. We’d like to dock and stretch our legs.’

‘Of course,’ came the too-effusive response. ‘I’ll arrange you an approach pattern and a docking port. Leave all weapons aboard when you disembark.’

Kharth exchanged a frown with Logan before she asked, ‘Is that standard procedure?’

‘It is for Starfleet.’ The sickly sweetness did not stop. ‘Your safety is assured by the bonds of this station. Simply put, Commander, everyone else has something to lose by breaking the accord. You don’t.’

She sighed. ‘You’ve got me there. We’re just here to talk. We’ll be on our best behaviour.’

‘I know you will because you’ll be unarmed. Transmitting your docking directions now. Sot Thryfar Station out.’

Kharth reached up to scrub her face with her hands. ‘Marching into a neutral port where smugglers and pirates hang out, with no weapons. What could go wrong?’

‘More than you’d think,’ said Thawn, and Kharth would have snapped at her for responding to rhetorical snark if she hadn’t pressed on, gaze sombre. ‘I think those Kaplans are here.’

The moment they emerged from the airlock, they were surrounded.

‘Welcome to Sot Thryfar, Starfleet!’ boomed a wiry Bajoran man with salt and pepper in his hair at the head of a dozen-strong crowd of mixed species, genders, and attires, all toting overly large weaponry. He was not the traffic controller who had greeted them, and while his disruptor pistol lay nestled in a holster at his hip, it was clear he commanded the guns around him. ‘We’re your tour group.’

Kharth narrowed her eyes as she took in the group: dishevelled, with gear in varying conditions, and even the ones smiling looked like they were doing it with bared teeth. ‘This is some hospitality,’ she drawled. ‘I’m Commander Kharth. You are?’

‘Crow Ulrik,’ said the Bajoran with a smile like the edge of a blade. His name received a low hum of approval from the crowd.

‘Should that mean something to me?’ Kharth countered.

‘He’s one of the Three Lost Crows,’ said Logan in a low voice. ‘One of the founders.’

‘Points for the xB,’ said Ulrik, clicking his fingers at him. ‘My associates want a word. Because we are why you’re here, aren’t we? You followed my associates from Scarix in a hunt for justice?’

‘We followed your associates in a hunt for answers,’ Kharth said levelly. ‘We can do a conversation.’

‘Obviously,’ growled Logan, ‘we don’t need to warn you that if we don’t check in, Gateway Station knows where we are and this will turn from an investigation to a purge real fast.’

‘You’re here to get the lay of the land as newcomers,’ said Ulrik impassively. ‘We’re minded to have this meeting, and then you know the score, and then we see how things roll out in the sector. So you should come with me.’ But even as he turned, he clicked his fingers at one of his crowd. ‘Gale, watch their ship.’

Kharth’s eyebrows went up, and she turned to Lindgren. ‘Lieutenant, watch our ship.’ The pilot looked unhappy but nodded. As they fell into step, surrounded by the knot of Three Lost Crows, Kharth leaned toward Thawn. ‘Keep your senses open for danger.’

‘It’s always danger,’ Thawn replied flatly. ‘And deception. They don’t trust us. They’re ready for us to try something. I don’t think I can warn you of anything, Commander, you couldn’t guess for yourself.’

‘Always so reassuring,’ Kharth muttered.

‘This,’ Ulrik boomed as he led them down a series of corridors, ‘is the neutral hub of the sector. Don’t start trouble here, and nobody will start trouble with you. Anything you want, this is the place to arrange it. And that can extend to Starfleet, too, if you behave. Want to find lost treasures? Sensor readings of somewhere you’ve never been before? Intel on Romulan factions? That can be arranged!’ Everywhere they walked, the eyes of the disparate residents and visitors to the station were on them.

‘Let’s start,’ said Kharth in a measured voice, ‘with that “lay of the land” thing you mentioned.’

‘Of course,’ said Ulrik, ‘but it’s worth you knowing that there are benefits to behaving. Maybe next time you come, it’s not like this, huh? Ah, here we are. The Casbah.’

Every station had a recreational hub, and Sot Thryfar Station’s was huge. Stretching over three decks, through the dim lighting and neon highlights casting multicoloured hues and shadows across grubby plated bulkheads and decks, Kharth could see an array of eateries and stores, some pop-up stalls for food and trade, others more permanent businesses. Here, the officers stood out less; here, in the gloomy light and thick crowd, with their away jackets to make them less immediately recognisable as Starfleet, they were just another trio in the hubbub of the day.

‘You’re with us here,’ said Ulrik. ‘So that means you’re safe. Leave without causing trouble, maybe you’re safe next time. Wander off in the meantime? Can’t guarantee anything.’

Ulrik and the other Crows led them through the crowd to a cantina, where their escort was greeted with cheers and back slaps. The Starfleet trio were met with a mixture of surly mutters and the odd jeer, and one big Klingon pushed a tankard of something towards Kharth as a challenge in a way she felt targeted more than her uniform. But Logan stepped in, grabbing the tankard and looking the Klingon in the eye with a cheery grin before downing the entire contents.

Then he tossed the tankard to one side. ‘I’ve had better bloodwine in a Ferengi bar!’ The mix of cheers and jeers nearly took the roof off.

‘Are you in the habit,’ boomed a voice from above, and all noise stopped at once, ‘of frequenting Ferengi bars, Starfleet?’

Kharth craned her neck as the lighting inside shifted. In a heartbeat, what had been a roiling bar, or more likely a property owned and kept by the Three Lost Crows, took on more the feel of an arena. Shadows had hidden the upper balcony from sight, but now she looked up for figures above to be silhouetted against a bright light shining down on the Starfleet officers.

There were three of them, a pair near the front and one several feet away to the side. It took a moment before Ulrik ascended to join the pair, and Kharth’s throat tightened as she understood. The group had taken their name from a trio of pirates, and here the three were, together, looking down at Starfleet interlopers.

Logan still spoke first, addressed as he’d been. ‘I did have to pay in the Ferengi bar. So the hospitality here’s better.’

But there were no chuckles. The speaker was taller than Ulrik, and Kharth was left with an impression of sharp features, a beaked nose, a pointed chin. ‘Commander Kharth of the Endeavour.’ The voice was silkier now they weren’t interrupting, a mellifluous tone that could capture a room. ‘The ship that attacked the Rebirth at Teros.’

‘They had it coming,’ she said. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

‘And our ships at Scarix?’

‘We didn’t fight them. The monk you were marauding is fine, by the way.’

‘Let me be frank, Starfleet.’ The speaker leaned forward, bracing their arms against the railing. ‘We have been here for decades. Ulrik, Drinnia, and Tharos, the first Lost Crows.’ They gestured to their left and right at the first two names, leaving the last for themselves. In the silhouettes, Kharth could make out more of Drinnia, an iron-haired, square-shouldered woman with a glowering, piercing gaze. ‘And for decades, Starfleet did not care.’

‘For decades, this was the Neutral Zone. Times change.’

‘Even when it wasn’t the Neutral Zone, you didn’t care. People starved, people suffered, and who was there to help them? Not the Federation. Not the Empire. We were.’ Tharos shrugged. ‘Disrupt the balance of the Midgard Sector at your peril.’

‘You’ve disrupted it,’ Kharth pointed out. ‘Robbing Dyke Logistics at Scarix, threatening shipments from the Midgard Colony. Starfleet is here to stay, but we’ve barely stepped up our operations before you’re inviting trouble. Is that the point?’ She cocked her head. ‘Stir trouble, lure us here for a confrontation, and then… this?’ She waved a hand around the gathering. ‘This isn’t a meeting, it’s a statement. And not for us. It’s showing them that you won’t be intimidated by Starfleet.’

A new voice rang out, that of the woman Drinnia. ‘Then consider it a warning, Commander. You’ve grown bolder – so have we. We won’t be cowed. This region of space is ours. You’ll run soon, tail between your legs, ordered by your cowardly masters to hide behind your borders. You are a mere disruption. Don’t overstep.’

‘You have to know,’ said Kharth, ‘we won’t ignore you as you raid shipments from Midgard, rob Federation citizens at Scarix. If you don’t want a response, leave the Federation alone.’

The fourth figure, stood to one side, stepped closer to the leaders of the Three Lost Crows and leaned in. Words were passed that could not be heard. At length, Tharos stepped forward again. ‘Is that a deal you’re offering? Live and let live?’

Kharth’s shoulders slumped. ‘No,’ she sighed. ‘No, and you know it. Starfleet is here to stay, and we will protect people from thieves and raiders. Including you.’ It took more effort than she’d like to sound convinced that Starfleet would stay. Trust was tenuous, so very tenuous, after the Federation’s failure to commit to the region after the Romulan supernova. Only time could prove otherwise – to her, as much as to the Three Lost Crows.

Ulrik scoffed. ‘Good luck. You’ll never track our operations through the nebula, and you know it. Our ships will hit what they like and disappear like ghosts. You could have made an agreement, Commander. Behave at Sot Thryfar, and you can come back any time. But this was your only chance for an accord.’

‘You were never going to take it,’ Kharth scoffed. ‘Thanks for confirming that you’re high on Starfleet’s strategic concerns.’ She looked away from the trio and down to the crowd of the rest of the Crows. ‘Those three can talk big. The rest of you – you’ve got to evade Starfleet and get to the nebula on your operations. Are you looking forward to outrunning ships that aren’t decades-old, run-down Romulan warbirds and their exhausted crews? You can talk big today. It’s going to suck for you tomorrow.’

‘We’re done here,’ came Tharos’s voice from above. ‘Ulrik, show them back to their ship.’

‘Nah,’ said Kharth. ‘We know the way. We’re welcome at Sot Thryfar so long as we behave, right? And you don’t run this place.’

The eyes of all the Crows were on them as they left, but it was not until they were back in the hustle and bustle of the Casbah before any of them talked. Logan blew out his cheeks. ‘It don’t make sense to me,’ he grumbled, ‘why they step up their operations in response to Starfleet arriving. It’s just begging for trouble.’

‘They could have kept their heads down,’ Kharth agreed, ‘waiting for us to get stuck in with the Rebirth or someone else, and nibble at our ankles. They’re suddenly more aggressive than they’ve ever been.’

‘They’re scared,’ said Thawn quietly, and the others looked at her. The Betazoid grimaced. ‘That fourth person up there? Everyone was scared of her. Even the three leaders. More scared of her than they were of us.’

Logan drew a slow breath. ‘I don’t want to jump to conclusions,’ he said carefully, ‘but I could see in there better than I think they figured. She’s Orion. And I saw the kind of tattoos you’d see on someone important from Vondem.’

Kharth sucked her teeth. ‘That doesn’t mean Syndicate.’

‘It’d make sense, though, wouldn’t it?’ Logan pressed. ‘What could make the Three Lost Crows suddenly step up their operations? If the Syndicate are trying to move in, they’d need paying to back off.’

‘They were right about one thing, though,’ said Thawn. ‘Beyond influence, beyond posturing.’ At their gazes, she shrugged. ‘So long as they’re based out of the Synnef Nebula, so long as we know so little about it, we have no hope of finding them when they go to ground.’

The Crow called Gale looked much happier to be watching the Vigilance than Lindgren was being left behind. He sat on a packing crate across from the airlock, playing with a multi-tool while she leaned against the bulkhead next to the controls and wondered if she’d have been brought to the meeting if she were still a communications officer. Transferring to flight control was supposed to give her more responsibility, not less.

Then Gale looked up with a glint in his bright eyes. He was a wiry man in his thirties, a scar scraping along his stubbled chin, light brown hair long enough to need sweeping back to stay out of his eyes. After some minutes of silence, he said, apropos of nothing, ‘So why’s Starfleet even back?’

Lindgren watched him for a moment. She wasn’t going to be fooled by an affable or ignorant exterior, but nor was she going to shut down a line of communication. ‘We shouldn’t have left in the first place.’

‘Is that the official opinion, or just yours, Lieutenant?’

‘It’s my opinion,’ she said carefully, ‘and it’s the opinion of the people I work with, and the superiors I answer to. The ones who make actual decisions about the Midgard Sector.’

‘So Command, the ones at the top, could just… undo it at any moment, again.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Like they did the evacuation.’

She met his cool gaze. ‘Did that change things for you?’

‘Me personally? I wasn’t on Romulus. Professionally? Well, it meant we all of a sudden had a whole lot more folks out here needing help.’ He gave a smile like a streaking white shuttle. ‘Help Starfleet wasn’t giving.’

‘Is that something the Three Lost Crows do, then? Help people?’

Gale waggled his fingers. ‘Nah, I’m not being pulled into that. I say “yeah, we help people,” and then you say, “like you were helping people at Scarix?” like it’s a gotcha. I’ve got gotchas, too – like Starfleet helped people by pulling out in ‘85?’

Lindgren shrugged. ‘I was asking. We’re not here to fight, we’re here to talk. I don’t expect the Crows can help people for nothing – you have to run an operation, after all.’

It was his turn to sigh, and he flipped his multi-tool shut before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. ‘The Three came out here because Starfleet wouldn’t. Not just here, but half the damn frontier. Was there opportunity to thrive and survive outside the law? Sure. Was it the only way to get by when the vaunted Federation’s finest wouldn’t do a damn thing? You bet it was. Our options were to sit on frontier worlds and struggle and be neglected, toeing the line and getting nothing in response, or to make things our own way.’

‘Trying to help,’ Lindgren echoed. ‘Like the Fenris Rangers.’

Gale made a face. ‘The Fenris Rangers stir up trouble, and the Fenris Rangers get killed. We’re not trying to be heroes. We’re just trying to get by.’

‘This is the bit where I ask about Scarix.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, boo hoo, Dyke Logistics sweep in like a whole star system is theirs, and then they get a chunk taken out of them. What the hell do we owe Dyke Logistics? What do you owe Dyke Logistics? Is Starfleet out here to help, Lieutenant, or is Starfleet out here to protect the interests of the affluent and powerful?’

She bit her lip. ‘If Dyke Logistics invest in operations out here, that’s jobs and infrastructure that can help everyone. That’s opportunities for people living on sanctuary worlds, on planets the Star Empire of Rator pulled out from. If the Midgard Colony can freely trade with those planets, with the Republic, that’s more going around for everyone. And I care about the monk the Crows were trying to rob and kill.’

‘That’s a great party line, Lieutenant.’ Gale’s smirk widened, then he cocked his head. ‘What’s your name?’

She hesitated, then said, ‘Lindgren. Elsa Lindgren.’

‘Nice to meet you, Elsa,’ he said, and she felt his step towards intimacy as a negotiation of power, as an implication they were equals – or even that she was his inferior.

‘Do I just call you Gale?’

‘Most people do.’ Gale shrugged. ‘So that’s some argument. Let the Federation reach out here, bring its benevolence and investment, and everyone is helped – so long as we play by your rules.’

‘So long as you don’t rob and kill people, yes.’

‘So long as I get a job hauling borite for Dyke Logistics or for those self-centred arseholes on Midgard Colony – honestly, have you met them? They hate anything spinward of their system; they think it’s an outsider, an enemy, a threat to their little slice of self-important utopia. I get all of the benefits so long as I play by the rules.’

‘What’s so great about the alternative?’ Lindgren asked, trying to keep a challenge out of her voice. ‘Isn’t it dangerous? Lonely?’

He hesitated, then shook his head. ‘Out here I swing up to Rencaris and see what they need, then I negotiate at Sot Thryfar to get it, then I pick it up at Nemus Station. I put things right in the hands of people, instead of deciding what’s best for them from afar.’

‘And sometimes they try to shoot you.’

‘Only if I’m being really charming that day,’ Gale said, waggling a finger with a flicker of self-awareness that had her smirking despite herself. ‘And your point’s made, Elsa, but let me ask you this: If I play good, if I become a little drone for Dyke Logistics, if I decide to run haulage for Midgard Colony sending people only what Midgard Colony thinks they need or they want to spare, if I play by all the rules… where does that get me when Starfleet decides it’s too hard and pulls out again?’

Lindgren watched as his smile stayed intact, but a cool sharpness entered his gaze as his eyes met hers. She tilted her head, contemplating this for a moment, and then said, ‘I don’t know. But why, when Starfleet’s just showing up, did the Three Lost Crows decide it was time to start expanding violent operations, crimes, and theft?’

That made his gaze flicker. Gale leaned back against the bulkhead with an indolence she could tell was affected, and, after a moment, all he said was, ‘What makes you think that was about you?’

Before she could press the point, footsteps sounded down the corridor, and her three shipmates appeared moments later. Gale sprang up, all affable enthusiasm and masks of the irreverent pirate, and had she not been watching him closely, she wouldn’t have even remembered the apprehension in his eyes.

‘We’re leaving,’ Kharth grunted. ‘We’ve got all we’re going to get here.’

‘Always a pleasure to see Starfleet,’ Gale said with an over-the-top bow. ‘Come back any time, so long as you play by Sot Thryfar’s rules.’

But as the other three passed her to board the Vigilance, Lindgren turned back to him. ‘You don’t have to believe Starfleet Command’s here to help. Or even that we’re here to help. But nothing gets anywhere without a little bit of trust.’ She reached into her away jacket and brought out a small data-strip before handing it over. ‘My comm frequency. Try trusting that I’m here to help.’

Gale took it, head tilting with a glint of curiosity. ‘And what do you expect me to do with that, Elsa?’

‘That’s entirely up to you.’ She gave a smile, the disarming one which made everyone see the slight, blonde communications officer, the voice of the Endeavour she’d once been. ‘I’m happy to just talk.’

When Kharth paused at the turbolift door, Valance realised what had happened. The captain stood, trying her best to keep her body language casual, but the bridge crew was too accustomed to their CO doing nothing accidentally, and all eyes turned on her. That did seem to slightly help, at least, as Kharth – attention now off her – padded slowly towards the command chairs. Valance looked back to the bridge crew. ‘As you were.’

‘How far from the nebula are we?’ Kharth asked in a low voice as if this was the real issue.

‘About an hour.’ Valance’s gaze flickered from her XO to the right-hand command chair, and she paused, unsure how to broach this subject. ‘You’ve sat up here before.’

‘In the central chair,’ Kharth blurted transparently. ‘Temporarily.’

Valance narrowed her eyes. ‘Commander, you led boarding parties at Azure, the rescue team at Tagrador, secessionist forces at the Battle of Agarath. You can sit at your new post.’

She had not consciously tried to dare her XO to take the first officer’s chair for the first time. But it was a reminder of the tension between the two women and made clear to Valance a chain she could yank if she needed, as Kharth’s expression steeled and she sat as if it were no major issue.

That was not a tactic she could use too often, Valance thought, lest it backfire. ‘We still have some personnel problems,’ she said in a low voice as she took the central chair. ‘Rourke was telling me before we went.’

‘Our junior crewmembers are still traumatised?’ Kharth wondered aloud, eyebrows raised.

‘That,’ Valance allowed. ‘And T’Varel has been offered a teaching post. Advanced Engineering Courses for young officers needed to fill gaps in rosters across the fleet.’

‘Because the experienced officers are dead.’ Kharth sighed, scrubbing her face with her hand. ‘Can’t you get Riggs back?’

‘Maybe,’ said Valance. ‘But someone has to run things at Gateway. And this leads to the other thing Rourke said.’ She frowned at nothing in particular, then glanced around to ensure the bridge crew weren’t listening. ‘Our command staff has a, how did he put it? A people problem.’

Kharth’s expression didn’t change for a moment. Then she said, ‘But we’re so warm and welcoming. Like how you just settled your new XO by belittling her anxieties.’

Only Kharth would admit to anxieties just to score points. Valance’s expression pinched. ‘He said he wasn’t too worried about it at first, but when we have a lot of young crew who will need mentoring, it suits to have a lot of different approaches.’

‘You mean you coolly inspire, and I put the fear of the Gods in them, but neither of us are very good at kissing their boo-boos better. Isn’t this what we have Lindgren for?’

‘She’s far too junior,’ Valance pointed out. ‘But he did say something else interesting: that Logan’s been essential.’

Whenever she mentioned their new security chief, Kharth looked like she was about to chew glass. ‘Essential.’

‘Working with Carraway and the counselling sessions. Putting in the hours with a lot of junior officers. Apparently, everyone looks up to him. I suppose it helps to have him around as a clear sign that you can get better after the Borg.’ Valance worked her jaw. ‘This does mean that our most socially considerate officer is the xB.’

‘That’s damning,’ Kharth drawled. ‘So, what, we should get a new Chief Engineer who’s nice?’ She looked like she heard her words the moment she uttered them, heard the echo of their last Chief Engineer, and, with a wince, waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’ll talk to T’Varel.’

‘Is that supposed to keep her aboard?’ Valance said. ‘Rourke suggested we beef up our watch officers. Consider a new permanent counsellor. And he wants us to get someone into the Intelligence post before we go on more deep-space assignments to liaise with Harrian and assess local data from the SOC.’

Kharth shrugged. ‘Put Beckett back in the job.’

‘He’s… very green.’

‘Valance, everyone’s green now,’ Kharth pointed out. ‘We don’t need someone to be a super-spook; we need someone who can look at a load of info from our own work and external reports, sift through it to find what’s relevant, and weigh it against our operational needs. He did that in the Delta Quadrant. Hells, he did that last time we went out. The kid’s good. Never tell him I said that.’

Valance’s gaze flickered from Kharth to the front of the bridge, where Thawn sat next to Lindgren at the forward consoles. ‘I’ll consider it. We don’t need to make decisions now.’

‘We just need to decide if we want a new, cuddlier command officer or if we’re bringing Logan deeper into the fold when for every officer who’ll find him inspiring, another will hate him on sight,’ Kharth sighed. ‘I preferred it when all I had to do was consider what needed blowing up.’

It was not worth it to challenge her XO on her own self-deprecating comments, which in some ways bolstered Rourke’s criticisms. Regardless, Valance thought, they were in the field anew. Their crew were recovering from the trauma of Frontier Day, settling into this new form before these new horizons. After a solid week of harassing Rourke, she had what she wanted: they were on the move again.

‘We’re approaching the Synnef Nebula,’ called Lindgren less than an hour later.

‘On screen,’ said Valance, standing as if that would give her a better view. The screen at once filled with the kaleidoscope of golds and purples of the phenomenon, the bright-coloured clouds of space that blocked sight of any horizon and threatened all manner of storms within their depths. It was as if a child’s splash art had spattered primary colours across the cosmos and added mystery and threat to simple paint.

‘Our sensor readings pierce a half-light-year deeper than they did aboard the Vigilance,’ reported Thawn before Valance even needed to ask. ‘But our coverage is still slim.’

‘Mister Logan,’ called Valance. ‘Drop a buoy here. We’re going to head deeper into the nebula. Airex, calibrate our sensors to keep the buoy on our scans even through the interference. That’s our first litmus test.’

Airex nodded, hands darting across the controls. ‘I suggest we use our bussard scoops to intake a sample of nebula gases for analysis once we’re a light-year in.’

‘Get it done,’ Valance agreed.

‘Buoy deployed,’ Logan reported. ‘All we gotta do now is hope nobody makes off with it.’

‘Hells,’ Kharth hissed as Endeavour surged forward, deeper into the expanse of the fog cloud that blocked Starfleet’s vision of a whole corner of the sector.

It was more peaceful than Valance had expected. Over hours, they slid between the tendrils of gases, surging into the depths of Synnef. Soon enough, Thawn and Airex were at the aft of the bridge by one of the larger mission control displays, analysing the readings and arguing over sensor calibrations.

Late into the shift, Logan stepped away from Tactical to lean against the railing and look at the command chair. ‘This is going to be one of those “burning the midnight oil at both ends” kind of days, huh?’

Valance looked to Thawn and Airex and sighed. ‘I’m not sure I could stop them if I tried.’

‘Permission to run some minor drills below decks, then? A lot of the crew have nothing to do except keep the ship working through the nebula. Getting them moving, reminding them they can, for instance, report to stations quickly if needed, might even them out a bit.’ Logan’s lips twisted. ‘Kids are antsy.’

Why didn’t I think of that? Valance thought, then nodded. ‘Good thinking, Commander. Get it done.’

‘And when that’s completed,’ Logan said, raising his voice to address the rest of the bridge crew as he headed for the turbolift, ‘cards in at the Round Table?’

Valance looked at Kharth once the lift doors had shut. ‘He’s good,’ she murmured.

Kharth scowled. ‘I know,’ she said, and Valance chose to not interrogate that contradiction.

She did stop by for a card game. Just the one, because even if it was with the senior staff, some of whom she’d known for years, she was still the captain. Kharth lingered longer, at least, reminding Valance that for all of her XO’s flaws, she was part of the backbone of the ship, backbone of the crew. Her bark was integral to keeping things moving, and everyone knew it was worse than her bite – though they respected that, too.

Valance tried to start the next day by putting the pastries out herself for the morning briefing. It wasn’t the same without Carraway’s thoughtful arrangement, and when she asked Nestari to see to it, her yeoman looked at her like she’d asked her to lick mud.

‘I have a bachelor’s in management,’ Nestari pointed out. ‘I read and process your classified reports. You want me to be the tea lady? Ma’am?’ She did it. But it was plainly resented.

Why, Valance wondered, is the only person on the ship not a little bit intimidated by me, my own yeoman?

At 1100 hours, they lost contact with the buoy. Airex reported it first with mild curiosity, then, twenty minutes later, Thawn confirmed they couldn’t re-establish contact with rather more severity.

Valance rubbed her brow. ‘Lindgren, what does this mean for navigation?’

‘We’ve got the most sophisticated navigation systems in the quadrant,’ Lindgren said confidently. ‘If we drop another buoy here, we can work our way back.’

‘Recommend we do so,’ said Thawn with a hint of urgency. ‘Captain, I’m worried we could get turned around in here. The sensor interference is… unpredictable.’

Airex lifted his hands. ‘One step at a time, Thawn. Lindgren is right; we work our way back methodically, we’ll be fine. Our sensor calibrations are getting better, not worse.’

Another twenty minutes later, Thawn said, ‘We’ve lost the second buoy on sensors.’

Kharth sat up. ‘Are you telling me we’re now lost in the damned nebula?’

‘I can fix this,’ said Lindgren. ‘I set a heading, and we stick to it.’

‘Depending on the heading,’ Thawn said tartly, ‘that could be eighteen hours back the way we came or several days as you take us through the longest route possible to the edge.’

Logan turned on his chair and leaned on the railing. ‘Can’t we just reverse every single manoeuvre recorded in the ship’s systems?’

Airex sighed. ‘Theoretically. But there are courses and flows to this nebula that buffet and affect the ship. If we have a specific heading, we or the systems can compensate to stay on course, but otherwise, there’s no guarantee a certain course change with a certain amount of power in the manoeuvring thrusters will actually send us in the same direction.’

‘So we are lost,’ Kharth said.

‘Let’s not be dramatic,’ Airex said a little hotly. ‘We will get out. It may… take us some time, that’s all.’

Valance sighed. ‘Let’s do Commander Logan’s plan. Thawn, Airex, continue your analysis and sensor calibrations. We shouldn’t need to get far to re-establish contact with the buoy outside the nebula.’

‘Unless something happened to it,’ Thawn said ominously.

Airex rubbed his temples. ‘I’m getting Beckett up here,’ he said. ‘He’s gone through more of the intel reports on the nebula than anyone this past week. Maybe there’s something in the strategic records we haven’t seen.’

Two hours later, even with Nate Beckett joining the now much-terser analysis team of Airex and Thawn, Endeavour’s bridge crew were not certain they were any closer to the nebula’s edge. Kharth leaned over to Valance and said, ‘Rourke’s going to be insufferable if, after you insisted for days on taking the ship out, you just got lost.’

‘Thank you,’ Valance said coolly. Any further rebuttal was cut short as Airex spoke, his tone more urgent.

‘Contact! There’s a ship out there – no, two. No – six.’

‘Any ID?’ Valance called.

‘No recognisable transponder signal,’ said Logan, hands racing across controls. ‘They’re all pretty small – the largest’s no bigger than our runabouts – and I’m reading mostly Romulan build configurations.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Doesn’t look like Republic, though. Could be trouble.’

‘Yellow alert,’ Kharth instructed.

‘We’re being hailed, Captain!’ called Kally from the rear. ‘They must have some sort of signal booster; it looks like we can get visual.’

‘On screen.’ The viewscreen shifted to show the cramped, rather run-down and heavily modified cockpit of what had once been an Imperial Romulan scout ship but had clearly been stripped down since. Valance tilted her chin at the sight before her – two Romulans, a human, and an Acamarian.

‘Federation starship, state your business,’ came the Romulan woman’s cool command.

She stood. ‘I’m Captain Valance of the USS Endeavour. We’re here on a survey mission of the nebula, nothing more.’

The Romulan looked at her instruments. ‘From your careening around this past hour, you appear to be lost.’ She shrugged at Valance’s expression. ‘Yes, we were monitoring you.’

‘We mean you no harm,’ said Valance. ‘Our ships are newly assigned to the sector, and as you can clearly tell, the nebula is poorly understood by Starfleet. We’re here to study it.’

‘Study it, I assume, so you can send ships into it. And not just for science.’

‘You seem much more comfortable navigating it.’

‘We are.’

There was a wave at the edge of Valance’s vision, and she gestured for Kally to mute and turned. ‘Mister Beckett?’

His gaze was a little frantic. ‘They might be – listen, it’s just a theory and I don’t know how they’ll respond but -’

‘Do you want to talk to them?’ Valance ushered him up.

Awkwardly, Beckett stepped forward and gestured for Kally to unmute before he turned to the viewscreen. ‘Hi! I’m Lieutenant Beckett. Are you, ah – are you the Khalagu?’

The Romulan woman’s expression did not change. ‘You’ve heard of us.’

‘You are? Great!’ He clapped his hands together. ‘We saved your friend Narien. Well, a different ship did. Starfleet did. He’s at Gateway Station; we’re helping him sell the things he was bringing here. He’s fine, by the way.’

There was a moment as the Khalagu crew leaned in towards each other, murmuring. Then the leader looked back. ‘Saved?’

‘Oh. Three Lost Crows went for him,’ Beckett offered. ‘The USS Tempest pulled him out of trouble and brought him to us. He talked about you. You’ve got more understanding of the nebula than anyone, clearly, and, look – we don’t want pirates breathing down our neck any more than you do. We can help each other.’

‘We have no need for Starfleet help,’ came the cool reply. ‘But it seems you have need of our help. We’ll escort you out of the nebula, Endeavour, and ask you to not stick your noses where they don’t belong again.’

Beckett sucked his teeth. ‘Starfleet doesn’t really go anywhere once we get settled in, you have to know that. We could share information -’

‘Starfleet does, actually, disappear. Your history says as much. You want information on the nebula; we don’t want information on anything. If you helped Narien, we can help you get out of here. But we have nothing to say to each other, otherwise.’ The Romulan shrugged. ‘We will head for the edge of the nebula. You can follow us if you want. Or stay here.’

The signal was cut, and Beckett turned with a wince. ‘Damn! They really don’t like outsiders, do they?’

‘Let’s start,’ Valance said levelly, ‘with getting un-lost. Follow those ships, Lieutenant Lindgren.’

‘Aye, Captain. Bringing us into formation.’

‘Everyone else… keep running scans. Let’s try to salvage at least some information out of this mess,’ Valance sighed, sinking back into the captain’s chair as her bridge crew returned sheepishly to her stations.

‘I don’t know what Rourke’s talking about,’ Kharth muttered as she leaned in. ‘We’re clearly great with people.’

‘I don’t care how squirrelly he is, Lieutenant,’ Valance told Beckett. ‘I want to talk to him.’

The operations of the squadron itself, as the Starfleet formation focused not merely on the day-to-day of Gateway Station but the Midgard Sector as a whole and any more long-ranging duties that needed attending, such as the Swiftsure at Deneb, were based out of offices on the starbase. Valance and Xhakaza retained small offices aboard, with space to liaise with figures such as Harrian as the strategic operations officer, or Ambassador Hale as the lead Diplomatic Corps representative. Some day, Beckett expected Rourke to pick up a chief of staff to help manage things down here, and, worse, for Cortez – on her return to the sector – to set up space as the lead of the squadron SCE.

He liked Cortez. He just didn’t want to be there when she and Valance had to work together.

For now, he and Valance were in the rather bare central office, which bore another large meeting table and a large holographic display for briefings and analysis. And the captain was pretty pissed.

‘I don’t know what you think Narien can do to help,’ Beckett said haplessly. ‘He’s still here because we’re helping him, and he’s made it clear he’s weirdly besotted with Commander Rhade, but it’s not as if he really likes or trusts us or would vouch for us.’

‘The Khalagu are our best chance of having actual allies in the Synnef Nebula,’ Valance pressed. ‘We have to try.’

The willowy monk did not look much more impressed by Valance’s pitch, once he’d been brought down to the offices and heard what she had to say, than he had by Beckett’s or even Rhade’s. At length, he said, ‘You do understand that rebuilding trust comes from more than saying please, Captain?’

Valance, sat across the meeting table from him, tensed. ‘I offer more than that, Mister Narien. Your people are being beset by the Three Lost Crows. We can help.’

‘We’re handling this situation. We’ve been self-sufficient for decades, and that won’t stop. Aligning ourselves with Starfleet would make a statement, Captain. We’d struggle to reach any agreement with the Crows, or indeed anyone else, again. You can proclaim all you want that you’re here to stay, but you’re asking us to throw our lot in with you on nothing but faith – faith that the Romulan people have no reason to put stock in.’

There was a pause as Valance took this in. Then she leaned forward, clasping her hands together. ‘You’re right,’ she said, with a more circumspect air than Beckett, cringing in the background, had hoped. ‘It’s a tremendous ask, for the Khalagu to immediately side with us when we’d need their help in order to help them. And the Three Lost Crows – anyone at Sot Thryfar who dislikes us – would see that as an alliance if Starfleet ships immediately swept into the nebula, aided and guided by the Khalagu.’

Narien settled a little but looked suspicious at this acquiescence. ‘It would.’

‘Then forgive me for asking for everything from the outset. We need to prove ourselves to you. One of those ways, I’m sure, would be with time. If Starfleet had been settled here for five years and were asking for help, that would be different, I imagine. I can’t make that happen yet. How else can Starfleet demonstrate we want to be friends with the Khalagu?’

That made the monk go silent. He scratched his chin in thought. ‘We aren’t accustomed to people wanting to be our friends. And you want something from us -’

Valance lifted a hand. ‘You have the power here. There’s nothing we can take from you because what we want is your help and your knowledge. All I’m asking is how we can help, or what we can do for you to consider taking our help.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not looking to be manipulative. Starfleet is here to try to reach out to the whole of the Midgard Sector. You’re part of it.’

‘A fascinating part,’ Beckett burst in, unable to stop himself. ‘A nomadic group, an offshoot of Romulan society living in a phenomenon we understand very little, who’ve adapted to develop your own culture and your own practices unlike any other. It would be untenable for Starfleet to stand by and watch that be stamped out because of growing piracy.’

Narien glanced between them, wincing. ‘We don’t want anything, Captain. We want to be left alone. We’re all people who’ve left our society behind, by choice or otherwise, and come together looking for someplace we can thrive and belong. It binds us together, and it also makes us rather disinterested in what anyone from outside has to say or offer.’

‘Trade?’ Valance offered vaguely. ‘You have a setup where you filter nebula gases for deuterium for fuel, yes? Can we offer you more fuel, means of improving your filtration methods? Not to make you reliant; trade creates interactions, which foster relationships.’

‘People would see that as Starfleet trying to make us reliant, or interfering with our processes,’ Narien sighed.

‘What about just… visitors?’ said Beckett, shrugging. ‘You must have moments of cultural importance, celebrations. Can we send delegates? I’m not saying big and formal representatives, just…’

‘You?’ Narien said, not unkindly. ‘We can consider it. But I don’t know how much use it would be if you showed up for one day as an outsider.’

Valance tilted her head. ‘What about more than one day?’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Narien.

She looked at Beckett, who felt his heart surge at whatever was coming next, his instincts faster than his thoughts in catching up with the excitement as Valance said, ‘What if, when you return to the Khalagu, Mister Narien, someone comes with you, looking for nothing more than to spend time with your people? Live among them for a time, learn of your culture? We would be prepared to offer something in exchange, and can discuss terms. But the point would be nothing more than for us to try to understand each other a little.’

‘An immersive ethnography,’ Beckett gushed.

‘And a diplomatic outreach,’ Valance amended.

Narien’s eyebrow quirked at Beckett. ‘I wouldn’t call it that, Lieutenant, if you don’t want to sound like we’re specimens in your lab.’’

‘I’m sorry,’ Beckett said quickly. ‘But the principles of ethnographic research – ethical ethnographic research – demand we put the participants first, and that the researcher is a participant. It’s not about studying you. It’s about trying to learn about you first-hand, with the highest levels of respect.’

Narien leaned back with a sigh, blinking as he thought. ‘I can’t promise anything. But bring one or two people on a ship you can live on and demonstrate you are committed – that you will spend weeks, maybe months out there – and my people may accept that. You’d have to travel in the nomadic groups, learn with us, work with us. Contribute to the community. I can see what they think. Leave it with me, Captain.’

He departed then, but the moment he was out the door, Beckett rounded on Valance. ‘One or two people in an Orion-class could do it.’

‘It would be two,’ she said archly. ‘I’m not sending you in there alone.’

‘Me?’

‘You’re clearly volunteering.’ Her gaze softened. ‘I know this is exciting, Beckett. But you’ve also tried to go ground before.’ At his look, she shifted her weight uncomfortably. ‘After the Delta Quadrant. And now Frontier Day…’

Beckett hesitated. ‘Can it be both things? Is it that bad if I take a little time away from… from people? That might be best for everyone.’

Valance sighed. ‘I’ll run this past Commodore Rourke. And I want you to take this immediately to Logan and Airex for evaluation, as a research project and a security issue. But when you’re back, or even if this doesn’t happen, you and I are having a discussion about your future, Lieutenant. And you won’t be going anywhere long-term until that happens.’

It was strange to be threatened by Valance with consideration for his future wellbeing. Still, Beckett left with a bounce in his step, and because he didn’t want that to be immediately dampened, he took it to Airex first.

‘This is incredible,’ was the first thing the science officer said when Beckett returned to Endeavour and found him in his office. ‘If they let you conduct full participant observation in a culture arising from the post-Supernova Romulan diaspora…’

‘Plenty of them are pre-Supernova,’ Beckett said eagerly. ‘They’re a full culture established from outsiders from Romulan society -’

‘But different to the refugees – out there for different reasons -’

It was not difficult to begin plans with Airex for a full research proposal. The difficulty was acknowledging, four hours later, that he definitely needed to talk to Logan about it.

He found Endeavour’s new security chief down in the gymnasium and was greeted at one of the playing courts with a rattle as Lieutenant Tyderian slammed a basketball through a hoop, much to the whoops of his teammate Lieutenant Zherul.

As Forrester threw her hands in the air in frustration, Logan, dressed – as they all were – in exercise gear, slapped her on the back. ‘Don’t worry, Tes. We got ‘em right where we want ‘em.’

‘They’re ahead,’ Forrester said flatly.

‘Right where we want ‘em!’ But Logan spotted Beckett and waved a hand. ‘Nate! You joining us?’

Beckett hesitated, looking across the playing court where Logan and a smattering of the other young officers who’d been assimilated on Frontier Day had gathered for this informal game. Then he waved Logan off, heading for a bench. ‘Later, Commander. It’s fine.’

Before he could turn away, Logan had given Forrester an apologetic look. ‘Looks like we forfeit here.’

‘No,’ Beckett said quickly. ‘You don’t gotta -’

‘Thank God,’ drawled Forrester.

Zherul laughed. ‘You just hate getting your ass kicked, Tes.’

‘Are you saying I hate losing? Because yes, you’re correct.’

The young officers left, joshing and digging at each other, and Logan grabbed a water bottle and a towel before he joined Beckett at the edge of the court. ‘What’s on your mind?’

Beckett winced. ‘You didn’t have to do that. You’re off duty.’

‘But you came looking for me anyway.’

It was true. There was no urgency to the plan – the proposal still needed writing, and he could discuss the project with Logan in the morning – and still, he’d come down here. Beckett took a deep breath. ‘There’s progress with the Khalagu.’

Logan listened, making noises in all the right places, including sounding intrigued by the expedition. ‘Two people job, the captain said,’ he said at last. ‘Who would you take with you?’

Beckett shrugged. ‘I guess someone who can help keep the ship running in good order or maybe help the Khalagu. A pilot or someone technical. Harkon would probably love this. Maybe the new girl, Fox?’

Logan nodded. Then he said, ‘Did you talk to her?’

‘I should make my recommendation to the captain before I try to recruit -’

‘I don’t mean Fox.’

Now Beckett realised why he’d sought Logan out and hated himself for it. He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I went through Elsa. I know she’s not… I know she doesn’t hate me or anything. But I still can’t look at her.’

‘Forgiving yourself,’ Logan began carefully, ‘can only happen if you reach out to the people you hurt first.’

‘That’s not it.’ Beckett winced. ‘I mean, it is, but… this is going to sound totally fucked.’ Logan stayed silent, bright eyes on him, clearly aware that so much as a squeak in the wrong place would make him clam up. He sighed. ‘Is it possible… is it reasonable… for being in the Collective to have…’

He trailed off, words feeling like they were unfit for purpose or in some way sacrilegious. Logan tilted his head. ‘If you’re about to suggest there may have been a positive to your experience on Frontier Day, I am the last man to judge.’

It felt like lead was in his throat as he swallowed. ‘We lose ourselves in the Collective, right? In the – the soup of everyone. But it also kind of… boils us down to our essential self. I don’t mean like, coming out of it puts us back together and we figure out our boundaries of who we are, though, uh, that too…’

‘But there’s no doubt in the Collective,’ Logan said gently. ‘There might not be a yourself, but there also is, at the same time. Alongside and inside everyone. And you can’t hide from yourself in the Collective. You can’t lie to yourself in the Collective.’

‘I don’t remember it, not really,’ Beckett said quickly. ‘Or rather, it’s like the weirdest and darkest dream. It’s not like I remember anything about anyone else. But, yeah.’

‘You’ve been taken apart and put back together, Nate. There’s no shame in finding clarity in that. The Borg are many, many things, but they are not deceptive.’ Logan stepped forward and clasped his shoulder. ‘It’s not a betrayal of yourself to find some good in what you went through. If being assimilated and then escaping their grasp helped you be surer of who you are – you, an individual – then that’s a victory against the Collective.’

The lead dissolved a little, but in the wake of its weight was a new burden in his chest – apprehension, fear. ‘I don’t know what I do about it, though.’

‘Sure,’ said Logan. ‘But I know what I’m gonna do.’

‘Sir?’

The former Borg flicked the towel over his shoulder, grinning. ‘I ain’t giving your little expedition the go-ahead until you have yourself a conversation.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Thawn tried to not fidget as she looked at Rhade across the breakfast bar in his quarters. ‘You want us to go on… what, a vision quest?’

The perennially patient man, who had put up with all her manoeuvring and evading, sighed, and she heard the edge of frustration. ‘Let us be honest, for once, Rosara. The situation between us is not sustainable.’

Her guilt flickered when she remembered how much he’d lied to her, too, and what he’d lied about. ‘I don’t see why playing with a Romulan artifact will change anything.’

She went to stand, but he reached across the table and grabbed her hand. ‘What do you see our future as?’

It took effort to not jerk free of his grasp. ‘Right now? We commit to our duty here, to Starfleet and to this frontier.’

‘And after?’ At her hesitation, he looked up. ‘In ten years? Twenty years?’

Now, she slipped her hand away, sliding rather than pulling. It felt like a distinction to her but didn’t look like one to him. ‘You’re asking if I’ll give up my career for our marriage.’

Rhade’s eyes widened an iota. ‘I don’t think you want that. I never intended on serving in Starfleet my whole working life, however. You know that. We’ve made oaths to one another -’

‘We’ve signed a legal agreement; that’s not oaths in the eyes of our people -’

‘Then let’s do that,’ Rhade said flatly and stood. She was acutely aware, just for that heartbeat, of how much taller he was, broader and stronger. Even though she knew he had no intention of using his size against her, it was impossible to not be aware of it in any of his flashes of frustration. ‘If you’re in this, Rosara, let us go to Betazed and be married properly. If that’s not what you want, then please, please, tell me. If you’re not sure, then let us try something to show us the way.’

Thawn swallowed, throat leaden. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, thinking about how she could delay or distract him. ‘Now, I really have to get to work, and so do you.’

‘Come here this evening,’ Rhade said, firmer than he normally was when she tried that. ‘And we can discuss this more.’

‘I will,’ she said. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. But she certainly only said it so she could slip away from the conversation.

She was halfway to the science lab Airex had commandeered for analysis of their sensor readings on the Synnef Nebula when her combadge chirped. ‘Lindgren to Thawn. We’ve got an emergency up here.’

Elsa would be part of the analysis, taking a navigator’s perspective. Thawn picked up the pace. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘The commander just told me there’s a frozen yoghurt stand on the Arcade, and we don’t have any up here.’

Thawn stopped dead in the corridor. ‘Are you asking me to go on a snack run?’

‘Yep. Commander Airex wants the -’

‘They do tropical fruits, and I’m deeply curious which tropics,’ Airex’s voice cut over, a little more distant.

‘And get me the blackberry and apple.’

Thawn pursed her lips. ‘I am a highly qualified sensor technician -’

‘So you can order whatever you want! See you soon.’

Had Lindgren been a worse friend, Thawn told herself she wouldn’t have been a gofer for snacks. But that was untrue because Commander Airex also wanted a mid-morning snack, and there was no universe where Thawn did anything that might lose her the respect of a superior officer she looked up to. Or any superior officer, really.

With a grumble, she changed course for the Arcade. The mid-morning crowd was always an odd mix, with crewmembers generally too deep into their shifts to make an appearance, so a smattering of civilians on station time went about their business while visitors for whom it could have been approaching their sleep cycle wrapped up their days. The management of the Arcade thoughtfully kept the night-life, which never really stopped, in a different section to the more exclusively breakfast and lunch venues, but to get there Thawn still passed the entrance, pulsing with heavy rock music, to the Paradox nightclub and heard raucous, intoxicated laughter spill out from the Crowbar.

The frozen yoghurt shop was very small, bright pinks and whites in decoration, and with its cutesy name – The Ice Patch – Thawn found it all a bit too overwhelmingly twee to be comfortable with it. So she was already in a poor mood when she stepped in and found, sitting at one of the handful of tables before the main booth, Nate Beckett.

Her back immediately tensed, and this only got worse when he sat up expectantly at the sight of her. ‘What’s this?’ she said archly before she could stop herself. ‘Getting in one last snack before you run away again?’

His response was worse than she expected, as he neither cowered nor bit back. Instead, Beckett clasped his hands in front of him and smiled. ‘Hi, Rosara. I’d love it if you sat down.’

They hadn’t properly spoken since Frontier Day, she realised, and her first words to him were a gibe. Shame-faced, she sat on the pink-upholstered stool opposite. ‘I’m sorry. I heard about the expedition and I…’

‘Reached conclusions,’ he said, far more charitably than she felt she deserved. She felt his eyes flicker to her throat, and while the smile had clearly been a shield, now he softened in sincerity. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, with emphasis to mean it rather than deflect. She met his gaze. ‘Honestly, Nate – I’m okay. Commander Logan found me quickly, Ed did good work, I’m okay. I know I just snapped, but… look, I hear this expedition could last weeks, months, and I – I heard you might not be coming back.’

‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ Beckett mused. ‘But it’s true that the captain wants to discuss my future once the expedition’s over. And that future might not be on Endeavour.’

‘And I’d hate it,’ Thawn said in a guilty rush, ‘if that was because of me.’ The implication felt too laden, and she stumbled. ‘Because of Frontier Day. Because you feel guilty.’

‘Of course, I feel guilty. But that’s not your problem.’ He’d had an aura of certainty around him at the start. Now he fidgeted with the disposable spoon in his froyurt tub. ‘I might not be coming back. And yes, that’s because of you. That’s because of us. We did this dance before, Rosara, and then I came to Pathfinder and we both came back to Endeavour and… don’t tell me it’s working.’

She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t stay away from you to make you feel bad. I stayed away because… I thought you might want space. I can’t imagine what you went through on Frontier Day, I can’t imagine what it was like…’

‘It was awful,’ he said honestly. ‘It was the worst day of my life. I cannot… when it ended, and I realised what I’d done, I…’ He looked down, gaze going vacant for a moment, and she couldn’t help but feel the swell of horror and guilt in him before he tamped it down. He swallowed and looked up. ‘But it helped me realise something. You were right.’

‘I was?’ She had no idea what she’d possibly said, in all of their swirling interactions, she could possibly have been right about.

‘About what you said last time we were here on the Arcade. And what you said when we were leaving the Delta Quadrant. That you don’t know what I want from you.’ He sat up, taking a deep breath like he was steeling himself.

Fear ran through her veins like ice, and Thawn’s throat tightened. ‘Oh, Great Fire – you arranged this with Elsa, this was all a plan -’

‘I want you,’ Beckett said with deceptive simplicity. ‘I don’t want that to be “wrecking your life,” or however you put it. But I don’t think you’re happy with Rhade, I don’t think you’re happy with the arrangement. I think you’re still chasing your family’s needs and approval, and I think you’re going to do it until it screws you up inside so bad you don’t have even one feeling left, and I know what that’s like.’ He leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. ‘I want you to leave all that behind, and be with me.’

Her mouth went dry, and when she managed to speak, his earnest gaze still on hers, it came out more as a croak. ‘I don’t understand what’s…’

‘…what’s changed?’ His smile was a grimace. ‘Good question; both of us have been dancing about because anything else meant sticking our necks out. You didn’t want to throw everything away on some dumb flirtation, and I didn’t dare put myself out there and ask you to give up your bonds to your family and society for me. Let’s just say that Frontier Day gave me perspective. Life is short, sure, but who we are is stupidly precious and…’ He looked like he was chewing on words, gaze flickering away with a completely different kind of guilt until he managed to say, ‘I got taken apart and put back together, being in the Collective for even a few hours. That included my lies to myself being taken apart, and what I really felt being put back together. And what there was… was you.’

Thawn went to push away from the table, feeling the old instinct to run and hide, deflect, as the rushing weight of feelings and obligations began to form on her horizon like the maelstrom she’d turned away from her whole life. Only guilt kept her locked in place for a moment more. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘I don’t expect an answer right away,’ Beckett agreed. ‘But I think I do deserve an answer. And if this isn’t what you want? I’ve got to stay away. We’ve got to stop doing this stupid dance. So if this isn’t what you want, I’ll take that expedition, I’ll talk with Valance once this is done, I’ll get a good job somewhere and I’ll leave you alone to your life.’ He stood instead, and straightened his uniform jacket. ‘Otherwise, what you’ve got to do is really simple.’

She looked up at him, barely daring to assemble the question, like more than a whisper might make this all come crashing down. ‘Which is?’

His smile was sad as he shrugged. ‘Ask me to stay.’

Then he left, his words shuddering through her enough to make her fingertips numb. And even when he was long gone, even when the serving staff behind the counter were giving her pointed looks at the table space she was hogging, she still didn’t have answers.

‘Oh no,’ Thawn gasped to herself eventually. ‘I don’t know if they actually wanted froghurt.’

‘Explain to me again,’ said Thawn, trying to keep the bite out of her voice, ‘how this is supposed to work.’

Narien had them sat cross-legged on the floor of Rhade’s quarters, the lights dimmed to an atmospheric, gentle gleam. Between them sat the unassuming, carved wooden box he’d brought and had yet to open. ‘It’s a ritual derived and adapted from old Vulcan methods and meditations,’ he began, with a hint of wry superiority about his ancestry. ‘But where they used the Arev as a tool of emotional control, suppressing themselves, our monks developed means of drawing on its inherent psychic energy for far deeper insights.’

She looked to him because it was preferable to looking at Rhade. ‘It isn’t purporting to show us the actual future,’ she stated with unavoidable scepticism.

He gave a sardonic smile. ‘That wouldn’t be possible, would it? No. You do have a vision which appears to be of your future, but rather than any magical insight, it’s drawn from your subconscious. It’s a construction based on what you know – including what you don’t realise you know – and your capacity to analyse and extrapolate. The point isn’t to tell you what’s next. It’s to show you the depths of the path you’re on.’

‘What,’ asked Rhade quietly, ‘is the Arev itself?’

Narien knelt between them and reached for the box. ‘This.’

There was no reason for the object inside to shine. Thawn could feel by the faint pressure behind her eyes that it wasn’t glowing, that this was nothing but a psychic illusion – but it was a powerful one. That was enough to make her tense, and she felt Rhade do the same, the two of them at once painfully reminded of the influence of Blood Dilithium mere months ago.

His eyes flickered to hers. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘You mean you don’t have to do this,’ she said, indignation overriding sympathy. He’d been more susceptible to Blood Dilithium than her. She’d been the one to marshal control over the psychic trumpet, liberate the echoes trapped within, while he’d succumbed wholly to the violent urges. ‘This was your idea, Adamant.’ Perhaps shaming him to press on was not the kindest choice. But they had come this far, and she didn’t know how to turn back.

‘Arev is an old Vulcan word for “desert wind,”’ said Narien. ‘The winds you listen to as a matter of survival. We lost our records on exactly where the crystal was found. But we know some of how to use it. All I need you to do is reach out with your minds and connect with it. I can do the rest to guide you.’

But he kept his hand on the box, she noticed, whatever capabilities he had far less powerful than anything the two Betazoids could bring to bear. What could go wrong, she wondered, with this relative child harnessing something ancient and powerful so intimately connecting with who and what they were? Did he truly comprehend the powers with which he toyed?

But the alternative was, again, to turn back. Rosara Thawn closed her eyes and reached out with her mind.

Red alert sirens blaring. Crimson gleaming to life from dark, stable and intimate as a heartbeat, bathing the walls in blood. Arm thudding in agony, Thawn lay on the deck of Endeavour’s bridge and knew what she’d see when she rolled over.

But it wasn’t the lifeless face of Noah Pierce beside her. It was his doppelganger who stood looking down, expression twisted in a rictus of hate he’d never worn because that would suggest that man, the one who’d tortured her, had cared. He reached down, and she reeled away, a scream catching in her throat.

As she turned, this time she did find a corpse beside her. Not Noah Pierce, but Connor Drake, who’d sat beside her at helm after him, and died on another day as pointlessly and brutally.

Her eyes slammed shut. At the edge of her hearing, there was a whisper, something calling her from far away. She opened her eyes again as if that would help her make it out –

And just before everything went black again, she saw the face of the corpse before her wasn’t Connor Drake’s any more. It was Nate Beckett’s.

Come to me, Narien’s voice commanded. Away from this. Come to me.

As if she’d erupted from dark, drowning waters, Thawn gasped to light. The bridge was gone, the klaxon was gone, and all around her was soft sunshine, gentle fields, and, in the distance, the soaring white towers of the cities of Betazed.

‘…and we’re looking for these projects for green-lighting, Director.’

She sat at fine outdoor furniture on a sun-soaked patio and was presented by a smartly dressed young Betazoid woman with a PADD. Without reading it all, her eyes soaked up the details: software development, projects to change the face of the next iteration of LCARS, plans to push the envelope on how people used the most essential and everyday technologies.

Thawn took it to skim through. Once relieved of the PADD, the attendant reached to refill her glass of something cool, sparkling, and emerald. ‘I’ll review them before the day’s up.’

‘Very good, Director. And your aunt would like you to speak at the conference next month.’

‘We’ll have to check my schedule,’ said Thawn with a coolness that surprised herself. It did not come naturally to her to consider refusing her aunt so easily. ‘Thank you.’

The attendant left, the footsteps of her departure fading into the birdsong from the nearby bushes. All around was neatly cultivated, the sweet scent of the tresioss flowers along the hedgerow filling the air, but one only had to look a little further across the gently bowing blades of the lawn to see the distant trees and their thick undergrowth. It was serene, harnessed, but a mere minute’s walk could bring her to some wilderness.

Or what wilderness had been let in.

It was from there that the next sound came. The footsteps this time were faster and more irregular, and Thawn could almost picture the sight before she saw it: Adamant Rhade, mussed and windblown, emerging from that wilderness with a blond, laughing child slung under his arm.

‘Got you!’

And together, they advanced, father and child, delighted to join her.

‘It doesn’t count if you use telepathy!’ came the inevitable accusation of cheating.

‘It’s not telepathy,’ was Rhade’s easy counter, ‘when you’re as loud as a Talarian warthog.’

‘Mum, he’s cheating…’

‘I’m not getting involved,’ Thawn found herself saying and looked up at her husband. ‘Your meeting’s tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I won’t be at the palace for long,’ Rhade said as he nodded confirmation, setting their golden-haired child down on the patio. ‘I’ll be back by dinner. Then we need to talk schools.’

‘Boarding school -’

‘Did me no harm.’ But Rhade’s grin softened. ‘We can talk about it.’

Even that flicker of dissent came and went with no more discomfort than swallowing. Her heart had surged as he’d emerged from the hedgerow, as he’d hauled their child into his arms. Now they spoke in a simple shorthand, knowing each other’s lives – lives they lived together and yet with their own achievements, ambitions – and planning the future together. Not of one mind. But of one purpose.

Perhaps there was more. Perhaps they sat together and talked, or perhaps she stood to play with their child. Perhaps that sun-bathed afternoon ended there, or lasted another thousand years. The details were not what stuck with Thawn when the vision rushed away, and all that was left were the shadowed quarters of Adamant Rhade.

‘That… worked.’ Narien’s voice broke through the haze, but it felt like he was checking, not sure. ‘The two of you truly are powerful.’

But neither gave him a second’s thought, their eyes locking on each other. Rhade’s gaze was apprehensive, but she could see the brightness in his eyes. ‘That was…’

‘Fascinating,’ Thawn found herself saying first, and when she swallowed, she could taste the adrenaline on her tongue. ‘But no, it was… that’s not what I mean… I mean it was…’

Her voice trailed off, and as one they spoke – him, eager, firm; her, quiet, as if saying more than a whisper would break the thought, break the moment.

‘Perfect.’

‘Where the hell is Fox?’ Beckett demanded of thin air as he stood from the co-pilot’s seat on the runabout Starfall. Their allocated departure time was mere minutes away, and there was no sign of the young officer who was supposed to keep him company for the next month – months – of this venture among the Khalagu. They would have limited contact with the outside world, limited capacity to reach out to Starfleet, and probably not see much of anyone who wasn’t each other or the Khalagu for those weeks. This was not a good start to what promised to be this level of cabin fever.

But it was not a disaster if she was late, he reasoned with himself. That wasn’t why he was angry. He was angry because if he looked at his message inbox on his PADD, it was empty.

Decisions had been made.

Nostrils flaring, Beckett stormed to the aft of the Orion-class runabout and headed for the ramp. Traffic control would have to give him a new departure time if Fox was any later. Activity in this cavernous shuttlebay of Gateway Station had shifted away to other craft in anticipation of their launch, so his footsteps rang out on the ramp as he clattered down to the deck.

There was no sign of Fox. Beckett sighed, then turned on his heel back to the runabout and tapped his combadge. ‘Beckett to F-’ The shuttlebay doors slid open, and he stopped short. ‘There you are,’ he groaned as he rounded again. ‘What took -’ But it was not Fox.

Rosara Thawn looked like she’d been running. Her hair was wild, her cheeks were flushed, and she clattered across the shuttlebay like hell’s demons were behind her. ‘Nate!’

Something surged in his chest, but he swallowed it down hard. Hope was a fickle creature and one he wasn’t about to indulge. ‘Oh, no,’ he groaned, and waggled a finger at her. ‘Departure time is… whenever Fox gets here. We’re not going to do another round of this dance, Rosara. I’m out of here.’

He turned back for the runabout, but she rushed after him, stopping at the foot of the ramp. ‘Listen – we need to talk -’

‘We’re done talking!’ Beckett stopped at the opening hatchway. ‘We talked loads! I talked to you days ago, and then I got nothing. Now, what, at the last minute, you want to keep me on the hook so we can spin through this stupid little dance another few steps? No. No, I’m done. Are you here to ask me to stay?’

‘No -’

‘Then you had your shot, you missed the window, I’m out of here.’

Again, he turned, sure that nothing could stop him. But his feet planted to the deck as if he was wearing mag-boots set to the highest power when she spoke. Her voice was quiet, but her words could have found him across light-years. ‘Adamant and I are getting divorced.’

It was what he’d asked for, really. But the words ripped through him like a punch to the gut that didn’t stop, and he froze with his back to her. ‘What?’

‘We… Adamant had a chance to use one of Narien’s artifacts. Something with a lot of psychic energy – it doesn’t matter. We had a vision of our future, of what we could imagine it to be.’ The magnetic pull shifted from the deck to her, and he turned back, jaw slack, as she pressed on. ‘It was perfect. A perfect life on Betazed with partnership, family, work, purpose, prestige, everything I’ve been told and told myself forever that I wanted.’ She was pale now, her wild red hair limp against cheeks turned ivory. When she drew another breath, her lips quavered. ‘I couldn’t stand it.’

A crooked smile threatened his lips. But not only would that not do as she spoke of rejecting her whole life, it was premature. ‘You say that today,’ Beckett said guardedly. ‘Have you told your family?’

‘I… I’ve sent messages…’

‘What did they say? You did this before – you almost left Adamant, you told me that a year ago, and then your aunt clicked her fingers, and you just turned right back!’ Frustration boiled in him anew, the hurt and pain of knowing she was a creature of her family’s needs. ‘You said you weren’t marrying him, then you came crying to me about doing it anyway!’

He expected excuses. He expected her to cringe away like she always did when confronted with her hypocrisies and weaknesses. She did wince, but it looked like pain, not evasion. ‘No,’ Thawn said simply. ‘No, I’m not. Because I’m done lying to myself, Nate. I want to face the truth.’

‘What truth?’ he snapped, hands on his hips. ‘Because this looks a lot like you’re trying to stop me from leaving for Synnef so you can keep me on the hook, not have to make any decisions that really inconvenience you – keep me around, then go slithering back to Adamant and your family once they turn the screws.’

At last, there was a flash in her eyes as his pushing ignited a fire of frustration. He didn’t know if that made him relieved or fearful, but she took a sharp step forward onto the ramp of the Starfall. ‘Do you know why I wasn’t angry with you after Frontier Day? Why I didn’t blame you? Why it didn’t even occur to me to be afraid of you?’

That stopped him short, guilt tightening his chest and stealing his words. ‘I didn’t… I had no control -’

‘I know that, but look at the rest of the crew, Nate!’ Thawn waved a hand back towards the station. ‘The captain still can’t look Forrester in the eye. Elsa avoids Zherul. People are healing and talking, for sure, but memory is still powerful, and for so many of us, we look at the people assimilated, and our survival instincts remind us of the time they tried to kill us. But I don’t get that with you.’

Beckett swallowed. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I knew it wasn’t you.’ She advanced to jab a finger in his chest like this revelation was an accusation. ‘Because I know you inside and out. Because I felt you across an entire star system when I thought you were dead, when the echoes of the murdered Brenari were around us all and killing the Devore, and even as I unleashed them, I found you.’ Her cheeks were flushed now, black eyes alive. ‘You’re not a Betazoid, you don’t understand that, but I could find you across this starbase in the dark. I know you.’ Now she softened, hand pulling away as if she’d not realised she’d reached out, guilt at last creeping in for the outburst. ‘And I knew, even as the Borg tried to kill me, that it wasn’t you.’

He’d confronted her, put his heart on the line, laid all of his feelings bare and exposed. And Beckett realised that he’d done that more for himself, more so he could be sure he’d done his utmost, said his utmost, than for any hope. Because not in a thousand years had he thought she would ever turn around and respond like this.

His chest shuddered as he drew a deep breath. ‘So, what are you saying, Rosara? Because… I know I told you to ask me to stay, but you said you weren’t going to do that, and I don’t know if I can cancel this expedition without Valance ripping me a new one after I fought for it for so long, and Fox will be here any second…’

‘Fox isn’t coming.’ Now her guilt looked different – childish, almost, as if she’d been caught in some mischief. ‘I said I didn’t want to ask you to stay. I meant it.’ Thawn straightened, and now she looked more serious and certain than he’d ever seen her. ‘I want to come with you.’

He stared. ‘What?’

‘I cleared it with the captain, and I cleared it with Fox. I know it’s an important duty to build bonds with the Khalagu, but I know it’s an adventure for you, too. And I want to go with you. Away from my commitments, away from my family, away from everything and everyone who’s told me what I’ve got to be for my entire life.’

‘That sounds…’ Beckett’s mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard. ‘That sounds an awful lot like running away.’

‘Maybe.’ She looked up at him. ‘But I want to run away with you.’

There would be more, for certain. However far they ran, some day, everything would need facing. Her marriage, her family. His family, his demons. Perhaps cold, hard reality would prove rocks they’d be dashed against. Perhaps this would only be an escape, a dream. Perhaps it would be time to know what they were, without the rest of the galaxy bearing down on them.

But in truth, Beckett spent no time on those deep, measured considerations. Instead, he stepped forward, reached for her hand, and kissed her.

It was untenable to think he’d only kissed her once before. Only kissed her in a guilty, broken moment in the bowels of Endeavour’s SOC, and then spent six months paying for it in his heart and his soul and his life. Now he could kiss her with none of that shattered loss, none of that shuddering guilt; kiss her like nobody would stop them. Kiss her like he could do so over and over again for as far as the future stretched.

And still he broke away with a quick flash of a desperate thought. ‘Oh, hell,’ Beckett hissed, forehead pressed against hers, and felt her tense at the interruption. ‘Traffic control is going to bloody kill us if we don’t get underway right now.’

She giggled – giggled, the sound was enough to turn him inside out, because Rosara Thawn didn’t giggle – and nodded. ‘Then you better get this expedition started, Lieutenant Beckett.’

He had to fight hard to not laugh, to not kiss her again, and bounded back onto the runabout. He headed for the cockpit as she sealed the hatch, made sure they were ready to get underway, and he’d just finished the pre-flight sequence, sat in the pilot’s chair, when she came up to join him. She slipped into the seat beside him.

Beckett grinned from ear to ear as he reached for the comm controls. ‘SB-23 control, this is the runabout Starfall, requesting permission to depart.’ The confirmation came through on the comms, his flight control panel lit up with his departure route, and, if possible, his grin widened as he looked over at her. ‘Ready to run away?’

Her eyes drifted from him, moved to the cockpit canopy. Before them was the shuttlebay doors, wide open; beyond them stretched the buzzing traffic around Gateway Station. Beyond that, the stars, and somewhere among them, the Synnef Nebula, and all its mysteries that would be theirs to pull apart over weeks, perhaps months.

Rosara Thawn drew a deep breath. She did not look at him, as she smiled, her eyes locked on the horizon, but she did reach for his hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’