Kharth hadn’t known what to expect of the refugee camp on Alfheim. The colonists had been desperate to keep the people of Teros far away, a xenophobic fear only exacerbated by the murder of the refugee Voler. It had taken the promises of Starfleet and Colonial Affairs that the shelter would be temporary and kept far from what the Midgard government deemed ‘civilisation’ before the camp’s establishment could be completed. An island had been chosen far from any settlement, in the end. Far, even, from the Twilight Isles, the string of islands that housed the tropical resorts that were so essential to Alfheim’s tourism.

That pushed the choice of island further north, away from the cosy equator. It was still warm, with reports showing her pictures of golden beaches and woodlands thick with southern pines. She was cynical of those, aware that Colonial Affairs would insist they had done the best anyone could for the people of Teros, when she expected they had been dumped on a rock with nothing but a pile of prefabricated buildings, just as Starfleet did to them fifteen years ago.

She was half right. When the light of the transporter faded, she could smell the pine needles, feel the crunch of undergrowth under her feet, but knew the jacket she’d thrown on was a little too warm. The climate was much more comfortable than she had expected.

So was the shelter.

Sprawled out through woodlands, sheltered against the wind by a hill that sloped towards the beach a kilometre away, those recognisable prefabricated buildings had indeed been deployed. But rather than the battered and worn homes they’d become back on Teros, these were new. Sturdy. More than that, they were well-settled into the trees to create a tidy settlement that almost looked like it belonged in this environment, rather than an industrial interloper.

Here and there walked the Romulans of this new shelter, and they did not look like the defeated ghosts of Teros. There was strength to their backs, purpose to their gaits, a light in their eyes as they went about their existence with renewed comfort. Confidence. Hope.

She had not expected to be able to pass for one of them, well-fed and dressed in fresh clothes, but now she could walk the makeshift streets and disappear among her own kind in a way she hadn’t for a lifetime.

Rather than the bundle of standardised buildings put to whatever use the refugees needed, the shelter’s pre-fabs were clearly each designed for a specific purpose. Housing pods sat on stilts, lined up neatly in these streets leading to a central hub. Here, each pod was shaped and sized to meet its purpose for these work and communal spaces. It made it easier to live, easier to work, easier for this shelter to be a proper settlement and not some hovel where the lost children of Romulus had to crawl under whatever rock they could find to not die.

It made it easier to find the school.

The building only had three classrooms, and Kharth did not go in. She could see through the windows, see classes of young children and gangly youths sat in rows before staff sent down by Colonial Affairs to try to get them an education she’d barely had the chance at back on Teros.

It was in the third classroom she found him. They were adults in there, many of whom she recognised; people who had been very much like her once upon a time, denied the chance to learn and grow by Teros’s back-breaking poverty. Now they sat in a tidy room at rowed desks and listened in rapt attention to Davir Airex, stood at the front before a display as he taught.

She had to keep a tight angle on the window so he didn’t see her, and that made it almost impossible to be sure what he was teaching. Some form of mathematics, or science. But she could read him. Even after all this time, she knew when he was alive with the joy of explaining something, when he shone with enthusiasm as he gestured while he talked.

He could understand the deepest secrets of the cosmos, she knew, and still he could explain it to anyone in a way they would find as entrancing as he did.

‘What’re you doing here?’

Kharth had the most profound sense of deja vu as she spun to see a gangly young woman stood leaning against the walls of the school prefab. The last time they’d seen one another had been in the streets of Teros two years ago, and the look of suspicious accusation had not changed even though she looked better fed, better dressed.

‘Caleste.’ Kharth hesitated. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

‘Didn’t know you were here.’ She’d been a child when Kharth had left Teros, the tagalong who’d cried when older kids didn’t let her join in with their games. Since then, she’d become entangled with the Rebirth Movement, though it had appeared to be an alliance of convenience rather than belief. Convenience was often enough to set someone on a path they couldn’t move away from.

‘My ship’s assigned to the sector,’ Kharth said. ‘We’re on leave -’

‘I know. I know he’s assigned to it.’ Caleste jerked a thumb at the window to Airex’s classroom. ‘Just didn’t think you’d stick your head in down here.’

Kharth paused again. ‘Neither did I. Glad I did, though. Glad you’re here.’

‘Where else would I be?’

‘Teros? Or wherever the Rebirth went?’

‘Only idiots went. Only idiots stayed,’ Caleste scoffed. ‘Some folks are saying that Teros was a community and the Federation want to destroy it. As if fifteen years of living in a shithole doesn’t make it any less of a shithole.’

‘I can see why people don’t trust the Federation relocating them again, though. Especially beyond the border.’

‘Yeah, well. What’s the worst that happens? We get to not live on Teros before we go somewhere else?’

There were musings about deals with the Republic to eventually find the refugees a home under a Romulan government. Kharth didn’t know what the people of Teros might think about that, but she knew she had no affinity for the Republic, any more than she had an affinity for the Free State. Romulan governments had given her nothing, after all.

She swallowed. ‘It seems nice here.’

Caleste shrugged. She looked more like a teenager in both body and mannerisms, and the surly edge to the gesture couldn’t be ignored. ‘Yeah. Well. Fresh water. Shade. Decent temperatures. Decent replicator rations. Not worrying about supplying the replicator, or who’s gonna show up to bully us around. What’s not to like?’

Kharth nodded at the window to the classroom. ‘An education.’

‘Yeah. He’s alright, you know. Your buddy.’ Caleste peeled herself off the wall and padded over, her accusing air fading. ‘Some of them Colonial Affairs types are condescending as shit. Telling us how useful it’d be to get our Standard Certificate.’

After going through the prep programme for the Academy, Kharth remembered what Federation teachers dealing with poor little refugees were like. Her lips twisted. ‘Not Airex?’

‘Nah. He’s been figuring out what people know and don’t know, figuring out what people might find useful. Then for fun. Just been a few lessons, but it were technical stuff, then some history, then some literature, then some more mathematics.’ Caleste scrubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. ‘Didn’t make me feel like an idiot because I never got taught trig.’

Kharth’s eyes slid back to the window to the classroom, to Davir Airex stood at the head of a crowd of young adults of Teros. People who had missed so many opportunities. People whose lives he’d impacted, hurt back when he was Lerin. It was a simple thing to give back. But the simple things were sometimes what mattered most.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, then said, ‘Is it actually coming together for our people?’

Caleste looked at her dubiously. ‘It’s better than it was. I shouldn’t…’ She hesitated, then kicked at the ground. ‘Thanks.’

Kharth frowned. ‘For what?’

‘We’ve all seen the reports. Part of Colonial Affairs being transparent or whatever was giving us access to the settlement proposals.’ Caleste rolled a shoulder again. ‘Saw your recommendations.’

‘My…’ Kharth swallowed. There had been conversations with Valance, arguments with Rourke, ever since they’d returned to the Midgard Sector. Insistence that they not turn their backs on Teros again, that they rebuild or get them somewhere safer. She’d never felt like her superiors had fobbed her off, but it had never occurred to her that they’d do anything, either – that they could.

But Valance was a captain and a close adviser to Rourke, who was now a flag officer with operational authority in this whole sector. She wasn’t some scrappy lieutenant yelling at the captain of a gunboat. She was the XO who had the ear of people with influence.

Cautiously, Kharth met Caleste’s gaze. ‘You’re not mad at me?’

‘I mean… you came back. Fixed things up a bit. Guess that means you’re not a liar.’

It was a start. Kharth gave a tight smile. ‘I saw a replimat on the way here. Want to get a coffee? Catch up?’

‘Oh. Sure.’ Caleste glanced back at the window. ‘He should be done with his class soon. Do you want to wait?’

Kharth looked through the window to Airex, still in full flow, still shining with an enthusiasm and warmth she hadn’t seen in him since… well, since he’d been Airex. Or at least, she’d not been able to see it before now. Now, when he was bringing it forth to the people who needed it most in the whole galaxy. Her people.

She swallowed. ‘I see him all the time. You can tell me about his lessons, though.’ Her eyes swept around the small town centre in this little settlement, nestled among trees in a comfortable climate safe behind Federation borders, lying in the shadow of the might and protection and support of Gateway Station. ‘It really is okay here?’

‘It’s alright,’ said Caleste with all the cynicism of youth, and they headed across the square.