After spending much of his career on smaller, functional vessels, the opulence of the USS Sirius sometimes made Rourke itch. So it was in the Starlight Lounge, the most comfortable observation lounge aboard the ship, designed to be first choice when hosting dignitaries. With its plush upholstery, thick carpet with subtle, sweeping patterns, and soft lighting bringing out the warmth of the metal bulkheads, it was also the most exclusive, with access often restricted to only the most senior officer.

That was the only reason Rourke had come here; hosting Captain Addison Faust, the squadron deputy commander who had never been his choice, demanded certain concessions to her position and rank. The formal briefing in StratOps had finished, but there was more to the decision-making process than the official meetings, and they both knew it.

‘Underspace, huh,’ mused Rourke, extending his glass for the holographic waiter to pour from the bottle of Vulcan nectar he’d had opened. Light, refreshing, and non-alcoholic, it felt appropriate as both a drink in the middle of the day, and something a little special when hosting his deputy. ‘Are they sure?’ In the briefing, this assessment by Starfleet Science that Faust brought with her had been given with confidence. Away from prying eyes, he was more curious about the degrees of certainty.

‘As one can be,’ Faust mused, sipping the drink. Her gaze lingered on the view through the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, and distant, swirling shape of the aperture beyond. ‘The DEI is reaching out to the Turei, so we’ll see if that shines any light on anything.’

‘In the meantime, correctly labelled or not, we have a subspace transit network that might span the galaxy, with a doorway to it smack-bang in the middle of the Midgard Sector.’

‘Because what this region needed was another disruption.’

He snorted. They had spent very little time together, and much of it had been guarded. It was a relief to hear that sort of quiet, sardonic remark. But his amusement did not last. ‘How long before the malcontents in the Klingon Empire figure out there are possibly backdoor entrances to every border?’

‘Longer than us,’ said Faust a little haughtily. ‘Which is why Starfleet is looking to fortify every strategically vulnerable aperture. But I’m sorry, Commodore – they’re not malcontents any more. They’re the status quo. And it’s why you asked me to bring Redemption here at once.’

Once, the mighty Sovereign-class had been an ageing example of her kind, given only the most minor upgrades over her two and a half decades of service. The changing strategic situation of the Midgard Sector with the Klingon Empire’s increasing threat had brought an end to that era of fading grandeur. Placed under Faust’s command, she’d received the most extensive refits and system updates the engineers of Gateway Station could deliver. Now she was ready to protect this broiling border.

Rourke drummed his fingers on the rim of his glass. ‘Do you only see the strategic threats, Captain?’

‘It’s my job to prioritise them, sir,’ Faust said coolly. ‘To free you up for other considerations. Like the interest from Rho Detara and Rencaris.’

‘That’s still early days.’

‘We should invite the Republic to join us here.’

Rourke blinked at the apparent nonsequitur. ‘I didn’t think you’d want them sticking their noses in.’

She shrugged. ‘They have a right, considering one of their ships is missing, too. But don’t you see, sir?’ Faust leaned forward. ‘This is how we bring Rho Detara and Rencaris into the Republic.’

‘I don’t follow.’ He hadn’t even known Faust wanted that.

‘They’ve wanted to stay independent so they’re not dictated to. We’re having a constant headache with worlds being preyed on by the Empire we’re not beholden to protect. But you see, if Rho Detara or Rencaris lay claim to this aperture – or share it – they don’t have to slink into the Republic on the back foot. They have a bargaining chip. Power.’

Rourke scratched his beard. ‘They can dictate and benefit from access to the aperture. Which the Republic can, too.’

‘Ambassador Hale already mentioned they’re curious about the trade opportunities.’

In his cynicism, Rourke took a moment longer to wonder why Faust cared. If the two worlds fell under the Republic’s borders, then Starfleet was treaty-bound to protect them from the Klingon Empire. As it stood, they had no legal obligations to intervene against the raiding forces entering former Star Empire space, something he’d fought with his deputy about in the past.

He frowned. ‘And if this aperture falls under Republic territory, then it’s down to them to fortify it – but we can help them. And negotiate access as needed.’ They were far too far from Federation borders to lay claim to the aperture themselves. But Klingon aggression was shoving the Republic further into the Federation’s pocket.

To Faust, a location of scientific and strategic significance in Republic space became the Federation’s by simple proxy.

It was the sort of pragmatic thinking he was coming to expect of his deputy, and normally he begrudgingly valued it. Rourke was not a man threatened by other perspectives; he normally relished talking them down if necessary, and wasn’t afraid to incorporate them if he needed to. But today was not normal, and once he was done with Faust, lingering no longer than courtesy demanded, he immediately headed for the Sirius’s extensive gym complex with a bash of his combadge.

‘Cal? You’re off duty. Meet me in the ring.’

Other subordinates might have grounds to complain to Personnel at their commanding officer instructing them to meet him in a boxing match when he was in a bad mood. Harrian Cal was familiar enough with how Rourke blew off steam to take it in his stride.

‘We’ve got a missing ship, and all she thinks about is maybe the Klingons are gonna have a go,’ Rourke was grumbling fifteen minutes later, directing a few light jabs to punctuate his frustration.

Harrian also knew well enough to weather the verbal and physical exorcism before settling into a proper match, his guard high, blocking the jabs easily. The sparring ring in the Sirius’s expansive gymnasium had decent space around it for warm-up, training, and even seating for an audience, but officers had taken one look at their grumpy CO and judiciously evacuated.

‘It’s her job,’ Harrian reminded Rourke with a grunt. ‘Take advantage of it. Her head’s here, in the Midgard Sector. Your head doesn’t have to be.’

‘Where do you think my head is, Cal? All we can do is wait here. Let Locke study the damned aperture. Wait for disaster reports to creep in, wait for someone else to make the first move.’ Another jab. ‘And stop being so bloody reasonable.’

‘My mistake.’ Harrian leaned back from the next swing, frowning at the obvious effort that made the punch go quite wide without an impact. ‘Faust is a heinous pragmatist who doesn’t care about the lives of Starfleet officers or the locals and just wants the Federation map to expand.’

Rourke’s shoulders sank a little. ‘That’s not true,’ he admitted.

‘I know it’s not. And ease up. It’s all fun and games and blowing off steam until you put me through a wall.’

‘As if,’ Rourke grunted. His next swing was deliberately meant to break the block; the younger, stronger Harrian absorbed it with ease. ‘I didn’t transfer off Gateway just so my desk had wheels.’

‘You transferred off Gateway because Midgard’s more volatile and needs you to be more hands-on. This is still base camp for the squadron. A forward command post. Not the trenches.’

‘So I do nothing?’

Harrian made a face. ‘I don’t know what you want from me here, Matt. You want me to tell you that Faust is right and you’ve got to live with it? Or to tell you to abandon all restraint and rush off alone after Endeavour?’

‘I want you to stop looking for the bloody middle ground! We don’t find answers there!’ Rourke’s next swing was heavier, and Harrian blocked this one with a grimace. ‘That’s all I’ve been doing for months. Be reasonable. Sensible. Like these bars came with a collar around my neck.’

‘That’s sector command, unit command -’

‘And what’s the point of it -’

Harrian grimaced. Stopped simply absorbing the blows. And delivered his own jab in response. Sloppy and frustrated, Rourke brought his arm up to block in an erratic jerk.

And something in his shoulder went pop at the impact.

‘It’s a sprain,’ Doctor Sadek confirmed in Sickbay twenty minutes later. Rourke sat on a biobed, a sheepish Harrian stood beside them. ‘That’s my diagnosis. Oh, and one more thing: you’re an idiot.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Harrian, wincing.

‘It’s not you,’ groaned Rourke, letting Sadek finish rotating his shoulder cautiously, before she loaded up a hypospray with the dermaline for pain relief. ‘My form was shit.’

‘Maybe,’ said Sadek, ‘don’t indulge in something physically dangerous when pissed off? Just an idea? Or remember you’re not twenty any more when you do it?’

‘So you’re saying I’m out of practice and should do this more often?’ said Rourke, smirking to wind her up. The smirk died as she adjusted his shoulder sharper than necessary to hit him with the hypospray. ‘Hey, your bed-side manner’s not what it was when you were twenty.’

‘That’s because I’m older and wiser to stupidity.’ Sadek stepped back. ‘I’m going to give you a hit of hydrocortilene to bring off the swelling, and you’re not allowed to do anything stupid for about forty-eight hours. And I’m telling Sophia.’

‘Are you legally -’

‘Do you want me to tell Ellie, too? I might need backup in mocking you.’

Rourke bit his lip. ‘Fine.’

Sadek looked between him and the broad, sheepish form of Harrian. ‘Meeting Faust went that bad?’

‘Faust is fine,’ Rourke grumbled. ‘The situation is shit. Endeavour’s missing and nobody seems to care.’

Harrian winced. ‘That’s not fair -’

‘It’s not true is what it is,’ Sadek interrupted. ‘Everyone cares, Matt. There’s just a balancing act between what Midgard Sector security needs, and what a search for a missing ship needs.’

‘I know.’

Sadek stared at him for a moment. ‘You’re a commodore. The unit commander.’

‘And so I’ve got to be responsible,’ Rourke sneered. ‘Even if it means leaving my ship behind.’

‘What? No. Everyone’s being cautious and looking at the conservative options because they want to give you advice and it’s not their decision. You’re the unit commander – it’s your decision, Matt.’

‘I know it’s my decision -’

‘No, listen to me.’ Sadek took up the next hypospray and slipped in a capsule of the anti-inflammatory. ‘You’re not the rogue young commander trying to make the best of a bad situation, with decisions made above your head that you have to live with. Working on the micro-scale because the macro is beyond your control. It’s your decision now. This far out, the only person you answer to is yourself.’

Rourke stared at her. When the hypospray hit his shoulder again, bringing another burst of immediate relief that might have just been a placebo this time, he’d half-expected reality to come rushing in, the cold pragmatism and calculations he’d had to make for days override any solace from Sadek’s argument. It didn’t. Only clarity remained.

And a sudden burning in him.

His head snapped around to Harrian. ‘I need you to work up a plan for Redemption and Swiftsure to secure the immediate area. When we finally make contact with the Tempest, they’re to join them here and provide patrol support.’

Harrian hesitated. ‘And the Liberty?’

Rourke hopped to his feet. ‘Will be heading into Underspace. Along with the Sirius. We can act as a forward base for an expedition, follow the trail left by Endeavour and the Ihhliae.’

‘Do we need both ships?’

‘We’re not just on a rescue mission.’ Rourke wagged a finger. ‘Faust is right, the aperture could change the political fortunes of Rho Detara or Rencaris. So we’re going to find navigation routes through Underspace that lead to opportunities for prospecting, for trade. Give them something of value to negotiate with. And we’re going to find the missing ships.’

Harrian straightened, swelling with the rising enthusiasm. ‘Yes, sir!’

‘Remember,’ said Sadek as Rourke stepped away from the biobed. ‘No exertions and nothing stupid for a good forty-eight hours.’

‘I think it might be too late for that, Aisha,’ he said with a smirk, and turned on his heel, heading for the door.

The plush surroundings of the ship had felt smothering, guilt-inducing, like he was swanning around in luxury while those nearest to him suffered and struggled through the unimaginable. But now, Sirius’s decks beneath his feet didn’t feel like a soft carpet threatening to pull him into indolence. He set foot upon a million tonnes of tritanium and the most sophisticated systems Starfleet could marshal.

He was not the commander of a scrappy border cutter, making do with what he had on a ragged edge. He was the master of one of the most powerful ships in the galaxy. ‘Helpless,’ as a word, belonged nowhere in his vocabulary.

His boots pounded on the deck as he stormed for the nearest turbolift, and he smacked his combadge, opening the necessary comm channels and running through a flurry of instructions.

‘Locke, I need you to turn hypotheticals into an actual trail we can follow…’

‘Shep, let me know the second the Liberty gets here…’

‘Rhade, it’s time to dust off these engagement protocols in unknown deep space…’

There were a myriad of considerations. Safely entering Underspace, successfully navigating Underspace, following the trail of the missing ships. How to achieve his stated goals, because there was a lot of good this mission could do for regional stability.

But he would have been lying to pretend he didn’t show his true colours with his last message, tapping his combadge just as he ducked into a turbolift.

‘Rourke to Cortez. Heads up. We’re going to get our people.’