It was the evening after the opera when Valance found Beckett sat alone in the Round Table. She slid into the booth’s opposite bench and set a PADD on the table.

‘Ledera defeated Brok’tan in ritual combat this afternoon. The Suv’chu has left the system.’

He’d settled down with a bowl of noodles, and clearly decided a conversation with the captain demanded enough decorum that he had to take a break from eating. Beckett stabbed his chopsticks in the pile of food and reached for the PADD, but his read was perfunctory. ‘I know.’

He’d likely just monitored enough of the public Rencaris channels to pick up reports, rather than established spies everywhere. The implication he had eyes enough to know things before she, Endeavour’s captain did, rankled, however.

‘I expect you’re pleased with yourself,’ she said.

‘Shouldn’t I be? With a little research, one chat to the press, and one conversation with an idiot Klingon, I kneecapped the Rencaris-K’Var relationship. In a way the rest of our mission couldn’t, wouldn’t.’

‘You shouldn’t have ambushed me with that -’

‘You’d have tried to stop me.’ The need for decorum apparently faded, and Beckett reached for his bowl. ‘It’s uncaptainly to try to sabotage these sorts of negotiations directly. The Starfleet way was to try to offer a better deal, not just tear down the ones around us.’

‘I was working on it.’

‘Captain, I’m working really hard to not pass comment on your mission.’ His voice gained a hint of pleading. ‘Don’t challenge me on mine.’

‘If you had a problem…’

‘Of course I had a problem.’ Beckett scowled. ‘Ledera abducted my girlfriend for no damn reason at all, and Brok’tan wasn’t going to do a thing about it. She was still his trusted representative at the opera, for God’s sake. Ledera was a threat to us and her superior wasn’t reining her in, and we were still acting like just because the Suv’chu weren’t shooting at us, they weren’t a threat to us. Of course I had a problem.’

Valance leaned forward. ‘Brok’tan is why Ledera stopped on the Suv’chu. She can’t just claim his generalship in a ritual combat, but the loss will massively damage his standing in K’Var. The house’s leadership is going to have to step in. By setting Ledera against him, we’ve destroyed a reasonable, moderate voice in a Klingon house that otherwise hates us.’

Beckett frowned and began counting off on his fingers. ‘You could have defeated Ledera on the Suv’chu; even if you wouldn’t kill her, you could have kicked her arse so badly that nobody would listen to her. Brok’tan reined her in, then kept her close. So why should I be sorry he’s fallen from grace? All he did was provide cover for the unreasonable, violent, and expansionist elements of his house. If he were a moderate voice, he’d have stopped them.’

‘We don’t know what he stopped.’

‘No. I do know that he would have negotiated a good deal with Rencaris, which would have endangered our actual allies in the Republic.’ Beckett shrugged. ‘You shouldn’t be sad about that. I’m sorry you feel like I went behind your back: I did. But I’m not sorry I did this.’

He’d grown into his role, she thought. For a time, she’d had him as her Chief Intelligence Officer largely to keep the young, promising officer close, to keep giving him responsibility so he’d flourish. He’d been a valuable part of her crew on Pathfinder and a talent she wanted to keep cultivating. But somewhere down the line, his work had stopped merely being that of the analyst and advisor. Somewhere down the line, someone had given him a taste of the clandestine operations of his division, and he’d developed a fondness for it.

More than a fondness. A talent. Enough to unleash on the Klingons with relish after Ledera had struck at them.

A week later, Endeavour’s repairs were done. Access to the Rencaris shipyards was enough to let Thawn do her work in safety and security, and considerably faster, and Airex had assured Valance that all it cost them were survey records and scientific studies that Starfleet was happy to share with locals anyway. It would still, perhaps, shore up Rencaris’s position this deep into the sector, allowing them to master the rampant changes of the Mesea Storm or the geopolitical shifts of local systems.

But it was better than helping an invasion of the Romulan Republic, and it was better than the direct legitimisation of Vhiemm’s government. She would not, Valance thought, miss the place.

A day back into their gentle return to Gateway, Kharth slid into her ready room with a gloomy expression. She tossed a PADD on Valance’s desk. ‘Just got word from the Scylla.’

Frowning, Valance read the PADD. ‘Feserell.’

‘K’Var came back. In force. They’ve secured the northern continent and are setting up a resupply outpost. No telling what they’re doing with the locals,’ Kharth sighed. ‘Guess they got their beachhead in the sector after all.’

Valance thought of Brok’tan insisting that if K’Var had a stake in Rencaris, they had a stake in the Midgard Sector’s stability. Was that the case for a more distant world they’d had to seize a foothold on through force of arms? Had Brok’tan even been correct in his assessment that more Klingon territory in the sector would moderate K’Var, not encourage them?

Had they achieved anything other than horse-trading in their operations on Rencaris, unable to affect whether people would die – merely which people died?

‘I expect,’ she said at last, ‘that Captain Borodin and his Republic allies will have to venture out there. See the state of affairs.’

‘I’d expect so.’ Endeavour still needed to return to Gateway. Neither woman was that satisfied with standing idly by in such a crisis, but they both knew that in the ship’s condition, that was non-negotiable. Kharth shifted her feet. ‘What’re your plans today?’

‘My plans?’ Valance made a face. ‘Finish going through these reports. Continue my own reports to Gateway – Harrian wants to keep picking my brain about what we saw at Rencaris. Sleep.’

‘Anything in there before “sleep?”’

Valance looked up. ‘Here to worry about my wellbeing, Kharth?’

Kharth scoffed. ‘No. Dhanesh has just been suggesting you and I do a bit more direct work and mentorship with the up-and-coming young command officers.’

‘We’re not doing enough?’ Valance sat up at that. She’d reached out to several, even held flight sessions with Lindgren.

‘Take that up with Dhanesh. He suggested we meet a half-dozen of them in the Safe House for drinks tonight. That kind of bullshit… professional-social mentor thing. And, really, they want you, the officer who carved a career path to the captain’s chair since the Academy. Not the security officer who turned out alright.’

It was strange, sometimes, to think that she was in a role she’d pursued for over twenty years. That she’d achieved her life’s ambition. Getting Pathfinder had come at such a cost that Valance couldn’t consider it an unmitigated victory, and taking command of Endeavour had been emotionally complex at best.

She didn’t much want to sit down with junior officers and try to convince them that the burdens of command wouldn’t hollow them out. But it’s what she would have wanted from her captain when she was them.

‘Fine,’ Valance sighed. ‘But you don’t get out of it.’

Kharth scoffed. ‘Yeah, I never thought you’d let me go even if you didn’t need me.’

The reports filled up the rest of her day. Thawn’s updates were nothing if not thorough, and Harrian had sent extensive, almost excruciating follow-up questions to her initial summary of events at Rencaris. Endeavour was the first Starfleet ship to see the system up close throughout history, but the squadron’s strategic operations officer had perhaps an inflated sense of just how much she’d seen, or an optimistic one.

She took dinner in her ready room, and decided the young officers would have to put up with her still in uniform, arriving a little late by the time she was done and heading for the turbolift. The bridge was quiet, run by a set of junior officers which included Stevens, making Valance frown as she padded past the command chair.

‘You’re not coming to the Safe House, Lieutenant?’ she asked quizzically.

Lieutenant Stevens looked up like she’d asked if he wanted her to throw him out of an airlock. ‘I – no, Captain! That’s alright. Commander Kharth put me on shift here, it’s fine.’

‘Alright. We’ll talk another time?’

Stevens was one of the more promising young officers of the watch, and would have been high on her list for this meeting Dhanesh had organised. Perhaps, Valance wondered as she took a turbolift, something different had appeared in her schedule for the likes of him, perhaps including Lindgren: the officers with experience under their belt already, who didn’t need guiding about these early stages, but supporting as they transitioned to senior officers, full of –

‘Surprise!’

The adrenaline that shot through her veins at the shouted welcome from the crowds of the Safe House made, for a split second, a surprise party indistinguishable from a violent ambush. A beat later, Valance had taken in the smiling crewmembers, the decorations spilling from the ceiling and bulkhead. The wide table with its spread of food. The cake.

Her eyes landed on Kharth as her crew laughed and clapped at her astonished reaction. ‘You.’

Kharth was advancing with a wry grin, and reached to clap her on the shoulder. ‘As if I’d let you drag me into that kind of meeting.’

‘This was your idea?’

‘Airex’s. Dhanesh thought it was great.’

‘Good,’ said Valance, blinking. ‘Because it’s less embarrassing if I point out to you my birthday was nearly three weeks ago.’

‘Yes,’ Kharth allowed, ‘but we were also limping our way through hostile territory and it didn’t feel very celebratory for the big four-oh.’ Another clap on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Valance. Have some cake.’

Broken. That was how Ledera had described her when she’d remained ice-cold even in the face of mortal threat to her crew. Empty. Hollow. Less Klingon, less human.

Yet, here she stood in the beating heart of her crew’s personal and social lives, surrounded by officers she trusted and respected. Surrounded by her senior staff, who all looked a little abashed at putting on such a fuss for their standoffish captain, but committed, nevertheless.

Kharth, somehow marshalling people with enough dryness to drain a river, but still pushing drinks and cake into people’s hands like it was a threat. Dhanesh and Logan, getting her whatever she wanted to drink, chattering and joking like they were squash court friends –

– but then, she did train with Logan, play sports against Logan, as two of the only people aboard who could physically match each other. She had been letting Dhanesh into her office for cups of tea and conversations after difficult moments.

Then there was the Vulcan politeness of Starik, the respectful nods of Caede, and she expected little more than that from either man. But it was followed by the younger officers and their well-wishing and then, embarrassingly, everyone’s gifts.

A novelty mug from Kally that read Today is a good day for coffee. A new tennis racket from Logan, while he specifically joked about it helping her swing. The astonishingly thoughtful gift from Thawn of a highly detailed model of the USS Antares, the first ship Valance had served on – which also had a projector built in and functioned as a desk clock. Lindgren had dug out some old pictures and records from the last Endeavour and their crew, a reminder of days long gone by that Valance quietly admitted made her heart give a bittersweet pinch.

Dhanesh gave her a beautifully bound, physical journal with a handcrafted pen, and smilingly told her to use it when she had something to say but nobody she wanted to say it to. Caede was more awkward, handing her what he said was a ‘ceremonial’ Romulan dagger but was, she thought, actually a military combat knife – and frankly, she preferred that.

Kharth handed over a badly wrapped package that turned out to hold an intricately tooled leather scabbard – ‘Your kur’leth was looking a bit shabby’ – and explained she’d found a science officer who did leatherworking as a hobby. Airex was a bit abashed and uncertain with his gift, but the copies of old Trill starcharts was beautifully presented.

‘I was a pilot,’ she reminded him in a quiet, awed voice. ‘Of course these are incredible.’

Last, hovering around the edges, was Beckett. He hadn’t wrapped anything, and her heart sank a little when he brandished a bottle of blood wine, all a very staid and predictable gift for a half-Klingon officer, and exactly the sort of thing she’d grown to hate over the years. But there was a note tied around the neck, and she read it while buying time to keep her expression studied.

‘For when dealing with Intelligence Officers becomes too much.’

Their eyes met. Beckett winced as he shrugged. She knew a peace offering when she was offered one.

‘Thank you,’ Valance said, dropping her voice to let this be a personal moment as the crowds of her crew swam around her, happy and relaxed and, she suspected, blowing off steam after Rencaris as much as celebrating her. ‘You know, I had word from Gateway this morning. Someone up there is delighted with your work.’

The corners of Beckett’s eyes creased apologetically. ‘I hope you’re getting some credit -’

‘Everyone’s done exactly what they’re supposed to do,’ she cut him off. Her superiors considered her to have handled Rencaris well, particularly by securing diplomatic agreements with Vhiemm once the deals with K’Var collapsed. But even Rourke seemed quietly satisfied with that collapse, orchestrated more behind the scenes.

‘It’s not about credit for me,’ Valance continued, ‘but you. You’ll get word soon enough. You’re being promoted, Beckett.’ She took the bottle, taking advantage of his gobsmacked expression. ‘You’ve impressed people. They’ll want to see more from you. I hope you’re ready.’

She’d been furious when she’d realised he’d gone behind her back. She was still angry, she thought – but turning around to face the rest of her crew was like turning from the dark to the light. They would need a speech, and she would need to give it, but they didn’t expect her to be like Rourke, affable and easy about it. She could keep it simple, and still they would cheer and clap and mean it.

There were holes, still. Faces she half-expected to see in the crowd, even if she knew they couldn’t been there. People she’d lost in the past. People who’d moved on.

But Kharth took the bottle of bloodwine from her to set on the gift table, and Airex pushed a full champagne flute into her hands, and Captain Karana Valance advanced on the smiling crowd of the crew of the USS Endeavour, her crew.

And towards whatever would come next.