Captain Scott Bowman was in his ready room, pacing pensively behind his desk. The lights were dimmed to match the evening cycle, but the monitor on Scott’s desk cut through the dark with its impatient bluish glow. Across the desk, Commander Bema Saberwyn sat stiffly in one of the chairs. He had said little since Scott had called him in, but his silence was telling enough.

“You think I should have buried the suspicion,” Scott said finally, turning to face Bema.

“I think you were right to report it, Sir,” Bema replied, his jaw tightening, “But we both know Starfleet doesn’t like rumours. If all you hand them is smoke, they’ll demand the fire that goes with it.”

Scott studied his old friend, then shot him a slight smile. “That’s a poetic way to say we’re about to get chewed out.”

Before Bema could answer, the incoming message notification trilled on Scott’s monitor. He took a deep breath, sat down, and accepted the call.

“Captain,” Thorne said in a cool, professional manner.

“Captain,” Scott repeated.

“I’m not going to waste time, Scott. Your report is noted, but your conclusions are insufficient. We require actionable intel.”

Bowman tugged irritatedly at the hem of his tunic. “We intercepted enough contraband to prove coordination between multiple factions. That should warrant a broader investigation of the sector.”

Captain Thorne’s gaze sharpened, but her voice remained even. “Conjecture is not evidence, Captain. We will not mobilize ships on suppositions. You will continue your patrol. If these smugglers are organized, they will resurface. When they do, you can provide us with something more substantial.”

“Yes, Captain,” Scott affirmed, with just enough hardness in his voice to show his feelings.

The feed cut abruptly.

For a long moment, the ready room was silent. Then, Bema let out a deep sigh, the kind that told Scott he had just made up his mind about something.

“They want the fire,” he said, getting out of his chair to stand at attention in front of Scott’s desk. “So let’s give it to them. Let me go, sir.”

“Go?” Scott asked, already assuming what Bema meant.

“Undercover,” Bema said, his voice steady, but low. “You need someone on the ground, close enough to gather intel. I can do it.”

Scott frowned, pushing away from his desk. He stood, walking to the viewport to stare out at the stars drifting slowly by. “I don’t like it. Black Markets, smuggling rings, they’ll smell Starfleet on you as soon as you set foot on their ship.”

“I can adapt,” Bema insisted. “You know I can. With the right cover –”

Scott turned back, cutting him off with a raised hand. “No. This isn’t just a cover story, Bema. These people survive on paranoia. If they suspect you, even for a second…” he let the thought hang.

For a heartbeat, there was silence between them. Then Bema spoke, quieter this time. “With all due respect, Scott, I am your first officer. It is my job to take risks for this ship. For you.”

Scott’s expression softened, though his answer did not. “And it is my job not to throw you into danger if I know you’re going to get hurt.”

Bema swallowed, his jaw tightening again. “Understood, Captain.”

The scent of seared salmon lingered in the air of Scott’s quarters. Scott leaned back in his chair, staring at the untouched meal as if it might offer him a solution. Across from him, Dathasa had already finished her meal and was looking at him with those icy-green eyes, as if she could see through the tangle of thoughts that filled his mind.

“You okay over there, Mr. Broody?” she asked him, with a low warmth to her voice.

Scott huffed and set his fork down. “Captain Thorne said what we have isn’t good enough. She wants me to find hard proof.”

Dathasa tilted her head. “So find it,” she said, matter-of-factly.

He met her eyes, almost smiling. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Sometimes it is,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning forward onto the table. “You intercepted a single shipment. That means there are more. Which means there is a network. To uncover that, you need someone who can slip into the underworld and look like they belong there.”

Scott’s smile vanished as soon as he realized what she was suggesting. “No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“No, Dath, just… no. I’ve already thought of that. It’s too dangerous. If you’re discovered –”

“I won’t be.”

“You can’t know that.” His voice sharpened. “You think I don’t know what these people are capable of?”

She reached across the table and took his hand in hers. “Scott, I’ve lived in that world, remember? I know the shadows they crawl through. It’s not theory for me, it’s memory. If anyone from this ship can move within them without suspicion, it’s me. You know that.”

He stood, pulling free from her hand and pacing the room. “Bema offered. He said he’d take the risk.”

Dathasa got us too, not letting him have the distance. She came to stand beyond him, and he stopped pacing. “Bema is Starfleet to his core. If you send him in there, he’ll stand out like a beacon. I’ve worn those colours before, my love. I know how to play the part.”

Scott turned around to face her, torn between logic and emotion. She was right, of course, she would be the best choice to infiltrate a criminal element and return unharmed, but he did not like the idea. She met his gaze steadily, and he could see the faintest smile on her lips.

“You’re not just volunteering,” he said quietly, “you’re telling me this is the only way.”

She didn’t answer right away. She laid a hand on his arm, steady and unshakeable. “Scott. You know I’m right.”

Scott let out a long breath, the fight in him ebbing away. He covered her hand with his and closed his eyes for a moment. “Damn it, Dathasa…”

She snaked her arms around his middle and pulled him into a long hug. He bent his head down to rest it on hers, his lips buried in her dark hair. The decision still weighed on him like a stone, but he knew it was already made.

The briefing room was quiet. On the table sat a holo-projector, humming softly and displaying a wireframe rendering of the freighter, along with a list of the recovered weapons. Scott stood at the head of the table, his hands braced against the edge. Dathasa and Bema sat across from each other.

Scott drew in a breath. “As you both are aware, I have spoken to Command, and they want deeper proof that ties these shipments to something larger. That means infiltration.” He looked from one officer to the other. “Both of you have stepped forward. Both have valid reasons.”

Dathasa’s expression didn’t change. She merely waited.

Bema, however, straightened in his chair, his jaw tight.

Scott continued, his voice even, but heavy. “After considering everything, I have decided that Dathasa will take the assignment.”

Silence lingered, stretching between them.

Bema leaned forward, his tone clipped. “Sir, with respect,  you’re putting her in extreme danger. If she’s compromised –”

“I’m aware of the risks,” Scott cut in, gently but firmly. “This isn’t a decision I take lightly.”

Dathasa spoke then, her voice was calm but with a steely edge. “You know as well as I do, Commander, I’ve walked in these circles before. I speak their language. They’ll sniff you out in a minute; they won’t question me.”

Bema’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Scott. “That doesn’t mean she should be the one to take the fall if something goes sideways.”

Scott’s jaw worked, chewing on his emotions, but his voice remained steady. “This is not about who I want to risk, Bema. It’s about who can succeed.”

The room fell silent again. Dathasa inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the decision without protest.

Bema sat back, trying to mask the storm under his skin. He forced himself to nod. “Yes, Captain.”

Scott exhaled, tapping his PADD to dismiss the holo. “We move carefully—no unnecessary transmissions. No improvisation. You get what intel you can, and get out.” He levelled his eyes at Dathasa. “Clear?”

“Clear,” she replied.

Bema remained silent for a beat longer, then finally echoed. “Clear.”

The tension in the room remained as the meeting broke. Dathasa left to prepare, the door sliding shut behind her. Scott leaned back in his chair, exhaling, bracing himself for the next round of reports to start trickling in, but Bema hadn’t moved. He sat stiffly, eyes fixed on the tabletop.

“Something else, Commander?”

Bema’s gaze finally lifted. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “I can’t recall the last time you asked me that. Go ahead.”

“You’re letting her go because you trust her. Maybe you trust her a little too much.”

Scott froze mid-motion, setting the PADD back down on the table. “Careful, Bema.”

“I mean it, sir.” Bema pressed. His voice wasn’t angry, but tight, controlled. “You’ve been close with her ever since she came aboard. Closer than maybe you should be, considering her history. And now, when Starfleet is asking someone to step into the lion’s den, you’re picking the one person whose loyalties have always been… negotiable.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “That’s out of line.”

“Is it?” Bema shot back, his restraint cracking slightly. “She was a Ranger, Scott. Before that, she was Tal Shiar. She lived by a code when it suited her, and bent it when it didn’t. That’s not Starfleet. You and I swore to something bigger than ourselves. Can you honestly say she did as well?”

Scott leaned over the desk, pointing his finger at Bema. “I’ve seen her lay her life on the line for this crew more than once, including you. I’ve seen her stand by me when she’s had every reason to walk away. That means more to me than whatever patch she wore before Starfleet. You think she’s just waiting for the right moment to turn on us?”

Bema hesitated, but only a moment. “I think you can’t rule it out. And I think you don’t want to see it. She’s close to you, Scott, closer than anyone else on this ship. That’s leverage. And if she’s still playing the game – Tal Shiar games – then you’ve lost before the mission even begins.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Scott said.

Bema stood as well, bristling but refusing to back down. “I’m being your First Officer. The one person who has to say the thing that no one else will. If this goes sideways, and she decides to vanish with our intel, with our codes – how long do you think Starfleet Command will let you keep that chair?”

A silence fell between them, sharp and heavy.

Scott’s eyes burned with a quiet fury. “You’re wrong about her. You’re wrong about us. She’s earned her place here, and she’ll prove it again. My decision stands. She is the best choice for the mission, and that is the end of it.”

Bema’s face worked with frustration, but he forced himself into a stiff nod. “Then I hope to hell you’re right, Captain. For all our sakes.” Without another word, he turned and stormed out, leaving Scott standing in the silence of the briefing room.

Scott pressed his palms against the table, drawing a long, unsteady breath. Bema’s words echoed in his mind, not because they had any merit, but because of who had spoken them. If it had been anybody else, he would have dismissed it outright, but coming from Bema – the man who had been with him through fire and blood, who had won his trust a dozen times over – it cut him deeper than he wanted to admit.