The stars were different.

As a pilot and later a captain, Karana Valance had navigated ships into undiscovered space; unexplored phenomena and worlds, territories Starfleet had never seen before. She had seen the distant depths of the Delta Quadrant and the far-flung reaches of the old Romulan Star Empire, covering vast distances in the blink of an eye through wormholes, anomalies, advanced technology.

As Endeavour slipped out of the transwarp conduit and into the deep space of the Shackleton Expanse, she knew she’d never get used to it.

For a heartbeat, her ship flared bright against the darkness, thrusters flaring to keep them steady in the conduit, navigational deflectors rippling as they left its eddies and radiation behind. Then the glare faded to reveal Framheim Station on the viewscreen. The first and last stop on this new frontier.

‘We are free of the conduit’s turbulence.’ Lieutenant Lindgren’s voice at the helm controls was the first to break through the soft hum of systems throttling down. ‘Impulse engines steady at one-quarter.’

‘Deflectors resetting to nominal,’ added Lieutenant Commander Logan at Tactical. ‘Residual ionisation dissipating.’

From the Science console at Valance’s right, Commander Airex spoke. ‘Navigational telemetry reacquired. We’re within one-point-two percent accuracy of the conduit’s predicted exit vector.’

Commander Kharth swivelled in the XO’s seat to look at him. ‘You say that like we’ve missed the spot. Framheim’s right there,’ she said, but there was a lightness to her taunt.

‘Good work, everyone,’ Valance cut in, raising a hand to forestall the jibes. ‘Helm, bring our heading zero-nine-seven mark four. Maintain one-quarter impulse. Take us in past Framheim’s traffic lanes.’

‘Aye, ma’am.’

The deck hummed anew as Endeavour turned, and soon came confirmation from Ensign Kally at Communications. ‘Traffic control has us on approach for lane three. Docking Port 9.’

Valance and Kharth exchanged glances.

‘I thought we weren’t docking?’ said Kharth. ‘They must be prepping a dozen smaller ships who need way more supplies than we do. We’re just waving on our way past.’

Kally’s eyes widened. ‘I’m just… those are our instructions from the Dockmaster.’

‘Did you ID us properly?’ Kharth challenged. ‘Double-check.’

‘Easy,’ murmured Valance, but she, too, watched the young communications officer for confirmation.

There was a bleep of a message, but Kally seemed to be triple-checking, and Valance swallowed irritation before Kally looked up with widening eyes. ‘We’ve had an update of our orders,’ she said. ‘This came from Commodore Rourke. Endeavour is to dock at Framheim, take on a passenger, and report to, ah – Cargo Bay 13-B.’

‘What,’ said Kharth after a surprised beat, ‘all of us?’

Kally flushed. ‘Captain Valance. Commander Airex. And Lieutenant Beckett.’

In the taut silence that followed, Kharth said, ‘Guess I’ll park.’

‘This is all from Commodore Rourke,’ said Kally, wilting.

Valance pushed herself to her feet. ‘Bring us in to dock, Kharth. Airex; you’re with me, and signal Beckett to join us at the docking port.’

Logan leaned across his console as the senior officers began their unimpressed shuffle at this change of orders. ‘There’ll be a reason for this,’ he said peaceably.

‘You think?’ Kharth’s voice was tart as she slipped into the central chair. ‘I just thought Rourke was getting old.’

His lips set. ‘I mean a good reason.’

‘Oh, well, so long as there’s a good reason to trash our entire operational orders within five seconds of crossing the galaxy…’

Valance leaned in towards Kally as she made her hasty retreat for the turbolift. ‘This passenger…’

Kally looked like she might burst into tears if anyone asked anything else of her. ‘Is going to meet you at the docking port? I’m really sorry, Captain…’

‘Cagey orders from squadron command aren’t your fault,’ Valance said firmly, and fled. Airex was already in the turbolift, his expression absolutely flat. She waited until the doors slid shut before looking at him. ‘What’s going on with them?’

‘Hm?’ His confused indifference was unconvincing.

‘Kharth and Logan. She’s been spiky with him all week.’

‘I don’t know,’ came the quick, clipped reply, and Valance fought to smother any frustration in her slow exhale. He still seemed to notice and rolled a shoulder. ‘They’ve been behaving normally otherwise.’

‘You’d think she’d be happy…’ Valance bit her tongue, and shook her head at his quick glance, memories flooding back. She would be more circumspect than others had been with her. Instead, she said, ‘I hardly need my XO biting off my Chief of Security’s head when we’re moving into totally unknown regions.’

Airex relaxed at that, tilting his head. ‘They’ll focus when we’re into it. It’s been logistics work for months, rebuilding and infrastructure and diplomacy. Most of it slow and steady. Now we get a change of pace. Now we’re here to explore.’

‘We were here to explore.’ Valance at last frowned. She wouldn’t have shown apprehension on the bridge, but here, with Airex, she let her doubt creep in. ‘We had a whole survey route planned, and the moment we get here, Rourke has different orders for us?’

‘That’s the peril of being the tip of the squadron’s spear,’ he said, lips curling wryly. ‘Routine charting work is for other ships. We’re the ones who’re expected to deal with the unexpected.’

‘Starting,’ she muttered as the turbolift slowed, ‘with our mysterious passenger.’

Framheim Station was a newly constructed Narendra-class station, its modules originally destined for a far-flung Federation frontier until the stabilisation of the transwarp conduit at Vadia. Its parts had been towed to and assembled at these far reaches of the Beta Quadrant to form Starfleet’s first foothold in this new region of space, this so-called Shackleton Expanse.

That made it a hub of activity; not only the Starfleet ships finalising construction and securing the immediate region and the vessels of the Fourth Fleet embarking on their missions of exploration and diplomacy. But Endeavour had drifted past sleek Republic warbirds and lurking Klingon birds-of-prey, ships from their allies here to join them on this undertaking.

This busy, cosmopolitan traffic was reflected among the visitors walking the decks of the arrivals lounge as Airex and Valance disembarked, the latter frowning at the fact Beckett hadn’t joined them at the airlock. The lounge was abuzz with motion and sound, overlapping voices and the bustling of engineers darting about on the endless maintenance work of final construction, logistics officers checking incoming supplies, crew from ships stopping by stretching their legs. Valance had to sidestep a Tellarite technician wrangling a sled of crates as she scanned the crowd – then she saw him, Beckett, near the main arching doorways.

Beckett usually talked with his hands, animated if enthused or irreverent, and she rarely knew him to have another setting except for ‘sulky.’ But he stood with his arms by his side, expression studiously neutral as he spoke to – or was being spoken to – a tall, broad-shouldered young man in a gold uniform.

Beckett noticed them on the approach, and Valance thought she caught a flash of his eyes as he turned. ‘Captain, Commander! I found our stray.’ He flapped a hand. ‘This is -’

‘Lieutenant Commander Elias Walker.’ Lantern-jawed, blue-eyed, soft brown hair styled enough for fashion but short enough for discipline, Valance thought he looked like he’d stepped out of a Starfleet recruitment poster. His handshake was firm when she met it, and his voice a low, cultured drawl as he said, ‘It’s a pleasure and an honour, Captain Valance.’

‘You’re our passenger?’

A hint of self-conscious apology entered his gaze. ‘I’ve been assigned to Commander Harrian’s staff, but my rendezvous with the Sirius was delayed, and I missed her before she deployed into the Expanse. I understand she and much of the squadron are headed for a region called the Rasalith Reach. You’re my last chance of a ride to catch up.’

Valance exchanged a glance with Airex. ‘We’ve not had orders to join up with the squadron.’ Yet, she thought, considering Rourke had left instructions with Framheim’s staff, with no direct messages for her.

‘Not yet,’ Walker allowed, ‘but you’re more likely to than anyone else. And in the meantime, my orders are to act as liaison for squadron strategic operations.’

‘Is that necessary,’ said Airex, audibly guarded, ‘on an exploratory mission?’

‘This is a region where Starfleet’s never set foot before, and the Klingons and Romulans are already making out like jackals.’ Walker shook his head. ‘I’d love to walk softly, but times like these, someone has to keep an eye on whether we need the big stick.’

If this came from Harrian, and particularly if Rourke had mysterious instructions, Valance knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She gave a polite nod. ‘Then, welcome aboard, Commander. It’ll be good to have you with us.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. I’ll try to only get as underfoot as needed. I’m sure Nate and I can share your StratOps like gentlemen.’ This came with a companionable shoulder-clasp of Beckett whose impact made him rock slightly. The slighter man kept his expression studied, but Walker seemed to not notice any reaction. ‘With your permission, I’ll get settled aboard and not delay you any more.’

‘Very good. Dismissed, Commander.’ Valance observed the brief, crisp coming to attention neutrally, and only as Walker headed off did she note how well polished his shoes were.

Beside her, Airex was watching Beckett. ‘You know each other.’

Beckett looked pained. ‘We went to school together. Prep school on Alpha Centauri. Only the best for scions of the Federation.’

‘Oh,’ said Airex, like he’d realised something. ‘He’s Helena Walker’s son. The Federation Councillor.’

‘Yeah,’ grunted Beckett. ‘Those Walkers. Straight from the heartlands of Georgia and the halls of the Palais. They’ve got this white-columned manor on the coast and an inland ranch they’ve turned into a heritage reserve. He used to act like watching drones mend fences on the weekend made him salt-of-the-earth -’

‘Is this an actual warning, Lieutenant,’ Valance cut in, watching him with narrow eyes, ‘or are you grumbling about old schoolboy rivalries?’

Beckett hesitated, clearly not entirely sure himself. After a beat, he shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the Academy. I do know the conservative instructors loved him for every paper he turned in about how, you know. Peace is preserved through strength. And then he did a tour under Lionel Jericho.’

He’d saved the best for last, Valance mused. ‘Then let’s hope our business gets us meeting up with the squadron sooner, rather than later. Speaking of, are you any the wiser about our change of orders?’

‘I didn’t get a special message delivered by carrier pigeon from my father with secret orders, no,’ Beckett drawled. ‘Sorry, Captain.’

‘Then let’s see about Cargo Bay 13-B,’ said Airex.

The walk from the arrivals concourse took them deeper into the station’s heart, away from the bustling galleries with their cosmopolitan visitors. The corridors grew narrower, busier, thick with technicians and work teams and equipment deliveries. Framheim was still half construction site, half command hub.

‘Forget getting lost in the Shackleton Expanse,’ muttered Beckett, side-stepping a pair of engineers rushing to respond to an alert light they’d passed a section ago. ‘We’re going to need to path-find our way back to the turbolift.’

Valance swallowed a needless rebuke for his irreverence as they reached Cargo Bay 13-B, and the noise of the work teams filling the corridors dropped away as the doors parted and they stepped inside.

Within, the lighting was low and amber. A handful of figures in gold uniforms and work coveralls clustered around a containment cradle at the bay’s centre. Above it, a slab of warped alloy the size of a shuttle floated in a tractor field, its edges scored and pitted but gleaming with the hint of circuitry and dead power systems.

And standing before it, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, a smudge of carbon on one cheek, was Commander Isa Cortez.

Valance stopped dead. ‘Isa.’

Cortez turned, gaze sheepish and surprised. ‘Oh. I can see from that sparkling reaction that you’ve not been told anything.’

Airex stepped up as he saw Valance work her jaw and try to summon a more professional response, sparing her the effort. ‘Endeavour just arrived. We were told Commodore Rourke left orders for us to report here. To you, it seems.’

‘Well… to this.’ Cortez jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the hulk. ‘But sorry, yeah. Change of plans. One of Framheim’s patrol boats pulled this up right before the squadron moved on. Decision was for me to stay behind and make this Endeavour’s problem.’

‘I don’t know what this is,’ drawled Beckett, ‘but I can tell I’m not going to like it.’

Valance had studied the object so she didn’t have to look at Cortez, which gave her no insights but granted at least a veneer of cool, professional objectivity. ‘I don’t see how my deep space explorer can help your SCE team study a hunk of debris.’

‘Simple,’ said Cortez, a hint of frostiness entering her voice. ‘I don’t need to keep just studying it. I know enough to know I need a ship.’ She straightened. ‘Your orders aren’t to explore the Shackleton Expanse anymore. Your orders are to figure out who or what made the fissure leading here in the first place. And this pile of space-junk just might be the key.’