Rosara Thawn shivered as the breeze through the window caught the gathering dusk and brushed it through the apartment and across her bare shoulders. ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ she called as she heard shuffling from outside the bedroom, before beginning the undignified shimmy into her dress.

‘Don’t rush on my account,’ came Nate Beckett’s distant grumble. ‘Oh no, we might be late. We might miss the whole thing.’

‘Some of us can get away with that better than others,’ she pointed out, and shrugged into the shoulder straps. ‘Come fasten me up?’

She turned back to the mirror, adjusting her hair as she heard his footsteps approach, then halt. It took her a moment before she realised he’d stopped, and her breath caught. ‘Nate, I don’t want to be late…’

She turned to see him in the doorway. He’d been fussing with the collar of his jacket, his sleek-cut grey suit more formal than dress uniform, yet somehow more him. Now he stood paused in place, eyebrows raised, head tilted. ‘Oh.’

‘Yes, oh, I wasn’t messing around -’

‘No, oh, you look… incredible.’ He slid across the room to gently turn her to the mirror. She’d chosen a dress in soft greys and blues, with flowing lines that was supposed to be elegant. She didn’t feel elegant, though, and his hands immediately found the tension and knots in her shoulders. His voice dropped. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’

At the sight in the mirror of the two of them together, the tightness in her chest eased. She swallowed. ‘I told my aunt to stay out of my life the last time we met. Now she’s acting like that didn’t happen.’

He bowed his head to kiss her shoulder. ‘Would you rather she brought it up?’

She shivered at his touch. ‘No. She has to keep her dignity. I just didn’t think the next time we’d meet would be with you and your father around. I know you don’t want -’

‘That was a year ago, Rosara. A lot’s changed since then. We’ve changed since then. If I can make your life easier by playing nice with her and my father in public…’

‘All she needs is to be seen with him.’ Rosara turned, more eager than she’d realised. Defying her aunt, refusing for her life and relationships to become a political pawn in the family dealings had only been one step. Now she had to put it into practice, and knew there were small concessions that could keep everyone happy. ‘Without everyone arguing.’

He leaned down to brush his nose against hers. ‘We can make that happen. Together,’ he whispered.

Except, he didn’t whisper, she realised, but leaned into that still-fledgling telepathic connection, his thoughts flowing into hers so closely she didn’t know where she ended and he began. For the first time, she was heading into a social obligation with her family and didn’t feel completely alone.

They arrived in Alpha Centauri City at the beam-in point of the Centauri Museum of Interstellar History. An architectural marvel in itself, the vaulted chamber of starlit glass was already filled with the humming bustle of the gala. Music and voices ebbed and flowed, and they passed under a wide archway into the thrumming gathering in the Hall of Unity.

Nate adjusted his cuffs before extending an arm to her. ‘Showtime.’

They had never attended an event this formal before, and it was a reminder of the similarity in their upbringing that they both knew how to act without plan or discussion. She took his arm, adopted the right face, and let him lead her through the halls. She caught glimpses of faces she recognised: Valance and Airex, Cortez, Commodore Rourke, ranking officers from the Redemption and Mercury, but neither of them lingered for more than polite acknowledgements. Likewise, any dignitaries – flag officers, diplomats, noted guests – could not be spared more than the briefest of courtesies. They had hunting to do.

It did not take long.

The terrace outside was radiant under the night sky, a subtle shielding blocking out the worst of the ambient glow from the city to keep it illuminated only by the elegant lighting nestled among the topiary and marble pillars. From here, they could see the soaring, glowing towers of Alpha Centauri City, but hear none of the buzz of the capital, nor see any of its light pollution.

Admiral Alexander Beckett stood near the balustrade, tall and straight-backed in his dress uniform. He always commanded any space he was in, Rosara thought, but he was now in inevitable competition with the person she thought best in the galaxy at soaking up public attention: her great-aunt, Anatras Thawn, who stood beside him, resplendent in Betazoid formal silks.

Anatras saw them first, and her face lit up like they were the salvation of the evening. ‘Rosara! Nathaniel!’ She glided across the terrace to embrace them both in turn, eyes glittering. ‘You look radiant, my dear.’

Then Alexander Beckett turned, gaze falling on his son with a cool, deliberate intensity. Rosara wasn’t sure if she imagined a softening at his lips as he extended a hand. ‘Nate. I’m glad you made it.’

Nate’s back straightened as he shook his father’s hand. ‘Wouldn’t miss it. You’ve met Commander Thawn…?’

‘I met Lieutenant Thawn, when I awarded you both the Star Cross on board the Endeavour. But that was two years ago, now.’ Admiral Beckett extended his hand towards her, and now his eyes softened. ‘Lieutenant Commander Rosara Thawn. Your professional reputation precedes you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ She shook his hand, feeling the lines of formal and informal blur, and noting how he plucked at them but did not tear them down. ‘It’s a pleasure to be here.’

She felt the swell of delight from her aunt, who put a firm hand on her arm. ‘The admiral was telling me how very proud he is of Nathaniel for his work during the liberation of Alpha Centauri.’

Nate’s head cocked, and despite assurances he’d be on his best behaviour, a challenging smirk tugged at his lips. ‘Oh, really? Do go on, Dad.’

Admiral Beckett spared a glance for Anatras that suggested she had overstated the matter, but he sighed indulgently. ‘I was remarking how glowing reports have been of the USS Endeavour’s service during the campaign. Commendations flowing in for the entire senior staff, but… yes, Commander Harrian was particularly complimentary of my son’s work analysing principles of Vaadwaur military strategy to anticipate their deployments.’

The corners of Nate’s eyes creased. ‘Maybe Harrian just wanted to please you.’

‘That is not a habit Commander Harrian has,’ Admiral Beckett mused, brushing off the taunt. ‘And it follows on from your exemplary work in the Midgard Sector ahead of the Blackout. I make very sure to be nowhere near any professional assessments of your work, Nate, I merely read them. Simply put, you have flourished since changing division.’

Rosara could feel the swell of feeling in Nate, even without their connection, but that let her note the surge of surprise that he abruptly, almost wilfully smothered. Before she could weigh in, Anatras had stepped back to gesture further to the terrace.

‘You must both join us at the ceremony itself,’ said Anatras as she led them towards a low table near the balustrade, where drinks were being handed out. The terrace was busy by now, and voices of guests rose from the gardens below.

Rosara accepted a flute of something sparkling to buy herself a moment. ‘If we can – I’m not yet sure of our ceremonial responsibilities as part of Endeavour’s delegation…’

‘Oh, don’t worry; I’ve of course cross-referenced with the protocol teams.’ Anatras waved the objection away. ‘We’ll make sure you can fulfil all your obligations.’

‘We can speak to Captain Valance,’ Nate chipped in. ‘I’m sure we can make it work.’

Unable to summon a polite smile, Rosara sipped her drink. ‘I’m sure we can.’

‘I’m sure she’ll see sense,’ said Admiral Beckett, though he sat back in his chair with a hint of indifference. Rosara knew better than to believe a man of his rank and experience cared this little for events of this ilk, however. ‘It doesn’t only benefit you to have a bigger role in the ceremony. It benefits your ship and your captain.’

Nate gave a lopsided grin. ‘Then I guess everyone wins, right?’

‘I quite agree,’ said Anatras, her smile openly approving.

It wasn’t that Rosara cared about her role in the ceremony. It made little difference to her where she was, or if she attended at all; her career focus remained in establishing herself in Endeavour’s engine room. Yet – it had been decided in the blink of an eye. Somehow, her aunt always made that happen; not winning by overcoming her opponent, but winning by setting the stage before the contest had even begun.

But Nate either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, leaning in to the conversation as it flowed onward, a hand at her shoulder light, easy – and clear for everyone to see. The admiral’s family and the matriarch’s family, together in public, united.

And then Rosara remembered that they had attended a formal event before: the opera house on Rencaris months ago, where Nate had walked into a diplomatic function as an honoured guest, and walked out as the intelligence officer who had shattered an alliance between the Rencaris government and the Klingon Empire.

They were a long way from Rencaris. But here, in the formal halls of Alpha Centauri, under the gaze of his father, so very rarely approving, he wore the same smile.