The Vedrex Opera House was a monument to Romulan artistry and architecture, its angular spires and emerald-lit facade dominating the city’s skylines. Tonight, the ancient building would set the stage for two performances: the Fall of D’taleth, and Governor Vhiemm’s carefully orchestrated political performance.

Hovercars and diplomatic shuttles descended like choreographed trapeze artists towards the building’s main entrance, where a veritable gauntlet of media representatives had assembled. Imaging drones buzzed overhead, breaking away from the hovering surveillance network that always dominated Vedrex’s skies, their lights setting a constellation of flashes against the twilight. The Rencaris State Information Bureau had ensured maximum coverage as reporters from every approved news outlet on the planet jostled for position behind ornate barriers by the doorway.

Beckett peered through the cockpit canopy of the Outrider, the Waverider class serving as the captain’s yacht at this diplomatic event. ‘Do we think Vhiemm realised he could use tonight as a propaganda coup?’ he drawled, glancing back to the others.

Thawn gave him a wan smile that even Valance thought was a little performative, but the captain didn’t give them time to break out into bickering.

‘Get the quips out of your system up here,’ Valance said, adjusting the collar of her dress uniform. ‘Tonight has to go well.’

‘Of course,’ muttered Kharth. ‘We wouldn’t want to upset the authoritarian bastard rulership.’

Airex tilted his head towards her, eyebrows raising. ‘Or you just enjoy the show?’

To Valance’s relief, that seemed to make her subside. The night was simple, in many ways: get through a performance at the opera. But one wrong step, and Endeavour would not only be cast into the hinterlands of the Midgard Sector, but Rencaris would be thrown into the arms of the House of K’Var. Brok’tan’s reflections on the political state of the house was not enough comfort against that.

The Outrider settled on the landing pad with barely a tremor, Lieutenant Tyderian flying their descent perfectly. Through the canopy, they could see Vhiemm already in position at the top of the grand staircase, resplendent in traditional Romulan formal attire, his shoulders nearly gargantuan in their angular proportions. Two steps below him stood his cadre of officials, arranged with seemingly mathematical precision by rank.

‘The Klingons are here,’ noted Beckett, nodding to the cluster at one side of the entrance. Even from here, Brok’tan’s commanding presence was unmissable. Valance’s throat tightened, however, at the sight of Ledera by his side.

‘So much for disciplining a renegade,’ grumbled Kharth.

Beckett looked to Thawn, voice dropping. ‘You okay?’

‘She had me in her grasp for no more than fifteen minutes,’ Thawn pointed out. ‘I’ve had worse imprisonments.’

‘You get that’s not much reassurance, right?’

‘Time to join the performance,’ butted in Valance as they heard the distant hiss of the Outrider’s landing ramp opening. ‘Remember: everything we do out there will be captured by those drones, and broadcast across the system by morning.’

‘Morning?’ echoed Airex. ‘How very lax.’

They had barely stepped into the brisk evening air before the drones swivelled towards their ship, drawn to the Starfleet delta insignia like moths to a flame. The lead drone bore the emblem of the Rencaris Information Ministry, Vhiemm’s personal mouthpiece.

‘Captain Valance!’ called a Romulan reporter, pushing forward as the party descended the ramp. ‘Is the Federation preparing to formally recognise Governor Vhiemm’s administration as the successor to the Star Empire in the region?’

So it begins, she thought, arranging her features into diplomatic neutrality as she led her officers through the gauntlet of cameras and the waiting governor, whose practiced smile did not quite reach his calculating eyes.

‘I’m just here to enjoy the opera tonight,’ she told the journalist with a polite deflection. It was the line they’d agreed to stick to, and it would work for now.

‘Captain Valance!’ Vhiemm extended a polite hand as if waving them welcome to the whole planet, his whole domain. ‘I’m delighted you could finally make it.’

As they ascended the steps, Valance’s gaze met Brok’tan’s. The general inclined his head, a firm but clear gesture of respect between warriors. Beside him, Ledera’s hand tightened visibly on the hilt of her ceremonial dagger.

‘Captain,’ Brok’tan rumbled, and turned his eyes to the others, lingering particularly on Thawn. ‘I am glad you and your crew are well.’ Ledera audibly scoffed, but fell silent at Brok’tan’s cold glare.

Vhiemm slid forward. No doubt he enjoyed two factions competing for his approval, but he could not have them openly fighting before the opera. ‘The Grand Hall awaits,’ he said smoothly. ‘Let us not keep the performers waiting.’

Inside gleamed with polished obsidian floors that reflected the emerald chandeliers suspended from vaulted ceilings. Ancient Romulan battle standards hung between pillars carved to resemble warriors, their eyes seeming to follow guests across the room. Once, those warriors had been afforded open respect in this culture, Valance mused, before the cloaks of shadows and subterfuge had settled around the Romulan people.

Crowds moved forwards; anyone who was anyone in Rencaris society wanted to be here tonight. If they could not brush shoulders with the exotic Starfleet and Klingon guests, they could be seen near them, and that was nearly as good as social currency. Wait staff flittered to and fro offering drinks and canapés. Vhiemm positioned himself at the centre, close enough to be pictured with anyone, but maintaining the illusion that anyone from any faction had to come to him.

‘Ooh, emerald? Don’t mind if I do,’ cooed Beckett, snagging two flutes of fizzing drink from a passing server. Thawn looked dimly expectant, only to roll her eyes when he downed one and took the other more gently. Then his eyes fell on the smaller gaggle of press allowed inside. ‘Want me to turn on the charm?’

Kharth scoffed. ‘Are you kidding?’

‘Let him go,’ said Valance. ‘It throws them something without me having to deflect a dozen hard political questions I can’t answer.’

‘Your wish, Captain, is my command,’ said Beckett, giving her a cocky bow before he turned and sauntered towards the cluster. Valance had always thought of him as somewhat artfully dishevelled, though never in complete control. Only now did she see the gleam of his smile, the perfect folds of his uniforms. Whether Beckett liked it or not, he was born for this. And right now, he seemed to like it.

‘Ladies, gentlemen, and other distinguished gentlefolk of the press,’ Beckett announced, loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to be uncouth. ‘I trust someone here can tell me if this vintage is from the famed Gal Gath’thong vineyards? My father, Admiral Beckett, always said they produced the finest in the quadrant.’

Kharth gave Valance a furious look. ‘Did he just -’

The name-drop worked, a crowd all but mobbing Beckett immediately. ‘Lieutenant Beckett, son of Admiral Alexander Beckett -’

‘Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence -’

‘The very same,’ said Beckett with an artful smile. ‘Though I’d prefer to be known for my own accomplishments, rather than my family connections. Much like Rencaris itself – forging an identity independent of the former Empire, wouldn’t you say?’

It wasn’t that the reporters bought it. But they knew they could sell it.

Back at the cluster of Starfleet officers, Thawn watched him, expression a mixture of exasperation and admiration. ‘He’s incorrigible.’

‘He’s going,’ growled Kharth, ‘to accidentally imply Admiral Beckett approves of Rencaris -’

‘Give him some credit,’ said Airex soothingly. ‘He’s not an idiot. Ah, there’s Doctor Talarin and the representatives of the Science Institute.’ He nodded to a small group of Romulans in formal attire, but here, everyone made it clear where they belonged, each of them bearing a small silver insignia of the institute. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

Airex’s departure was followed by the arrival of more officials of Vhiemm’s government, and soon enough Valance was regretting she’d been left with Kharth and Thawn as backup. None of the women were the most socially adept – though quickly, she was reminded Thawn was a natural at formal etiquette.

Yes, Rencaris was remarkable. Yes, they were very excited by the opera ahead of them. No, I don’t know what the Klingons will make of the opera; you’ll have to ask them…

‘I studied comparative mythology at the Academy,’ came Beckett’s voice drifting through the crowd, ‘and the legends of Sotarek the Navigator have fascinating parallels with ancient Klingon tales of Kahless’s voyages… it’s remarkable how our cultures’ histories intertwine, sometimes violently, sometimes harmoniously.’

‘Are you suggesting there’s harmony between Rencaris and the House of K’Var?’ a reporter asked, eyes gleaming.

Valance’s gaze snapped around, her prior reassurances to Kharth sounding flat to her own ears as Beckett all but offered a promising soundbite up on a platter.

But Beckett gave a casual, airy wave of the hand. ‘History is complex. Tonight is about cultural appreciation. But perhaps during intermission, I could share some historical research I’ve been conducting. The archives on Endeavour contain some fascinating records from twenty-third century engagements that haven’t been widely discussed.’

Brok’tan and Ledera, meanwhile, were amidst a thick throng of the Rencaris Defence Force’s senior officers, and Valance gritted her teeth to realise she was stuck with an agriculture minister while Beckett sold them downriver. She slipped away to try and intercept, but then the ceremonial gong sounded, signalling five minutes until the performance.

Vhiemm all but used transporter technology to appear at her elbow. ‘Shall we proceed to our seats, Captain? I’ve arranged for your officers to join us in the state box. The Klingon delegation will be… nearby.’

The group reconvened, and as Valance poured reassurance into Vhiemm’s ear, she could see Thawn move to intercept Beckett and take his arm with more force than affection.

‘What exactly are you doing?’

Beckett’s smile didn’t waver, and Valance thought she heard him say, ‘My job.’ Then he placed his hand atop hers with a winning smile, and sounded more like the brash charmer at the press when he said, ‘Come on, I hear the soprano in the second act can shatter dilithium with her high notes.’

The massive bronze doors to the opera hall swung open. The performance was about to begin.