The market snaked between the buildings of rough-hewn stone and metal, canopies and canvas hangings blotting out the foreboding spikes and sculptures cresting the rooftops. Above was all the grandeur of Qo’noS, the heart of the Empire. Here, they wound their way through a dim-lit sea of stalls and shops, travellers from a hundred worlds, and the thick miasma of sweat, of bloodwine, of roasted meats. The lighting was low, the coloured canopies of the stalls blocking out much of the grey, overcast sky, and flickering torches cast jagged, jumping shadows, turning guards and diminutive traders alike into monstrous silhouettes out of the corners of their eyes.

They’d changed out of uniform, and Logan had found a poncho with a hood he could pull low enough to obscure his ocular implant unless anyone looked too closely. The security officer had baulked at the suggestion, but Rourke had been steadfast. He didn’t need to hide or lie. But they didn’t need to invite trouble.

‘I met Fowkan in ‘87,’ Rourke explained as he led the way through the crowd. ‘Most reliable informant on Klingon underworld I ever met.’

Logan took a beat to answer, clearly scanning their surroundings at every turn. ‘And how does a reliable informant stay one for a decade and a half without getting his ass caught?’

‘Few simple rules. Don’t piss where you sleep. That sort of thing.’ Rourke shrugged. ‘He wasn’t much use about smuggling. Was plenty of use when it came to movements about the Sovereignty, Mo’Kai, D’Ghor.’

‘I get it. Why would someone whose work relies on knowing who’s manning the border, how they run security, how can you bribe ‘em, have any fondness for extremists who want to disrupt things?’

‘Exactly. Some crooks are the most conservative people you’ll meet. They love the status quo because they know how to exploit it. This way.’ Rourke took the next turn down a more narrow street. The area had changed since last he was here, but his sense of direction and a quick check of local maps after getting the message from Fowkan steered him right. Gleaming lights from a doorway ahead confirmed their destination. ‘In here.’

They ducked out of the labyrinthine market into the dim-lit gambling hall. Logan stepped up even closer, blocking anyone in the crowd from slipping between them as Rourke headed for the bar. He hadn’t been here in some years, but the routine was unlikely to have changed. Ask for the right people. Get directed to the right back room.

While there were a good number of Klingons in here, the establishment was favoured more by travellers. It meant nobody stood out, and off-worlders could catch some respite from the intensity of Qo’noS to gather around gambling tables, get drinks, and unwind or have decent cover to talk business.

‘Anything I should know or do?’ asked Logan as they reached the door to the private room Rourke was eventually directed to.

‘Look tough, but not too tough,’ said Rourke with a shrug. ‘They know who I am, so they know we’re Starfleet. Just follow my lead. This shouldn’t be a problem.’

It was a problem.

It was a problem the moment the door to the private room slid shut behind them, and Rourke realised the Klingon sat on the seating set against the curved far wall wasn’t Fowkan. It was a problem when a pair of other Klingons emerged from either side of the door and grabbed Logan, in an instant pinning him against the wall even as he struggled.

Rourke could have stepped back to help. Disrupted the element of surprise. But his gaze was set on the seated Klingon before him, and his stomach was winding itself into knots, and he did not move.

‘Torkath.’

Torkath, son of K’Var, brother of the warrior Dakor whom Rourke had killed at Agarath, rose to his feet and nodded past Rourke. ‘Matthew. Tell your man to stop struggling. He doesn’t have to be a part of this.’

Rourke at last looked back. Logan had already dealt a vicious blow to the solar plexus of one of Torkath’s guards and was facing off against the other, and Rourke raised a sharp hand. ‘Commander. Stand down.’

Logan did not lower his clenched fists, eyes sweeping between the two assailants. ‘Some informant meeting,’ he growled.

‘Yeah,’ said Rourke, and looked back at Torkath. ‘Where’s Fowkan?’

‘Not here,’ said Torkath simply. ‘You left the borderlands years ago, Matthew. I worked with Fowkan all the while since. He told me when you reached out to him.’

Rourke swallowed. ‘Yeah,’ he said again. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I bet you’re not here to tell me what you know about Martok’s disappearance.’

‘What I know is that he’s gone. And the Empire has to move forwards.’ Torkath shook his head. ‘No, Matthew. This is about us.’

‘Dakor gave me no choice at Agarath -’

‘We swore oaths,’ Torkath snarled, and lifted his hand, palm outward. ‘You swore an oath.’

‘To you. Not to -’

‘An oath to me is an oath to my family; don’t be naive.’

‘So should I have let Dakor slaughter the people of Agarath? My own crew? The people I was responsible for?’

‘There was truly no other way?’ Despite the anger and hurt in his eyes and voice, Torkath looked, Rourke thought, tired. Horrified.

Rather than meet that anger, Rourke made himself smaller. Softer. A rock for his old friend’s anger to crash not against, but over. Quieter, he said, ‘Not without breaking another oath.’

This did not seem to appease Torkath in any way, the warrior’s fists clenching by his side now. ‘Then you had a choice.’

‘Torkath, what was I supposed to -’

‘Like I had a choice when Dakor and his ship attacked mine to stop me from saving your people at T’lhab Station years ago,’ Torkath snarled, shoulders hunching. ‘I could have withdrawn. I could have let him contain me. I fought. Against my own brother’s ship.’

‘And I -’

‘Warriors died that day, Matthew!’ Torkath thundered. ‘Warriors sworn to the House of K’Var, on my ship, on Dakor’s ship, however misguided he was! But I had promised to protect your people, so I set aside my responsibility to those warriors and acted on my responsibility to you!’

Torkath was in his face now, crossing the distance, close enough that Rourke had to tilt his neck back to look him in the eye.

‘I had a responsibility at Agarath,’ Rourke said as levelly as he could. ‘To protect those worlds, those people. I put that first.’

The blow took him across the face, a backhanded strike that was enough to stagger him but not drop him. He knew Torkath had pulled his blow, and still, in many ways, it stung more than a serious attempt to wound could have.

‘You broke your oath,’ Torkath rumbled, ‘and you slew my brother. You must answer for that. Answer to me.’

Logan had jerked forward, but Torkath’s two guards grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him back against the wall. Rourke again waved a hand at him to stay put, to not fight, even as he rubbed his cheek and tried to stop his head from spinning.

Unsteady, he looked up at Torkath. ‘I’m not going to fight you.’

‘Not here!’ Torkath spat. ‘Not in this pathetic back alley. In the Great Hall. My blade against yours. You may answer for your crimes against my House, or you may defend them.’

Groaning, Rourke straightened and shook his head. ‘I’m under no obligation to meet your challenge.’

Torkath’s nostrils flared. ‘You came here for diplomacy, Matthew. You would stain yourself, the ranking Starfleet representative, as a coward?’

‘A coward for rejecting the premise of your challenge? If I stand in front of the High Council and tell them how Dakor and those who followed him defied Martok’s orders, attacked the Star Empire against the wishes of High Command, attacked Starfleet and Romulans alike while they fought each other in an underhanded ambush, and was killed because he held a Federation diplomat – not a Starfleet officer, a non-combatant – as a body shield of a hostage to cover his escape, then what will they say?’ Torkath said nothing, and Rourke took his own step back forward to close the distance. ‘They’ll brand your brother a coward and a traitor. My oaths to you did not stop me from killing him, Torkath. They did stop me from letting his name, your name, your family’s name fall to dishonour by reporting to the Empire exactly how he died.’

For a moment, Torkath faltered. Rourke thought he had him, then, sharply, he shook his head. ‘Then here,’ he said in a rush. ‘We settle this here.’

‘Torkath, this isn’t about your honour or about oaths,’ Rourke said in a rush, raising his hands placatingly – defensively. ‘This is about you and me.’

‘You’re right,’ said Torkath, and hit him again.

This one wasn’t a backhand, wasn’t a blow intended as more of a statement than an attack. This was a solid punch to the jaw that sent Rourke flying, and even as he hit the floor, he heard the sound of Logan again struggling against Torkath’s guards.

Rourke rolled to his hands and knees, groaning. When he spat on the floor, blood came out, and he was in no rush to rise.

Torkath was stood over him, fist clenched, quivering with anger. ‘If this is about you and me, Matthew, then fight me.’

‘No,’ Rourke groaned, looking up.

The next blow was a kick to the ribs. Rourke felt something crunch as he was knocked back down.

‘Martok’s gone!’ Torkath roared, still over him. ‘How long do you think peace with the Empire will last without him? You’ll have to face me on the battlefield sooner or later!’

‘Then I choose later.’ Rourke pushed himself up to a kneeling position, and still did not stand. His side throbbed. There was likely a broken rib, and spots danced in front of his eyes. ‘I’m not fighting you here, Torkath.’

Heavy hands grabbed him by the front of his jacket, hauled him up before slamming him down on the table in the meeting room. ‘You were my brother,’ Torkath snarled, the two of them nose to nose. ‘And for that I won’t cut you down when you’re defenceless. Fight me.’

‘It’s not out of honour that you won’t cut me down,’ said Rourke through gritted teeth. ‘You just need this to be a fight so you can forget everything we went through -’

‘You’re the one who forgot! You’re the one who broke your word!’

‘…because you’re not here for your family, you’re not here for oaths,’ Rourke tried to continue, his ribs feeling like they were on fire. ‘You’re here because I didn’t put you first, like you put me first, and you’ve got to really hate me before you can bring yourself to murder me.’ His grip on Torkath’s forearm tightened, but it became a clasp, not a struggle, as he looked him in the eye. ‘And I’m sorry, Torkath. I’m sorry about Dakor. I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry I failed you.’

Torkath’s grip tightened. For a moment, Rourke thought he’d horribly miscalculated. Then the Klingon hauled him up before throwing him down on the floor, and the furious roar that came from his throat sounded torn, ruptured. Rourke’s head spun as he fell again, and he didn’t even try to get up. Still, Torkath stood over him, chest heaving.

‘Before this is over, you’ll fight me, Matthew. Before this is over, I will burn your heart and give you no choice but to take up your blade. Before this is over, we will fight and rip the stars asunder with flame and fury.’ Torkath’s voice was ragged, his breathing ragged, but he gave Rourke not another look as he turned away, uttered a quick command to his guards for them to release Logan, and all three of them left.

Rourke rolled onto his back, groaning, and shut his eyes as black spots again sparked over them.

‘Sir!’ Logan was on one knee beside him in an instant. His lip was bloodied, his cheek cut, and there would likely be bruises soon. ‘You alright?’

‘I can walk.’ Rourke sat up only gingerly and still whimpered. ‘I don’t reckon Fowkan is gonna be here with intel.’

‘I don’t think so either, sir. We should get back to Lord Koloth’s residence.’ Logan helped him up with surprising care, and Rourke’s breath almost caught as he realised just how strong the former Borg was. The two warriors had certainly needed to take him by surprise to keep him on the sidelines. ‘And, sir?’

‘Yes, Commander?’

‘Please tell me there ain’t no more old friends of yours coming to help this situation? Only Commander Kharth will skin me if I screw up this bodyguarding.’

The laugh hurt inside as well as outside. ‘No, Commander,’ said Rourke ruefully. ‘No, I think I’m all out of friends on this side of the border.’