Adamant Rhade wanted to see him, and Beckett was very worried. It could have been a source of reassurance that he’d asked to meet in Endeavour’s anthropology lab, nominally Beckett’s own territory, but that merely added to the confusion, which added to the apprehension. Beckett thus arrived a good twenty minutes early but spent the time doing nothing more than double-checking days-old reports, pacing around, and performing improvised drum solos on the control panels.

Rhade’s arrival, painfully prompt, did not assuage any of this uncertainty. The broad-shouldered officer assumed his usual respectful stance before the bank of panels, hands behind his back, and was soft-spoken as he said, ‘Good day, Lieutenant.’

They had not talked since Thawn ended the engagement and absconded with Beckett onto the runabout Starfall for six weeks. Beckett wasn’t even sure he and Thawn had talked.

Beckett stood, trying not to think too hard about what he should do with his hands. Definitely not resume the drum solos. ‘Commander! Hi. Hey. How’re you doing?’

Smooth.

‘I’m pleased to see Endeavour is back, and back at Gateway for more than two days. You’ve been through some ordeals. Everyone deserves rest. You are well, I trust?’ Rhade was completely inscrutable, painfully polite and collected. But Beckett suspected Rhade’s impeccable manners meant he could be quietly imagining caving his skull in against the edge of the control banks and still speak with the same courtesy.

‘Me? I’m great. Fit as a fiddle. Happy as a clam.’

There was a pause, the two men regarding each other. The silence went on a beat too long, so when it was broken, they both spoke, words tumbling each other.

‘I know this is weird since Rosara left you -’

‘I wanted to discuss this malevolent psionic entity your report named the “Veilweaver” -’

That stopped them both short. Beckett gaped. ‘What? Oh. The Veilweaver? That’s what you organised this meeting about?’

‘Yes,’ said Rhade with, at last, a hint of exasperation. ‘I have read the mission logs about your encounters with, and liberation of, the entity.’

‘I think… won’t Commander Airex be a better person to chat to about this?’

‘Commander Airex,’ said Rhade carefully, ‘had no direct psychic interaction with this thing. You did.’

‘Not as much as…’ Beckett swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. ‘Not as much as Lieutenant Thawn.’

Rhade shifted his feet, looking thoughtful. ‘It seemed very possible, from the report, that her experience was highly distressing. I did not want to assume she wished to discuss it.’

‘I didn’t have a great time being chatted to by some unknowable, inter-dimensional evil,’ said Beckett, sharper than he wanted, unnerved by both Rhade in general and the topic in particular. ‘So I don’t know what you want to pick my brain for.’

‘Because I am quite certain that I also had psychic interaction with the Veilweaver.’

Beckett hesitated, trapped between the broiling guilt and uncertainty of any conversation with Rhade, the gut-wrenching he felt if he thought about the Veilweaver, and the fascination that had marked most of his investigation before the horrors had been revealed. ‘You. Here?’

Rhade nodded. ‘Here. You heard of the murder of the Romulan refugee?’

‘I heard it happened.’ And Beckett listened in bleak fascination to the details of a murder case he had paid very little attention to that had rocked the station while Endeavour returned from their far-flung journey.

And then, when he pointed out the murder was bad but didn’t necessarily lead to the Veilweaver, Rhade explained more. About himself. About what he’d seen. And about Secretary John Grimm of the Midgard Colonial Government. By the end, Beckett had made a pot of tea for them both and sat listening in confounded horror.

Once Rhade was finished, the big Betazoid settled back in the chair, nostrils flaring. He stared at nothing for a moment, then he said, ‘I should have brought Draven. I expect he could have explained some of this better.’

‘I would love to speak to this guy,’ said Beckett. After the pot of tea had been replicated, he’d brought out his journal, scribbling away by hand in ink. ‘But the real point of interest here is your visions, how this thing screwed with you. Everything Grimm said – or everything you heard him say – resonates with what that asshole cultist monk we met was saying. An entity attracted to horrors which it feeds off, then it manipulates people to exacerbate those horrors.’

‘Precisely,’ said Rhade.

Beckett paused. ‘Does this mean that guy responsible for the Midgard Colonial Government’s outreach programmes – pretty much everything where they pretend to give half a shit about something beyond their own interests – is a bloody cultist?’

It was Rhade’s turn to be silent. Then he said, ‘Yes.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yes. I haven’t brought this to anyone yet.’

‘Yeah, you’d sound completely mental.’

‘So I was hoping we could review my experiences and compare them to the information we have on the Veilweaver, and see if it’s possible to evidence my claims. Perhaps bring it to Commodore Rourke.’

‘That’s a lot.’ Beckett ground his teeth together. ‘I guess Rourke won’t assume we’re asking him to immediately arrest this guy. But he can keep an eye on him.’ He drummed his fingers on the edge of his teacup. ‘Has anything happened to you since?’

‘You mean, have I had any more… communication… with the Veilweaver?’ Rhade shook his head. ‘No.’

‘And the dates align,’ said Beckett, ‘with our freeing of the damn thing. Like, you met with Grimm about a day before we did it.’

‘Exactly.’ Rhade hesitated. ‘Is it possible the Veilweaver was manipulating Grimm and others from afar in order to empower itself more? Fuelling its escape plan? And now it’s been liberated it’s done? Gone?’

‘Maybe.’ Again, Beckett drummed his fingers. ‘But the Vorkasi imprisoned this thing because it was interfering. And it seems likely the suffering from the supernova and the Star Empire’s collapse helped juice it enough to stage this escape plan. Sure, things are less awful, but isn’t the entire galaxy still a delicious, all-you-can-eat buffet if you’re an inter-dimensional monster that feeds off emotional turmoil?’ He threw a hand in the air. ‘I mean, we have Kharth on Endeavour, we’re screwed.’

Rhade didn’t look as amused as Beckett felt the joke deserved. ‘You believe it’s premature to assume the Veilweaver has returned from whence it came.’

‘First: excellent use of whence,’ Beckett complimented. ‘Second, no idea. Maybe it’ll stick around, and we reckon it can. Maybe it’s had enough of our dimension. Maybe it’s not done feasting. I guess we keep an eye out for any sign of… anything? And try to nail this Grimm guy for being a murderous cultist.’

‘Agreed.’ Rhade’s broad shoulders eased an iota at this resolution, but still his brow remained knotted. There was a shift about his manner Beckett couldn’t put his finger on until he said, more falteringly, ‘How has Rosara been? That is, since her… encounter. With the Veilweaver.’

‘Oh!’ Beckett swallowed the adrenaline that had spiked at the mention of Thawn. ‘Uh. I mean, you know her. Tough. Not prone to wallowing.’

Rhade watched him a moment, eyes cool, level. ‘It’s very much my hope that in you, she has someone she can confide. Share these burdens. In a way she…’ He hesitated. ‘In a way she often has not.’

In a way she couldn’t with you. ‘She’s been okay,’ Beckett said after a moment. ‘Ed Winters has been checking up on her, too. But she’s mostly been busy. You know what she’s like.’

A grimace. ‘With family, yes.’

‘I meant with the engineering department. What do you mean, family?’

Rhade froze. Always so calm and considered, now his eyes widened an iota. ‘I – forgive me. I’ve overstepped.’

He stood up, but so did Beckett, tea forgotten. ‘No, what’re you saying? What about her family?’

Watching Rhade squirm was like watching a mountain fuss. At length, he grumbled through gritted teeth, ‘Her great-aunt Anatras, the head of the Twelfth House, is coming to Gateway. To see her. I was notified by my family, as we anticipate she will want to speak to me, too.’

‘Oh.’ Fear did a good job of swallowing the confusion and frustration at how this was the first he was hearing about this. ‘This’ll be to talk about the…’

‘Dissolution of our arrangement. Formally. By Betazoid custom. Yes.’ Rhade straightened, gaining confidence, and looked him in the eye. ‘You are an accomplished officer, Lieutenant. A respected member of your crew, decorated for courage, and serve as your ship’s eyes and ears when it comes to the heartbeat of the universe.’

‘Uh. Thanks?’

‘You have nothing to prove to Anatras Thawn,’ Rhade elaborated, softening. ‘Rosara was sure of herself when she decided to end our arrangement. And so, she must be sure of you.’

Beckett winced. ‘I want you to know…’ But his voice caught. He was going to claim there had been nothing between him and Thawn before they’d left together on the Starfall, but that wasn’t really true, even if he ignored their misjudged kiss in the Delta Quadrant. If nothing else, he’d still asked her to leave Rhade and be with him only days before she’d done exactly that.

But Rhade raised a hand, saving him. ‘You owe me nothing. Certainly not an explanation, and certainly not guilt. It was convenient for me to ignore the ways Rosara was unhappy, so I ignored them. But you? There is a… a lightness to her when she is with you. All I could ask of you is that you try to preserve it.’

‘I’ll try.’ Beckett swallowed. ‘Can Anatras tell her what to do?’

‘Anatras can say whatever she wants.’ Rhade paused, pondering. ‘Rosara is no fool. She knows that the choice she made entailed defying the head of her house. Will it be hard to follow through on that? Yes. Which does bring me to one more piece of advice.’

‘Oh?’ Beckett wasn’t even sure he wanted Rhade’s advice, but that felt more about wanting to pretend this issue would go away on its own.

‘This situation between Rosara and her family. Do not be tricked, by yourself or anyone else, into thinking this is about you. This is about Rosara and her choices. That you are that choice is not as important as that you were her choice, not Anatras’s.’

Beckett drew a deep, raking breath. ‘Got it. It’s not about me. I should help out.’ Even if she didn’t tell me.

Rhade must have caught that wavering frustration and shifted his feet. ‘I’ve overstepped; I apologise. You of course don’t need to listen to a word I say. I’m only involved because I expect Anatras will make an attempt to reconcile Rosara and I. It will be for nothing.’

‘She… she’ll what?’

‘I’m assuming. The arrangement was her idea, after all.’ Again, Rhade looked like he’d realised his words weren’t helping. ‘I should go. You’ve been good enough to lend me your time when you should be on leave. Good day, Lieutenant.’

It was not often that Beckett got to see Adamant Rhade run. Not that he physically sprinted, but his deep and polite nod and brisk stride towards the door was as close as might happen in an actual conversation.

Rhade was right about one thing, Beckett thought. He was supposed to be on leave. But there was nothing else about the conversation that suggested this would be as restful as a holiday was meant to be.