‘Chief,’ Cassidy called as they advanced on Verior’s apartment block, ‘watch our backs.’

When Rosewood looked back, Nallera had emerged from the Nomad with a heavy rifle slung over her shoulder, and she grinned at the instruction. ‘Eyes in the back of my head, Boss.’

If there had ever been an elevator inside the gloomy, dust-laden apartment block, it was long out of order. Rosewood wasn’t convinced there was anyone else living there as they ascended the crumbling stairwell, relying on Cassidy’s flashlight to find the way. Any sound from down dark corridors or behind closed doors could have been tumbling masonry as the building succumbed to the ravages of time and war, animals who’d moved in, or simply his imagination as they moved through the quivering dark.

Eventually, they reached the right floor, the right corridor and, moving through the gloom, the right door. Cassidy nodded to Tiran, who moved without being told to the other side, phaser pistol in hand. He rapped hard on the door.

Silence.

Another rap. Then, in the silence after, Cassidy sucked his teeth and said, ‘Ireqah, it’s Starfleet. Open up.’

Another beat, and Cassidy was just turning back to Nallera, likely to ask her to breach, before the door slid open. Cassidy went to move when Rosewood stepped up beside him.

‘Like you said,’ Rosewood breathed, ‘the captain shouldn’t take risks others do. Let me. She knows me.’

He wasn’t sure how he should take Cassidy acceding so quickly, but then he’d stepped through into the darkened room, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as if there were a predator in the depths, and being his boss’s sacrificial lamb was less of a social concern and more of a practical one. That wasn’t what had his palms sweating, his chest tightening, though.

‘Ireqah?’ he called out in that quiet-loud voice that felt like a whisper in his throat but carried through the gloom. ‘It’s John Rosewood. Remember me?’

He could barely see the silhouette of furniture, but there was a warmth to the musty smell of the rooms. An empty mug on a table. A PADD on the side. Someone had lived here. His eyes landed on the far door just as a round light above it came to life, and Rosewood braced as if he was about to be blasted by a defence system.

Then a hologram shimmered into existence before him, illuminating the room. The projector was set above a heavy, metal, armoured door that Rosewood realised led to a panic room. A projection of the head and torso of a Romulan woman hovered in mid-air, and he at once recognised the sharp eyes of Ireqah. Once, she’d been a glamorous and distinguished looking official, but now her dark hair was tied back in a no-nonsense fashion, her clothes looked nondescript and hard-wearing, and even over hologram he could see the exhaustion on her face.

‘Rosewood.’ She sounded quiet, guarded. ‘We met in ‘94. I remember.’

The corner of his lip curled. ‘It was ‘95. January. That’s a basic test, Ireqah; surely an imposter would be briefed enough to not be tripped up by that one. C’mon.

The image of Ireqah hesitated. ‘You’re not alone. Even if I trust you…’

‘We met at the conference room on Neral Station. Your delegation hated that place. Said it smelled like the plasma conduits were always on fire,’ Rosewood said without missing a beat. ‘You apologised for them being so rude after the first meeting. I said they were wrong; it smelled like the carpets were burnt.’ He straightened. ‘But here I am, talking to a holographic projection, knowing the Tal Shiar are probably hot on your heels. Remember when things almost fell apart during the second week on Neral?’

‘If I were a Tal Shiar trick,’ said Ireqah’s projection, ‘I wouldn’t need to play games. I’d just have you killed. But the riots on Dranir Prime made us suspend talks for two days while your Starfleet delegation helped restore order. That convinced my people to take your offers more seriously.’

‘It convinced you to take my offers more seriously,’ he said, voice dropping.

‘All of this is in the records -’

‘We brought him to appease you,’ came the rumbling voice from the front door. Cassidy advanced, pistol in hand, dark eyes latched on the door rather than the projection. ‘Don’t play stupid Romulan games with me where you’d be mad if I came without someone you knew, and now you’re acting like bringing someone you know is a trick.’

‘It’s all tricks. I don’t stay alive, doing what I’m doing, without tricks.’

‘I could have my people bust that door open,’ Cassidy said with a tilt of his chin. ‘How safe is it?’

‘Safe enough that one of you will die before you get through. Safe enough that I’ll be dead before you get your hands on me.’

‘That’s your best bet? To threaten me with you killing yourself?’

‘I don’t know who you are,’ Ireqah sneered. ‘And however much I would like to cross the border, I assure you, I would rather die than fall back into the hands of the Tal Shiar. If you are not a trick, then you might be a fool, underestimating them. They are here, in this city, they have followed me -’

‘If the Tal Shiar followed you, we’d have seen some sign of them. They might be good, but so are we.’

‘Typical Federation arrogance, to think you can outwit the oldest intelligence agency in the galaxy -’

‘If it’s typical Federation arrogance,’ Cassidy sneered, ‘then you believe I’m a Fed, right, and can come out?’

‘Okay!’ Rosewood did raise his hands now, but to stymie the argument. ‘We can do ten rounds of this; threatening each other, cajoling each other. Playing twenty questions about a conference you and I were at six years ago and whether it was shrimp or salad for starters on the fine dining of the third day.’

‘Shrimp,’ said the projection of Ireqah triumphantly.

‘That was day four; day three was goats’ cheese, actually, but -’ Rosewood shook his head, nose wrinkling. ‘If I were sending a fake me to convince you, this is the kind of stuff I’d find out and brief them on. You know that. So I’m going to assume for the moment you’re you, and this isn’t an elaborate plan to grab a handful of Starfleet nobodies. You want to come with us, Ireqah.’

The sharp eyes of the projection fell on him as her voice dropped. ‘I want to leave. Why should I leave with you?’

‘Because I understand why you’re here, on this planet, risking everything.’ Rosewood’s breathing slowed. ‘And nobody the Tal Shiar could send pretending to me could understand that. Could understand the guilt you’ve been carrying for years; the pressure. The fear. Fear that if you don’t make things right, everything your people fought for will crumble because of people like you don’t want to be: people who sat silently as their leaders bled their people dry.’

‘A cold read on a defector, Mister Rosewood, isn’t -’

‘Thing is, they’d say you’re disillusioned. You’re not. The reasons you’re here are the reasons you joined in the first place: because you had to step up and do what’s right for your people. But over the years, you’ve been made more and more insignificant, more and more a cog in the machine, while those responsible for your people’s downfall in so many ways secure more and more power. You’re not a traitor, Ireqah. You’re a believer. But you believe in your people, and not the government – the Tal Shiar – that’s choking them to death.’

A pause. The hologram of Ireqah shifted. ‘Sweet words. Effective rhetoric. Nothing to -’

‘There is no proof,’ Rosewood pressed. ‘Because there can’t be. And you’re not here for proof. You’re here because you have hope. And it’s gonna take hope for you to open the door, because nobody’s got anything better.’

There was another beat, and then the hologram went dead. Cassidy turned sharply towards him.

‘Nobody’s got anything better?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘Is that the best your silver-tongued Academy-trained diplomacy can do?’

‘Don’t sneer at Academy-trained, Cassidy; I know you went to San Fran!’ Rosewood retorted. ‘She’s here for the Federation, so I tried a bit of authentic Federation empathy instead of overblown spycraft -’

The door slid open, the dim light from behind casting the figure before them in a sharp silhouette. Tall and slender, illumination highlighting her strong features and pointed ears, Ireqah stepped carefully out of the safe room and into the apartment.

‘I’m dead anyway if my best plan is to stay in there and wait ‘til Ganmadan,’ she sighed, and looked towards Rosewood. ‘It’s good to see you again, John.’

His exhale banished tension, but the next breath he drew brought in a whole new kind of apprehension. ‘And you, Sinach. Thank you for putting your trust in me.’

‘I have always respected your discretion,’ she said carefully.

‘I promise we’ll make it worth it.’

Somehow, she and Cassidy managed to adopt the same dubious expression as the Romulan said, ‘Don’t make promises like that.’ She turned to the team leader. ‘You have a silver-tongued believer here. A rare combination. Exploit it.’

‘I’d suggest harness,’ said Rosewood, wilting. ‘Just because I’m sincere doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.’

‘It doesn’t mean you’re not,’ said Cassidy, but turned to Ireqh. ‘We got a vehicle downstairs and a vessel outta town. We’ll make it fast and ugly if we got to, and then our ship will lose any eyes on us before we even leave the system. Nobody has to be any the wiser.’

Then the world shuddered, thundered, and shattered.