Captain’s log, Stardate 2401.4. We’re a week out from the disaster of Frontier Day, but work doesn’t stop on the actual frontier. The Scarix Facility is a large mining operation beyond the border, into the old Neutral Zone, and its director has asked for Starfleet’s help. They think someone’s stealing the mining equipment deep in the asteroid belts.

This isn’t the biggest crisis, and it’s not what I hoped for on my first mission commanding the Tempest. But you never know. Could be trouble.

‘I’m still not getting anything,’ Lieutenant Danjuma reported apologetically from Science.

Shepherd scrubbed her face with her hands. ‘Are we sure that these aren’t just malfunctions?’ On the bridge’s viewscreen, a map of the system – officially designated HD 168746-Gamma – sprawled on the display. ‘Their automated systems go dark, they’re still there, someone’s complaining they’re being ripped off the asteroids?’

‘Director Dyke says his men found an asteroid stripped of equipment,’ Commander Song reminded them from Tactical.

‘He said they found a bare asteroid. In an asteroid field? Wow.’ Shepherd stood, hands on her hips. The Tempest was a light and fast ship, a scout, and despite her age, Shepherd had hoped she’d be used for exciting, rapid-response operations launched out of Gateway Station. Instead, this was the equivalent of community peacekeeping when someone reported something going through their bins at night. ‘There are a million things that could be going wrong. Most of them minor.’

‘The system has one of the densest asteroid and magnetic fields possible without significantly disrupting orbital patterns,’ said Danjuma. ‘I’m not confident our sensors are getting a clear read on the presence or absence of anything from here.’

Shepherd looked at the dot on the map that was the Tempest, nestled close to the Scarix Facility, a large station in orbit of an ice world at the system’s periphery. ‘We could get closer,’ she said, mischief entering her voice.

‘We should not get closer,’ Song said immediately. ‘Navigation of the field is restricted to small craft only, and the Caliban is -’

‘Having all the fun. Spoilsport.’ But before Shepherd could lambast her tactical officer further, the comms chirruped, and she rolled her eyes again. ‘Ugh, put Dyke through.’

It was indeed Selwyn Dyke, Director of the Scarix Facility and younger son of Amadeus Dyke, the company’s owner. With ruddy cheeks, sleepy eyes, and the bearing of an underachiever launched to mediocrity through nepotism, he had put in the request for help, insisted the problem was not his own people’s incompetence, and pestered her every hour on the hour. ‘Commander. What have you found?’

Shepherd kept her hands on her hips as she rounded on the viewscreen. ‘If I had something, Director, I’d tell you.’

‘I was going through our records.’ Selwyn spoke like she hadn’t. He was sat in his office, all professional opulence with gold finishes on his fixtures and desk. When he sat back, his comfortable-looking chair rocked back with him to show pictures behind the desk; holo-images of him at sporting events where it looked like he’d been more audience member than winning participant. ‘Sector D-5 has certainly reported less borite intake in the past week.’

‘Sector D-5 looks like all of its equipment is working fine.’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘Maybe you’re done with the vein.’

‘Or the thief isn’t just stealing our equipment, they’re stealing our borite.’

‘It’s not your borite,’ she said, unable to stop herself. ‘Nobody owns this system, and certainly not a Federation-registered company in independent space. If someone’s tinkering with your equipment, we’re happy to take a look in case of foul play. But anyone can come running into this system and start mining.’

‘And if someone wants to claim the resources of Scarix system, we can enter these negotiations –’

‘It’s also not called the Scarix system; it’s not your system, you don’t get to name it!’

Selwyn Dyke stopped, lips quivering with indignation. He sat forward. ‘My equipment is going dark. My borite intake is falling. This is a dangerous frontier, Commander. Starfleet is here to keep us safe. I’d like answers.’

Shepherd bit her lip. ‘We’ll see what our reconnaissance flight finds. In the meantime, Director, I’ve got work to do. Tempest out.’ As the screen went blank, she covered her face with her hands and made a frustrated noise.

Behind her, Danjuma looked at Song. ‘Is it time to get the sign back out?’ she asked her husband.

‘It couldn’t hurt,’ he said, deadpan as ever.

Shepherd knew what she’d see when she turned to him, but it didn’t make the PADD in his hands with its oversized writing any less annoying.

Remember, it read, Rosewood’s always right.

‘Did he have to make that the message?’ she protested, not for the first time.

‘I was not in a position to negotiate,’ said Song, putting the PADD down. ‘But Commander Rosewood’s sentiment holds. He believes the region will benefit from the commerce Dyke Logistics brings with their investment in this system.’

‘Yes, yes, and a company like Dyke being invested here means the Federation will want to throw us resources to look after this interest.’ Shepherd brushed off her hands. ‘Doesn’t mean I don’t want to airlock Selwyn Dyke for being a weasel.’

‘That would not only be a breach of Federation law,’ said Song, ‘but Commander Rosewood’s instructions.’

‘I’m venting, Song.’ Shepherd sighed noisily. ‘I hope to God the Caliban either finds something to prove Selwyn wrong, or nothing at all.’

‘Steady as she goes.’ Adamant Rhade tried not to sound chiding as Lieutenant Harkon eased the Waverider-class craft Caliban, the Tempest’s integrated runabout, through the asteroid field deeper into the system than the Scarix Facility.

‘Oh, really, Commander? ‘Cos I was gonna smear us against an asteroid until you said that,’ came the young officer’s retort.

But Rhade had known Harkon a while now. She’d been the Hazard Team’s preferred pilot when he’d lead them on Endeavour, and this pattern of caution fighting derring-do was familiar between them. He gave a gentle scoff. ‘We’re not in any rush.’

‘I am,’ said Harkon. ‘As this is boring as shit.’

Across the cockpit, Commander Far smothered a giggle. ‘We’ve not seen any sign of anything being wrong with these mining platforms. This does seem a bit… beneath us.’

‘Don’t say that while Commander Shepherd’s around,’ Rhade warned. ‘You’ll only encourage her.’

‘Is that why they bumped you to Gateway? Commander?’ Again, Harkon put a soft emphasis on the rank, light as the gleam on his new third pip. ‘To make Commander Shepherd behave?’

‘I don’t think that’s a power anyone has,’ said Rhade.

‘It feels a bit entitled. Of Dyke Logistics, I mean,’ Far ventured uncertainly. ‘To rush over the Federation border, gobble up a resource-rich system nobody could get their hands on because of the Neutral Zone, and then… ask Starfleet to help you?’

‘They’re Federation citizens,’ Rhade sighed. ‘And Gateway Station is here to support everyone in the Midgard Sector, on any side of the border.’

‘Yeah, but some people over the border don’t have reliable fresh drinking water,’ said Harkon, ‘while these guys are mad their expensive mining tech is malfunctioning.’

It was more complicated than that. They knew it was more complicated than that. They couldn’t just waltz up to a world and dump supplies without disrupting the delicate balance of the region. Nowhere was as starving as Harkon was making out, either. But the exaggeration still drove home the point, keeping it bitter in Rhade’s mouth.

‘We help Dyke Logistics today on a minor matter, and they keep us informed of happenings beyond the border. A reciprocal relationship with one of the biggest pro-Federation factions beyond the border is good, Lieutenant.’ It was the party line, he knew it was correct, and it still tasted ashy.

A chirrup at Far’s console distracted, and the Xahean officer turned. ‘Huh. That’s – I’m picking up movement on sensors. Out near our next checkpoint. Heat signatures, engine signatures.’

‘Get us over there,’ Rhade said to Harkon at once, and gripped the armrests as the Caliban swerved. ‘Tell me what you have, Commander.’

There was a beat as she worked, a beat as the deck surged under them at Harkon’s delicate navigation, where even the slightest miscalculation would flatten them across an asteroid. They had been here for hours, manually checking each mining platform and finding little sign of the reported mishaps or foul play. But now, something sparked in his chest at the prospect of an answer. A challenge.

A feeling that was something he could latch onto, instead of the personal issues he’d rather not look at.

‘Three ships! I’m picking up energy signatures from one which seems Romulan in design, but it’s the smallest. The other two… I’m not sure.’ Far shook her head, and then her eyes widened. ‘That’s weapons fire.’

‘Pick up the pace,’ Rhade told Harkon, who had already accelerated.

The borite in the asteroids meant the depths of the field, the depths of most of the system, were obscured by sensors. Anyone could have come in from the far side of the sun to the Scarix Facility and slipped into the midst without being noticed. Rhade had wondered if there were thieves or prospectors, but a fight was something else.

Minutes later, the view on sensors and through the cockpit gave answers: two Kaplan F17s facing off against a much smaller, one-person craft of Romulan design. Scoring along the Romulan ship’s hull told half a story.

‘I don’t think they’ve spotted us,’ Harkon said. ‘Our sensors will be better than theirs. We can -’

‘Hail them,’ said Rhade, and almost heard Harkon roll her eyes as Far nodded and hit the controls to open comms. ‘Unidentified ships, this is the Starfleet runabout Caliban. My name is Commander Rhade. Is there a problem here?’

A beat. Then, words spilling over the comms, voices running over each other.

‘No problem, Starfleet –’

‘We have the right to be here –’

‘Please, Commander! Help me!’

That last was from the Romulan ship. Rhade nodded to Far. ‘Raise shields. Charge weapons.’ He shifted his weight. ‘That’s a request for help from a ship you’ve fired upon, Kaplans. Might I have some introductions?’

This time, the Romulan ship answered first. ‘My name is Narien; I’m a monk from the Order of Ste’kor. I’m travelling with artifacts from Romulus; these pirates have waylaid me for my belongings!’

The response from one of the Kaplans came swiftly. ‘This man is a liar and a thief; these are our belongings, and he’s trying to make off with them.’

Rhade hit the mute button and glanced about the cockpit. ‘Far, scan those Kaplans. I want to know where they came from.’ He looked back to the front, tapping the comms again. ‘Tensions are high, but this doesn’t have to come to blows. I invite you all to return with me to my ship. Then we can mediate the dispute and make sure everything ends up in the right hands without any bloodshed.’

‘They won’t agree, Commander –’

Indeed, Narien was cut off by one of the Kaplans. ‘This isn’t your business, Starfleet.’

‘Commander, they’re from the Three Lost Crows; you cannot believe them!’

Far muted this time. ‘There’s definite build-up on their hulls and bussard collectors of particles that match the composition of the Synnef Nebula.’

‘Being in the Synnef Nebula doesn’t make you a pirate,’ Rhade pointed out. ‘Nor does being accused of it by someone they claim is a thief.’

‘Sure, but this is a lot of quacking for guys who say they ain’t ducks,’ said Harkon. ‘Three Lost Crows are bad news.’

Another bleep from Far’s controls. ‘And,’ she said, eyebrows raised after reading, ‘I’m detecting borite in their cargo bays and signs of equipment that matches the composition of the mining platforms.’

Harkon blew out her cheeks. ‘They couldn’t have just taken the borite. They had to rob Dyke Logistics, too.’

‘Allegedly,’ said Rhade mildly and looked back to the viewscreen. He reopened the call. ‘Kaplans, you are under suspicion of piracy, both against Mister Narien and of stealing the property of Dyke Logistics. I want to invite you to clear this matter up by following me out of the asteroid belt and returning to my ship so we can make sure everyone’s treated fairly.’

A small alert went off, and Harkon quirked an eyebrow. ‘They’re targeting us.’

‘And if we refuse?’ came the Kaplan’s reply.

Harkon dropped her voice. ‘This is a twenty-year-old runabout, and there are two of them. I bet I fly better, but I don’t like this.’

Rhade found himself smiling as he replied on comms. ‘Right now, this is a small squabble or even misunderstanding. You attack me, and however this ends, you’ve brought the ire of Starfleet back into the Midgard Sector. You heard what happened at Teros. How would you like this meeting to proceed?’

There was a beat. Then the comms system went dead. Far let out a breath. ‘They’re breaking off.’

Harkon winced. ‘Do we pursue? They’ve got Dyke’s stuff.’

Rhade shook his head. ‘We’re in no position to engage. It seems that the director wasn’t completely wrong after all. But we should help this monk. And find out how he ended up on the wrong side of the Three Lost Crows.’

‘He’s practically a child -’

‘His record speaks for itself.’

‘His record says that he walked up through the field of dead man’s boots.’

‘So did I.’

Valance hesitated at that. But not for long; her eyes met Rourke’s, and she realised what he was doing. ‘That’s not the same. You were an experienced starship commander when you were assigned Endeavour.’

‘And Gateway?’ Rourke pushed back his seat at the head of the meeting table in the station’s most secure conference room. ‘My predecessor retired on medical grounds, his chosen successor bought it at Sol, and anyone else halfway qualified is either dead or needed somewhere far more important. So instead of getting fired for disobeying orders, they promote me.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You’re right, that’s not the same. Thabo Xhakaza wasn’t facing the end of his career when Frontier Day opened up the Swiftsure’s captain’s seat.’

There was a beat as Valance drew another slow, calming breath. This wasn’t why she’d come to the squadron briefing early, asking Rourke to meet her in the opulent, curved room with one of the precious few external windows all too rare for administrative space on the station. Normally, wall decoration or a holographic projection would suffice, but this was where Commodore Matt Rourke was expected to host delegations and greet dignitaries. Its deep blue carpet, silver fixtures, and bright, clean finish bore Starfleet efficiency but also that extra level of comfort the organisation had left behind a decade ago in most of its designs.

‘The Swiftsure lost most of their senior staff in Frontier Day,’ she proceeded levelly. ‘Almost all of them have been elevated far swifter than is wise. Including Captain Xhakaza. I know he’s an excellent, promising young man. But he’s very green; they all are. Which makes it all the more imperative to let Endeavour get back out and into Midgard.’

Rourke’s lips twisted. ‘Oh, that’s what this is about. You want me to give Endeavour a new assignment.’ But he softened quickly. ‘Karana, it’s not even been a fortnight since Frontier Day. You have crewmembers still in Sickbay. Plenty of them still at the highest level of psychological concern. The crew needs time.’

The doors slid open before she could push the point, and even though it was only Harrian, Shepherd, and Kharth, it was enough to make Valance’s mouth snap shut. Still, Kharth’s eyebrows raised; she’d clearly picked up some of Rourke’s words. ‘Who needs time?’

Rourke’s smile turned sincere as he gestured to seats. ‘Captain Valance is eager to get back to work before the Swiftsure snaps up all the choice assignments.’

Shepherd fixed Valance with an infuriating grin. ‘Worried the Boy Wonder will save the day while you’re still putting on your boots?’

Valance ground her teeth as she sat, ensuring she grabbed the chair to Rourke’s right. ‘I want to be certain the Midgard Sector receives the help it needs. Starfleet is trying to turn around its reputation in the area, not pull away. This isn’t about Captain Xhakaza. I have no problem with him.’

‘I do,’ said Shepherd cheerfully, pulling up the chair next to her; Kharth took the next seat down. ‘He’s a sneeze younger than me and he has his own, brand-new ship? Also, don’t you feel both kinda crappy and also better about yourself every time he speaks?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Valance lied.

‘The Swiftsure,’ said Harrian smoothly, sitting across from Shepherd and leaving the seat to Rourke’s left empty, ‘should not be your concern with the Midgard Sector.’ Rourke shot him a warning look, and he fell silent. But before Valance could press the point, the doors slid open, and the man of the hour himself stepped in.

Commander Thabo Xhakaza, commanding officer of the Echelon-class USS Swiftsure, was young. He didn’t feel young to Valance in the way Shepherd did, but then, despite the Tempest falling to her, she still answered to Rourke directly. He was tall, clear-eyed and straight-backed, and walked with a gait that exuded confidence without arrogance or swagger. Beside him was a muscular blonde woman Valance recognised but couldn’t quite place in a red uniform with a lieutenant commander’s pips.

‘Good morning, sirs, Commanders.’ Xhakaza smiled in a sincere, polite manner and took the seat between Rourke and Harrian. ‘Were we running late? Apologies.’

‘Nah,’ said Shep, leaning back in her chair. ‘We’re just all super eager or something.’

‘Thank you, everyone, for coming,’ said Rourke, in a clipped tone that made it clear he wanted to cut down on banter. But still he looked at the woman. ‘Has everyone met Commander Octavian? Transferred from the Independence to serve as XO on the Swiftsure.’

Harrian frowned at her. ‘I missed something.’

Livia Octavian, formerly Livia Hadrian, gave a quick shrug. ‘The Deneb campaign was a good reason to stop putting off my wedding, sir.’

Shepherd brightened. ‘Oh, hey, that’s nice. Congratulations!’

Rourke waved a slightly brusque hand as congratulations were offered and introductions exchanged. ‘It’s good to get everyone in a room together. Frontier Day caused disruptions for all of us, and I’m eager for the squadron to settle into our primary responsibility: frontier aid. Mister Xhakaza, how’s the Swiftsure crew?’

Xhakaza’s smile turned kindly, but there was a tension to his eyes. ‘They’re settling. Everyone’s still shaken up. I’m grateful to you for finding me Commander Octavian and Lieutenant Sovak to shore up senior staff.’

‘I worked with them in Deneb; they’re good people,’ said Rourke. ‘And you’re going to need their experience, Commander. The Swiftsure crew will have time to settle in: you’re going to Deneb.’

Valance raised an eyebrow. ‘They are?’

Harrian said, ‘Fourth Fleet Command wants to follow through on the rebuilding work now Starfleet is acknowledging the Lost Fleet Crisis actually happened. They want units and formations to lend who they can.’

‘What about Midgard?’ Kharth pressed, and Valance felt a small swell of frustration that they were in agreement on this. ‘Teros, Scarix, Three Lost Crows…’

‘We’ll get to that,’ said Rourke, eyes still on Xhakaza. ‘How does it sound, Commander?’

His brow furrowed. ‘I understand Captain Valance’s concern. But the eyes of the Federation are on Deneb. Most of Starfleet abandoned them when they needed us the most. I wish we were drawing resources from somewhere that needed them less than here, but it’s never an easy time to roll up your sleeves and help. What do you need of us in Deneb, sir?’

Rourke’s eyes flickered to Valance as she tried to swallow an ounce of guilt at Xhakaza’s sentiment. ‘Liaise with worlds along the Breen border. We want to know if there are any more missing peoples and find out, bluntly, if the Breen have got them. If they do, you’re to consult with Farpoint on the best way forward, but last I heard, the Breen started this mess; they don’t get to keep Federation citizens as slaves just because we want them to stay out of our territory.’ A hint of apprehension entered his eyes, and Valance realised he hadn’t been looking at her to gauge her opinion of Xhakaza. ‘Second, support the squadron SCE Team. They’re still out there. Commander Cortez is working on local infrastructure.’

Valance felt her gaze land on a neutral spot on the bulkhead. Xhakaza asked some questions, but she was too focused, just for a moment, on not looking like she was having a reaction for the details to sink in.

She was brought back by Kharth leaning forward and saying to Rourke, far more bluntly, ‘Why are we pulling a ship from Midgard when we’ve got Teros to help and the Three Lost Crows are stirring up shit? Sir?’

Rourke met her gaze rather more coolly. ‘We don’t want to return to Teros without assistance from the Romulan Republic or an independent Romulan world capable of outreach. Starfleet’s got to step delicately there, Commander, seeing as they now think we chose to blow up one of their patrol ships.’

‘One of the Rebirth’s ships,’ Kharth said, and shrugged. ‘You can always throw me under the thrusters and tell them the truth.’

His lips twisted. ‘The situation’s complicated specifically because we don’t know if that’s the right thing to do. Ambassador Hale wants to tell the truth. Commander Rosewood doesn’t.’

Xhakaza leaned forward. ‘How do we begin a strong relationship with them if we’re lying?’

‘Do we begin a strong relationship with people who tried to murder a Starfleet officer in the street by telling them the Borg almost wiped out the entire settlement because we brought a Starfleet ship to the system?’ Kharth muttered. ‘I had to play with the hand I was dealt.’

‘This is a mistake,’ Xhakaza said. ‘We explain the truth, apologise, and demonstrate why they have more to gain from forgiveness than hate.’

Kharth tilted her head. ‘You’re new to the Neutral Zone and Romulans, aren’t you, Commander?’

He met her gaze. ‘I’m not new to Starfleet.’

Kharth looked like she might say something more, probably deeply cynical about Starfleet’s behaviour the past fifteen years, but Rourke cleared his throat. ‘That decision isn’t for this room. But it’s also why we can spare the Swiftsure. Teros will be a multi-lateral operation with a Romulan power. The rest of us… worry about the Three Lost Crows.’

Harrian leaned forward at that and reached for the table’s holographic controls to bring up the map of the sector. ‘This outfit has been around a while – since Starfleet abandoned the Romulan evacuation. A lot of people flooded into the old Neutral Zone from every side of the border, and the Three Lost Crows stepped in to profit from it. Their reputation isn’t particularly vicious; they’ve been based over the border all this time and mostly dealt with the black market in the region.’

‘The black market, in a region like this,’ Valance said coolly, ‘includes trading pirated goods.’

‘It also includes trade of food, medicine, building material – especially while the Star Empire of Rator was still right on their door,’ Shepherd countered.

‘You’re saying these are good pirates,’ said Valance dubiously.

‘Not a lot of good in anyone out here,’ muttered Kharth.

‘They’re no Fenris Rangers,’ said Harrian, shaking his head. ‘They’ve certainly worked with dangerous groups and profited off suffering. But they’ve been a vehicle for people to get help when they otherwise wouldn’t have. They also don’t have much of a track record for violence.’

Valance said, ‘Tell that to the monk Shep brought back.’

Rourke piped up at last. ‘Narien has been a little tight-lipped about what exactly he was doing with his cargo at Scarix.’

‘HD 168746-Gamma,’ muttered Shep.

Kharth rolled her eyes. ‘We’re just going to have to accept we’re calling it Scarix.’

‘I’m not doing this to be pedantic,’ protested Shepherd. ‘I’m doing this because Dyke Logistics don’t get to name a system just ‘cos they mine there.’

Rourke cleared his throat pointedly, and they fell silent. ‘Narien claims he was leaving one of the old holdings of the Order of Ste’kor with some of their records and belongings and headed for Scarix’s field to try to lay low while he rested. But the Three Lost Crows were there, possibly stealing some of Dyke’s borite, and intercepted him.’

Valance leaned forward, frowning. ‘Where was he headed?’

Shepherd shifted her weight. ‘Unroth.’

Valance’s eyes narrowed. ‘So this man who claims to be a monk, with property of an old Romulan monastic order in his hold, chose to lay low somewhere he could be undetected before he made a run not for Nemus Station, as you would if you were declaring goods on the border for the Republic. But direct for a planet we know is a major stop for smuggling into and out of the Republic?’

Xhakaza looked across the table. ‘Commander Kharth, what can you tell us about the Order of Ste’kor?’

She looked at him. ‘What can you tell me about the Russian Orthodox Church?’ At his blank expression, she scowled. ‘Yeah, I’m not an expert on literally everything about Romulan culture.’

‘From what we know,’ said Harrian, cutting off a possible fight, ‘they were one of the spiritual groups that sprung up in Romulan culture upon the founding of the Empire and took up holdings near Romulus. Their studies focused on exploring Romulan telepathic capabilities. But they collapsed and shattered after the supernova.’

Kharth flinched, and Valance glanced at her, remembering her XO’s brush with her own latent telepathic susceptibility during the Blood Dilithium Crisis. ‘So Narien could just be a thief,’ said Kharth, ‘taking this defunct order’s belongings to be sold.’

‘I’m asking Nate to talk to Narien,’ said Rourke, leaning back in the seat. ‘He has more experience with Romulan spiritual groups than anyone aboard; he spent some time with the Fae Diwan these past years.’

‘I don’t know much,’ said Kharth, ‘but I know they’re a completely different group.’

‘I only want him to find out if Narien is who he says he is. But the monk is the least of our problems,’ said Rourke, shaking his head. ‘As Harrian said, the Three Lost Crows aren’t a particularly violent organisation. But there’s been an uptick in their pirate activities the last couple of months. They hit a trade shipment from the Midgard colony to Unroth a few days ago. So now I’ve got both Dyke Logistics and the governor of Midgard yelling about the dangerous frontier.’

Shepherd gave a noisy sigh. ‘We’ll increase border patrols; Harrian and I will work with Whitaker, Harkon, and Song to figure out how to at least secure Federation space against these raids.’

Valance grimaced. ‘Something’s changed for the Three Lost Crows, though. What, and why? If we don’t find that out, all we’re doing is putting out fires.’

‘Agreed,’ said Kharth. ‘We need to investigate them.’

Xhakaza looked at them. ‘We don’t know where they are.’

Harrian grimaced. ‘Commander Far picked up a lot of scans of the Kaplan F17s they were using. Including their warp signatures when they left. We can probably track them.’

‘That could be a wild goose chase,’ Rourke mused.

‘We’ve done this before,’ said Valance, looking at him. ‘When Thawn, Lindgren and I went to T’lhab Station following the Wild Hunt. Just a quiet investigation.’

‘That was going into Klingon space with an escort, to a station where we expected the locals to be neutral. This is different,’ Rourke pointed out.

Shepherd turned to him. ‘If Endeavour’s still benched, let me take the Tempest after them.’

But Rourke shook his head. ‘If Endeavour’s still benched and the Swiftsure is going to Deneb, I need the Tempest here for border patrols.’

‘It’ll have to be a runabout,’ said Valance before Shepherd could protest. ‘Give Commander Kharth auxiliary craft, with an escort if needed, to follow this trail. All other assets can focus on defence while she investigates.’ She had to swallow bitterness as she met Rourke’s gaze. A year ago, she’d have insisted on leading the mission. But a year ago she wouldn’t have been the captain of her own ship, which was docked here and needed her.

‘I can do it,’ Kharth said coolly. ‘And I don’t need to pull from other operations. One runabout and Endeavour crewmembers while the ship’s benched. After all, nobody knows how to trace a warp signature better than Thawn.’

But Rourke frowned. ‘Is Thawn out of sickbay? I heard she didn’t do great.’

‘You know Thawn,’ said Kharth indifferently. ‘If she’s been knocked down, she wants to work.’ There was a moment’s hesitation before she pressed on. ‘Lindgren can fly us. And I want to bring Commander Logan. Not many people know this region of space better than him.’

Valance glanced over at the flicker of apprehension. Kharth and Logan had worked well together during Frontier Day, and he’d been brought aboard Endeavour at her recommendation. But there was always something hovering about her whenever she mentioned him that Valance couldn’t quite place.

The suspicion was interrupted by Rourke looking at her. ‘You can spare them, Captain?’

‘If Thawn’s fit to go,’ Valance said reluctantly. ‘But if Swiftsure is leaving, Endeavour must be ready for re-launch soon.’

‘That’s Carraway’s call,’ Rourke pointed out, pushing back from the chair. ‘But that’s us done. Commander Xhakaza, Commander Octavian: good luck in Deneb. Make people proud of us again. Shep, secure our damn borders. Kharth – stay frosty out there. Fact-finding only. Now I’ve got to go play nice with Dyke Logistics and the governor and explain why their happiness isn’t my highest priority.’

There were burdens of being a captain, Valance reflected as they all stood. It kept her here on Gateway, looking after her ship and crew instead of chasing after the next lead, racing off into the unknown with Kharth and the away team. But this was unique, for half her crew to be so incapacitated and with nothing to do but wait and let them get the help they needed, while the other half ran into the field. It would pass, and she’d be back out there soon enough.

Commodore Rourke’s burdens of placating entitled locals were eternal.

‘Commander!’

Rhade stopped at the call, turning to see the wiry Romulan monk Narien jogging down the corridor towards him. ‘Mister Narien. I’m always happy to talk, but I am on my way to a meeting.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Still, the monk didn’t move away, falling into step beside him. ‘I wasn’t sure you’ve received my calls.’

‘I saw your messages – I did reply,’ Rhade said with a faint frown. ‘You must understand that while I was very happy to help you at Scarix, I was merely doing my duty. There was nothing exceptional for a Starfleet officer to intercede on your behalf.’

‘If you’ll forgive me, Commander, based on my experiences these past fifteen years, that’s simply not true,’ Narien pointed out. ‘There are reasons my people keep to themselves. I alone can’t convince them to accept Starfleet. They would need to see more of you, know that you understand them. But I can personally show you some gratitude.’

‘It would be unethical for me to accept material recompense.’

‘Then how about immaterial?’ Narien reached for his arm. ‘Everyone is haunted by something, Commander. Let me help you with that.’

Rhade stopped, looking down at the arm, then at the intense eyes of the other man. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘What do you think the artifacts I’m transporting do, Commander? I didn’t select objects that push us to the brink of our psychic capabilities. I brought the ones people… like.’ A hint of a self-deprecating sneer entered his voice. ‘The ones the Republic will be eager to receive, because they reinforce a sense of our people’s culture and aren’t uncomfortable. You’re a Betazoid, surely you understand.’

It took a slow, controlled breath to shove back the memories of blood dilithium. Of his hand settling around the heavy lamp before he brought it down on the face of the Devore prisoner. ‘None of this is something to play with.’

‘I do not play. It was my life’s work before I was exiled,’ Narien said, straightening. ‘Are you sure of yourself, Commander? Your path? Your future?’

‘Who is?’

‘I thought not,’ said Narien flatly, plainly not buying the evasion. ‘I offer you something, Commander, because you saved my life. Something special. Let me sit you down with the Arev. This artifact can examine your thoughts, your memories, and reflect back to you a vision of the path you believe you are on.’

Rhade pulled his arm back carefully. ‘I am the Dockmaster of Gateway Station. It would be irresponsible for me to let my thoughts and memories be studied by a psionic artifact.’

‘It doesn’t retain a thing, you misunderstand. It’s far more like an aid to your own thoughts. All it can do is extrapolate based on your memories, your expectations and beliefs, and lay out a… constructed imagining of your future.’

Rhade worked his jaw. ‘I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Mister Narien. But you seem quite committed to this idea.’

‘It… my people do not like being in debt, Commander.’

Rhade wasn’t sure that was true. His eyes narrowed. ‘Have you used this artifact before?’

‘I am familiar with -’

‘I believe you’re grateful, Mister Narien. But I also believe you want to use me, a Betazoid you know can interface with this object, to… practice with the Skein of Years before you have to sell it? Be sure of how it works?’

Narien’s eyelashes flickered. ‘We can help each other, Commander Rhade. Do you know the path you’re on? For sure? You stand at the edge of the world and call the void to order.’

Rhade forced a polite smile. ‘It is a challenge, for certain. But I know the answers lie in that void – not within myself. Good day, Mister Narien.’ He left, the Romulan monk unable to summon another protest, and was glad he had several decks to climb before reaching the meeting room. It let him steel himself.

‘…can’t confirm the influence of the Orion Syndicate,’ Kharth finished with a sigh. ‘But it seems to fit. If they’ve tried to move in, then they’re probably either calling the shots and want to maximise profit, or they’re demanding payments from the Three Lost Crows. So the Crows, in turn, have to expand their operations and pay the Syndicate to keep out.’

Rhade’s eyes swept across the staff in the meeting room: the away team from the Vigilance, the command staff of Gateway, Captain Valance, and himself and Beckett for their work with Narien. At this point, he kept silent.

‘If the Syndicate are out here,’ Commodore Rourke said, tapping his finger on his chin, ‘then if we can uproot them, that might make the Three Lost Crows pull back. But we have to confirm that. And we have to find them.’

‘Finding anything in the Synnef Nebula is incredibly difficult,’ reported Thawn, stood next to Kharth before the wall display. ‘Our sensors struggle to pierce the interference. We’ve simply not gathered enough data on the nebula itself to establish effective protocols in navigating and searching it.’

‘It has to be possible,’ said Valance. ‘Because the Three Lost Crows operate in there.’

‘And the Khalagu,’ said Beckett, and winced as eyes fell on him. ‘Narien claims they have a whole society in there. A few thousand people in a semi-nomadic lifestyle. They’ve set up their own watering holes, so to speak, and move between them. They have to have ways of communicating, of navigating.’

‘Narien isn’t going to give us more on how the Khalagu live,’ Rhade said a little quickly. ‘I think we’re approaching the end of the intelligence he can offer us.’

Rourke sighed. ‘Let’s still help him make his deals with the Republic. We need some friends beyond the border. If he goes back to his people with good things to say about us, that’s a win.’

‘And it protects the artifacts themselves. We make sure they get in the right hands,’ said Beckett.

‘Alright.’ Rourke scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘We still need to see for ourselves what’s going on in Synnef.’

‘Most of our ships don’t have a chance of navigating the nebula beyond merely the fringes,’ Thawn said simply. ‘Runabouts don’t have a powerful enough sensor system, and the Tempest’s is too old.’

Valance leaned forward. ‘You’re going to be tired of me saying this, sir…’

‘But send in Endeavour, with perhaps the most sophisticated sensor system in the galaxy?’

Valance shrugged. ‘Even if we can’t pierce the interference, we can run a full survey on the nebula. It’s the logical next step for an investigation.’ At Rourke’s look, she straightened. ‘It’s been days since we last discussed this, sir. The crew have had more time. They’re ready.’

Rhade watched Rourke glance to Kharth, to Thawn, to Beckett. He didn’t hide his uncertainty, but at length, he nodded. ‘Alright. This is a scientific mission. Survey the nebula as deep as you can, avoid trouble, and bring us back data so we can begin to formulate a plan for overcoming the interference.’ He turned to Shepherd. ‘Commander, start drawing up plans for a sensor buoy network at the nebula’s periphery. Mark XVIIs, so we can upgrade them if we devise a means of bypassing the interference, and if not, so they can monitor people entering and leaving.’

Kharth said, ‘How have Midgard Colony and Dyke Logistics been?’

‘Mollified a bit by the Tempest being around to fly the flag. I think they’ll be pleased to see Endeavour head for the nebula, and angry when you don’t come back with pirate skulls,’ Rourke sighed. ‘Let me worry about handling the locals.’

Lindgren gave a tight smile. ‘Weren’t we supposed to be launching exploratory missions deeper into the sector?’

‘You are,’ said Rourke, pushing to his feet. ‘It’s just this one goes into the phenomenon right on our doorstep. Let’s get to work.’

In the hubbub afterwards, Rhade stayed seated. He watched Rourke exchange quick words with Valance, then leave with Shepherd and Harrian, deep in conversation. He watched Valance approach Kharth and the rest of her crew, giving quick orders and instructions. Only when all of the official business was dying out did he stand and approach his wife, who gathered her PADDs and looked to leave as quickly as possible.

‘The captain wants to depart tomorrow morning?’ he said, checking what he’d overheard. At her nod, he said, ‘We could have dinner tonight.’

Thawn looked up, apprehensive. ‘I was going to meet with Airex and T’Varel to discuss our sensor modifications before going in.’

They would have time to do that en route to the nebula, Rhade thought. He knew that without needing to sense the anxiety coming off her in waves, the sense of evasion. If they had been alone, he lied to himself, he would have pushed the matter. But they weren’t. So all he did was nod and say, ‘Very well. Once you’re back?’

‘Once I’m back,’ she said, and for the first time, the lying he could see in her eyes stuck in his throat.

He left at once, trying to keep his gait collected, trying to not storm like hell was behind him. People still got out of his way as he marched down the corridor, and that forced him further into himself, forced his shoulders to hunch in, forced him to make himself smaller. The last thing Adamant Rhade needed, on days when he could still feel on his fingertips the blood of the Devore officer he’d murdered, was the sense that anyone was afraid of him.

Including his own wife. Even though he knew his physicality was not what scared her.

Narien’s eyes were wide when he opened the door to his quarters in response to the door-chime. ‘Commander! I know I was a little forthright today…’

He, too, was afraid. Rhade must have looked furious. He took a deep, calming breath and raised his hands placatingly. ‘I understand everything you said,’ he said, keeping his voice low, level. ‘But I have one question.’

‘Name it.’

Their eyes met. ‘The visions from the Arev. Can they be for two people?’

‘You took down Qureshi’s curtains,’ was the first thing Lorraine Everard said when she entered the station commander’s office. As Rourke hesitated, unsure if he should defend himself or apologise, she broke into a beam. ‘Good. They were right ugly.’

‘Captain.’ Rourke smiled, gesturing to the seat opposite. ‘Thanks for coming in. Cuppa?’

‘Milk ‘n two,’ Everard confirmed. She was a stout woman in her fifties, with steel and sand in her hair and soft-faced but with a sharpness to her eyes that warned Rourke not to underestimate her. Not that he would after reading her record. ‘So what’s been happening the five seconds I was gone?’

‘Everything,’ Rourke grumbled as he headed for the replicator. ‘I’m grateful you chose to cancel your retirement and come back.’

‘Didn’t have much of a choice, did I, with this Frontier Day business. They’re putting kids in charge of everything.’ Everard eyed him, a man nearly ten years her junior. ‘No offence, duck.’

Somewhat delighted by the irreverence, he brought mugs of tea over and sat down. ‘None taken. Commander Shepherd was happy to step in as first officer for a time, but managing Gateway is a huge task, and I want her to be free to act abroad.’

‘You mean, let the lass take the Tempest out for a spin while you ‘n me sit here doing paperwork?’ Everard chortled. ‘Desk of a big old starbase like this is no place to tether an up-and-coming firebrand like her.’

It was a technical demotion for Shepherd to move her to Senior Officer of the Watch and bring Lorraine Everard, Commodore Qureshi’s former first officer, out of retirement to reassume her old post. But it also freed Shepherd up to act, as Rourke had always wanted her to, as his envoy in the field, and played better to the young officer’s strengths than the management challenges of the leadership of a starbase. Shepherd had been a little disappointed at the principle of the title loss, but Rourke thought she’d been sincere in agreeing that it was for the best, even for her. Six months as Gateway’s XO, and she’d probably have been bored to tears.

‘Do you mind me asking,’ Rourke ventured, ‘why you were looking to retire, anyway?’

‘You want to know if you’re about to lose me again?’ Everard raised an eyebrow. ‘Getting the new SB-23 established were always meant to be my last job. I don’t want command; I want to keep things running. And Starfleet were never meant to be a lifetime job for me. Thirty years, see the galaxy, do some good, then I had a slew of visiting lectureships lined up.’

‘Interstellar Relations,’ Rourke checked, confirming her area of expertise. Decades on the Romulan frontier made Everard one of the foremost minds on how to handle this region of space.

‘Aye, except it’s all changing fast anyway, ain’t it?’ She shrugged. ‘Now we’re reaching a hand out to the Rommies instead of telling ‘em, “suck it up, you shouldn’t have sat on a supernova for years.” I can spend another five years getting to know the twenty-fifth century before I move onto the glamorous lifestyle of the travelling genius.’

Lorraine Everard had a reputation for being hard-nosed and no-nonsense and was not by demeanour or appearance in any way ‘glamorous.’ He still made sure to wait for her to grin before he did. ‘It’ll be good to keep you. I wasn’t happy with how much institutional knowledge we lost.’

‘Aye.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Anyroad. You were telling me what I missed.’

Rourke sighed. ‘We’re trying to reach across the border more. Teros needs a full humanitarian support operation to rebuild them and pull them out of the hands of the Rebirth. Federation citizens like the heads of Dyke Logistics are seeing opportunities. But I want to try to mediate any Federation expansion by cooperation with the Republic.’

Everard clicked her tongue. ‘They’re new to this patch. Only got here by snaffling up territory from Rator’s collapse. I don’t know much of them, but I’d be surprised if they weren’t consolidating still.’

‘Agreed. I’m trying to get a regular liaison or find someone to send to Nemus Station or Unroth. I don’t -’

‘Ops to Commodore Rourke.’ Shepherd’s voice over comms cut through the discussion. ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but something a bit odd’s happened. The Swiftsure’s just arrived.’

Rourke sat up, frowning. ‘She should be in Deneb,’ he mused. Gesturing for Everard to follow, he stood and started for the door.

Ops was abuzz with this curiosity, and Shepherd looked even more concerned when the two ranking officers stepped into its midst. She turned away from the flight control station where Rhade sat, also frowning. ‘I’m only hearing from their comms officer,’ Shepherd said. ‘Swiftsure has proceeded to the Alfheim colony, and it seems like Commander Xhakaza has declined to have her enter our airspace? It’s like they’ve got business on the surface.’

‘I’m checking in,’ Rhade assured them. A moment later, he, too, turned, his frown deeper. ‘I’m not sure I understand. They’re reporting that their commanding officer, Captain Faust, is meeting with the governor on Alfheim and will proceed to Gateway once her business is resolved.’

‘Who the hell,’ snapped Rourke, ‘is Captain Faust?’

Tall and austere, Addison Faust looked not in the slightest concerned by the feathers she rustled when she entered Rourke’s office four hours later. Dark hair was tied back in a severe bun, while steely eyes met his without so much as a whisper of compromise or contrition as she came to a halt before his desk. ‘Commodore Rourke. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’

Rourke sat with his hands flat on the desk and tried to not glare. There was no way Captain Faust was too stupid to realise the insult she’d rendered. That didn’t mean he would hide his displeasure completely. ‘I’d say the same, Captain, but I’ve no idea who you are.’

‘The new captain of the USS Swiftsure.’ She pulled a PADD from under her arm and advanced to hand it over. ‘To answer your question, Commander Xhakaza has been reassigned.’

‘I wasn’t informed -’

‘On the orders of Admiral Beckett.’

Rourke’s heart sank. At the start of the year, Admiral Beckett had professed helplessness in the face of Starfleet politics, his credit dented as interference brought Lionel Jericho in command of the squadron. Frontier Day had likely disrupted the balance of power, with many of the admiral’s rivals either losing influence or being outright killed. With the bodies still warm, Beckett had plainly wasted no time reasserting his influence. He drew a sharp breath. ‘I would expect command-level decisions about my squadron to be run past me.’

‘This is running these decisions past you,’ said Faust unapologetically, and she sat without being asked. ‘You should be pleased, Commodore. You’re not losing Xhakaza. You’re gaining far more than you realise. I’m here to bring you the good news.’

‘Good news?’ Rourke echoed, voice rather flat.

She nodded at the PADD. ‘On the orders of Fourth Fleet Operations, Endeavour Squadron is to be expanded. You will, of course, retain command, sir, of the squadron and Gateway Station. But also assigned under your command are the USS Redemption, Sovereign-class, and the USS Ranger, Intrepid-class. Commander Xhakaza has been assigned to the Ranger, along with his young crew. It was thought that such a ship would be more appropriate to their experience.’

Rourke at last looked down at the PADD. ‘An Echelon is a lot for them,’ he admitted. ‘They proceeded to Deneb?’

‘We met at Starbase Bravo and conducted the handover,’ Faust confirmed. ‘With the SCE Team at Izar, I cannot expect they lack the facilities to render all necessary aid in recovery. I have been assigned command of the USS Swiftsure. You might know the Redemption’s CO – Taviel Daragon?’

‘By reputation only,’ said Rourke. His frown deepened. He didn’t know Faust, but she bore all the hallmarks of one of Beckett’s creatures: cold, efficient, and convinced she spoke with the admiral’s voice. He wondered how long it would take Beckett to get bored of this latest toy and put her down and how long it would take Faust to realise this would, or had, happened. Daragon, on the other hand, had commanded the workhorse Redemption for some years, and his reputation was that of an old-school Starfleet commander, the type of officer who had railed against the downturn of the past fifteen years and been sidelined for it.

He carried on reading. ‘This states the expansion is to respond to the changing strategic situation. I didn’t realise Command was this concerned by the reports of a few pirates.’

Faust sighed, showing at last a flicker of emotion: frustration, and not at him. ‘This comes to why I was on the surface, sir. The governor of Alfheim, here in the Midgard system, and Amadeus Dyke have both been… expressing their views. The uptick in piracy, the potential terrorist threat of Teros, the unknown dangers of Koperion. They want them dealt with.’

Rourke’s expression set. ‘We have no reason to think there’s a danger on Koperion. We have no reason to think that the disruption of Teros will move beyond its surface. I’ve had these conversations with Mister Dyke and the governor myself.’

‘And they have friends more powerful than you, sir,’ Faust said, eyebrows raised a flicker. ‘The Alfheim colony has been here for centuries, the last bastion of the Federation before the Neutral Zone. They view themselves as sentinels standing before the dangerous unknown and people far more seasoned in that danger than you.’

‘The Star Empire hardly ever did anything across the Neutral Zone,’ Rourke grumbled. ‘The colony’s greatest contribution was digging in their heels when it came to taking refugees of the supernova.’

‘And they were heeded,’ Faust pointed out. ‘Dyke Logistics, on the other hand, has a new claim: a claim of Federation citizens to riches and resources in neutral space. And neither party feels they are suitably heeded or protected.’

Rourke’s nostrils flared. ‘We’re hunting down the Three Lost Crows. We’re drawing up plans for Teros. It wasn’t even my choice to send the Swiftsure away -’

‘Admiral Beckett knows all of this, sir,’ Faust pressed on levelly. ‘You lacked resources. Now you have them. But I have to be blunt: the Federation Council expects Federation citizens with a stake in the Midgard Sector to be listened to. Midgard system colonies, Dyke Logistics, others. And I am here to represent and support their interests. I met with the governor to assure him of this. He was considering hiring personal security for the trade shipments, but now he knows that Gateway Station’s support vessels or the Swiftsure herself will see to it.’

‘Does he, now.’

‘You can always overrule me,’ she said, ‘but the governor will take that as another slight.’

Rourke’s eyes flickered to the PADD. ‘I see here that you’ve also been assigned as deputy squadron commander.’

‘It made sense for Captain Valance to serve in the role before. Now it doesn’t,’ Faust said simply. ‘Endeavour can go anywhere in the sector and do anything. That ship should be pushing the boundaries of Starfleet’s knowledge, intelligence, and presence, and Captain Valance is undeniably qualified to do that. But it will keep her distant from the rest of the squadron. She is also considerably less experienced than me or Captain Daragon.’

‘This should have been a conversation first,’ he chided. ‘Not a dictate.’

‘That,’ said Faust, ‘is something for you to discuss with Admiral Beckett. All of this is, of course, yours to override. Swiftsure is here, under my command, to provide rapid response to emerging situations. We have vast facilities and a large enough smallcraft to deal with anything this sector can throw at us. Our day-to-day will be supporting frontier operations – Federation frontier operations.’ She reached for the PADD. He handed it back, and she flicked through the screen before reaching without asking for the holographic projector on his desk and fired the document before them. ‘The Redemption can represent you in the field, sir. Her presence will deter warlords and larger threats, and as a symbol, a Sovereign-class in the sector is an astonishing message of the Federation’s commitment. She can oversee the humanitarian situation on Teros, build bonds with the Romulan Republic. And lastly, once the Ranger returns, she can see to scientific missions closer to home while Endeavour pushes that frontier. Starfleet has barely scratched the surface of systems a stone’s throw from our border; we weren’t allowed here these past two and a half centuries. Commander Xhakaza is a perfect fit for understanding the frontier right on our nose.’

‘I have no problem with any of this,’ Rourke said, unable to avoid sounding huffy. ‘But you must know that Admiral Beckett can make these decisions from afar – here, the decisions are mine. And if you go over my head to him, you can be sure your time here will be brief.’ It was easier, as the threat gained weight, to sound more serious.

Faust didn’t, at least, look dismissive, and inclined her head. ‘I have no intention of doing so. I understand you may think my arrival was a slight. Let me reframe the situation: you can bring me to heel. You can make me de-prioritise the Midgard system colonies – they are tiresome, aren’t they? Self-important, xenophobic, entitled.’ That tone made Rourke hesitate, but she was expressionless, emotionless in her assessment. ‘They are, however, a reality of this frontier. Continue to do as you have, Commodore. Remind them that they are not more important than people who have suffered and died as the Federation stood by, all so they could keep their green space rather than give it to unsightly refugees. But if that is all you do, they will keep going to their powerful friends, and they will make your life harder.’

‘You’re saying that you can be good cop to my bad cop.’

‘I’m saying that you are here to look outward because that is what many in Starfleet and the Federation want,’ Faust said coolly. ‘That is your mandate. But it would be short-sighted to forget that it is not what everyone in Starfleet and the Federation wants. You can let me meet their interests, be their ally and voice in sector operations, and sincerely involve me in your decision-making so they are heard. Or you can shut me out, shut them out, and see how well that goes.’

Rourke tilted his head. ‘Is that a threat, Captain?’

She shrugged. ‘I expect I would have to do nothing to ensure you see the consequences of such an action, sir. My priority is Starfleet.’

Yes, he thought, watching her. But which Starfleet? Beckett’s reputation for hawkishness was well known. Faust was likely cut from similar cloth, here to seek and destroy threats and put Federation interests first. But Beckett had nevertheless always given him, Rourke, a long rein, however much they clashed and disagreed. His political agenda was not myopic.

Beckett was not, however, perfect. What he thought Faust was and what Faust actually was were not necessarily the same thing. Perhaps she would prioritise small-minded Federation citizens at all costs, or perhaps she would offer balance. Regardless of anything else, Rourke had to admit that nothing she’d said so far was incorrect.

Still, he stood and offered her his hand to shake. ‘Then welcome to the squadron, Captain. Just make damn sure that you run anything like your meeting with the governor past me before you pull shit like that again.’

She did not argue. Merely stood, shook his hand, and left with all due courtesies.

It gave him a chance to sit with his head in his hands before he finished reading the PADD. The language was less proscriptive than Faust’s had been, he found; far more had Admiral Beckett written this like he was offering resources. It did not escape Rourke that this was possibly intentional by both of them.

His voice was sharp when the door-chime sounded. He gave his summons and had to sigh apologetically when Valance came in. ‘Karana. It’s been a day.’ He offered her a seat and the PADD.

‘So I’m hearing,’ she said. She sat and read, her expression remaining pinched. At length, her nostrils flared, and she looked up. ‘Captain Faust seems a better choice of deputy with this formation.’

‘I don’t -’

‘We could, I suspect, discuss this at some length, sir. Matt.’ Valance shifted her weight. ‘What I came to talk to you about isn’t as serious. But it has some urgency.’

He tensed. ‘Go on. Did Beckett and Fox get underway alright?’ The expedition to the Synnef Nebula had been, he realised, due to depart an hour ago.

‘The expedition has left,’ Valance said dismissively. Whatever the situation was, it had her more frustrated than concerned. At length, she straightened and said, ‘I have some personnel issues.’