The skiing was fine – better than fine, in the end. The slope below the hire station was open and wind-packed, the kind that punished hesitation but rewarded commitment, which suited Teo Borodin completely. Once he’d found his pace, the mountain moved beneath him with a cold, clean speed that left the chalet and Admiral Morgan and Juliette Yves behind and gave no room for anything else. Galcyon followed in his wake, more competent as a hobbyist than his training, but it was enough to trail the path he’d worked.

They made the mid-station in forty minutes and were indeed ahead of the queue. The cable car was still crowded, smelling of damp wool and someone’s thermos, but it brought them down to the valley floor. There they found a different world entirely: lower, green when the snowline gave way to dark pine, the air thicker and carrying the faint mineral smell of the river that ran through it. The town there, nestled between water and mountain, was less polished than Kessendra Heights, built around the train station and river dock.

The main street was narrow stone, buildings with pale walls and dark timber, close enough that what little light made it through the mountain only made it to the road in strips. Part of industrial shipping more than recreation, residents and visitors were workers, by-and-large, not tourists. They found dinner at a tavern off the main road, low stone ceiling, long tables of dark-stained wood. The ragù had been on the stove long enough that the whole room smelled of it, and after a day’s travel, it was one of the best things he’d eaten.

‘I asked some locals,’ said Galcyon when he sat back down at the table with fresh drinks. ‘A few ways out of the town and south, but only two real options: train, or ferry.’

‘Ferry sounds slow,’ he grunted, sipping the beer.

‘But more regular and, to my surprise, more direct. The train needs to make for the eastern pass before cutting south. Leaves twice a day. Ferries are hourly – but, of course, we’re not that lucky. They’ve stopped for the night.’

‘Everyone’s going to be on that train first thing.’

‘It’s impossible to tell without looking at the schedules side-by-side, and, well…’ Galcyon gestured to the PADD, cut off from information systems which could give her the information at a glance. ‘But the locals also said that the ferry stops at Jovoudait, which is more touristy – and has better connections across the plateau to Huntsbury.’

Borodin’s eyes went to the door, to the dusk already settling into the town’s streets. Some teams might have caught coaches already, he thought, but otherwise the racers had done nothing but rush to a bottle-neck. He wondered if that was by design – to stop anyone rushing ahead, to get all the teams in one settlement at once, fighting for ways out, for food, for beds for the night. He wondered where Juliette Yves was staying for the night, then he stopped himself wondering.

‘We look at the station tomorrow. Check schedules. Decide then.’

Galcyon didn’t look that impressed at him brushing her analysis to one side, but said nothing. They found beds in a hostel, and he thought he caught a glimpse of Daragon down the corridor.

The town woke early, and Borodin was happy to rise with the workers leaving their timber homes for streets of stone and workplaces of iron. They could join the crowd headed for the transit hub, where he spotted El Sayed and Cassidy. Galcyon waved at Cassidy. Cassidy did not wave back.

‘Boys,’ Borodin heard Galcyon breathe as they walked through the pale morning light.

The transit hub sat near the rail line and the river docks, so they could pick their route from there. They stood at the tall schedule board, studying the options, when the first piece of theatre began: Rourke and Jericho at the ticket office, fighting over securing train seats for their respective teams. Locke looked like he was trying to mediate. He did not look like he was succeeding.

‘What happened between those two?’ Galcyon sighed as she looked at them.

Borodin had read the records of the Deneb campaign, of the Battle of Izar; of Jericho’s leadership and Rourke’s court martial. Of two men who had both been convinced of their rightness, where regulations favoured Jericho and outcomes favoured Rourke. ‘I’d read the report,’ he said quietly as he looked away from the two arguing men. He caught Galcyon’s eyeroll at his non-answer, and tried to not grimace. What he’d meant as a suggestion the topic was complex had been taken as shutting down discussion. ‘We should try the train.’

‘It looks like seats are tight.’ Galcyon paused. ‘Go try. I’ll check out the ferry.’

He was in the queue – two ticket booths over – when Juliette Yves turned from the booth, two tickets in hand, six people ahead of him, and spotted him with a wry, apologetic smile.

‘You’re out of luck. These were the last two for the morning train.’

Borodin straightened and kept his expression schooled. ‘I preferred the ferry option anyway,’ he lied. ‘The transport links at the other end are better.’

Yves’s eyebrows raised a hint. ‘Is that so? I guess you might not have to sleep in a chair for two nights.’

Ferries were larger. Rooms. Decks to walk. Other teams would surely be on the ferry, and he’d see his colleagues there, be stuck aboard for two nights with no need to keep his distance. If she’d been there – if her and T’Varel hadn’t gotten the last two tickets, they’d be aboard, too – they could have seen each other more. Talked.

Borodin stepped out of the line. ‘I’ll see you at Huntsbury, then.’

‘Teo -’ She advanced, caught his elbow, and finally her gaze bore something approaching regret. ‘This wasn’t my idea of what this getaway would be, either.’

‘You’re enjoying it, though.’

‘I didn’t see the point in being miserable, no.’

‘I’m not being miserable –’ The intercom sounded; the train was coming in. He ground his teeth. ‘You should go.’

Yves bit her lip. ‘I’ll see you in Huntsbury.’

‘Yeah,’ said Borodin roughly, and turned to go. ‘In a few days.’

Galcyon was on the other end of the terminal, leaning by the entryway leading to the ferry dock. Her eyes followed him all the way, and he knew she’d seen the exchange.

‘No more seats,’ he grunted.

‘Then let’s take the river.’

The ferry was a working vessel, its lower deck given to freight and the smell of engine oil, its top deck partially open to the sky. They had a narrow bunkroom barely big enough for them and their bags, and so by the time of departure were back on deck. Valance and Xhakaza were aboard, and Galcyon mentioned she’d seen Adenor and Everard when she’d procured tickets. Borodin stood at the bow rail, watching the valley open up ahead.

The pine came down from the mountains nearly to the water on both sides, interrupted by the occasional outcropping of dark rock or wooden structure at the waterline – a boathouse or loading platform here and there. The river itself was clear enough to see the riverbed in the shallows. Above the treeline, the peaks were still snowbound, white against a hard, clear blue sky, the way they’d come already looking very remote.

He heard Galcyon come to stand beside him, and she passed him one of the flimsy disposable cups, filled with oily black coffee from the galley.

‘It’s bad,’ she warned.

‘We will have to adapt if we’re here for two days.’

‘Adapt, perhaps. Like it…’ She sucked her teeth, and at his look – sharper than he meant it – she gave a thin smile. ‘It’s fine. I’d never normally take a ferry like this – workers, cargo. It’s a good experience.’

Borodin was silent. He understood the principle – of being pushed in unusual directions, of the expedition as a bonding exercise – but to say as much would sound self-evident or forced.

He should have been relieved when Galcyon drew a breath like she was going to keep up the conversation, but then she said, ‘When did you see her last?’ and he was no longer relieved.

For a moment, he thought about prevaricating. But they were teammates. More importantly, there was nowhere to hide on this ferry. ‘A few months.’

‘That’s hard,’ Galcyon said softly. ‘You two always seem good together when I see you.’ At his glance, she shrugged. ‘It’s not a secret, Teo; if nothing else, you weren’t subtle together at Port Faran last year.’

‘That feels… very long ago,’ he admitted.

‘Is it true?’ They leaned against the railing as the river approached a curve. ‘About you two and Synnef. The rescue mission.’

Borodin sighed heavily. ‘That’s how we met. Yes. It wasn’t…’ He hesitated. Studied his coffee cup. ‘The Ranger was caught in a decaying orbit around an anomaly. Couldn’t get out under their own power. The Scylla answered the distress call, but with the navigational challenges of the nebula, we were days out. And comms were audio-only for most of that time.’

Galcyon sipped her coffee. Made a face at it. ‘You really did play knight in shining armour for her.’

It had been a long ten days. Ten days of pushing his ship to go as fast as possible through the navigational soup of the Synnef Nebula without breaking themselves. Where he’d spoken to Juliette Yves every day – sometimes more – and they’d gone from status updates to deeper conversation. Where he’d been the only person she could show fear in front of while she’d tried to stay strong for her crew. Where he’d seen her show perseverance he’d never expected from her service record.

One day, they’d lost contact, and he’d spent hours agonised, paralysed. Pushing his ship deeper and faster while knowing they might already be too late, might arrive to find nothing but debris. The relief when the Ranger had called again, after fifty hours of silence, had been so sharp it had hurt.

‘That was just how we met. We were doing our jobs,’ Borodin said, gaze falling on the water. ‘Anything else came later, and – look, it’s not serious. We barely see each other.’

Galcyon gave a soft hum. ‘I’m sorry we’re doing this expedition instead of the retreat we all expected. I imagine you wanted to see her.’

He shrugged. ‘She’s doing fine. Having fun. This is the life of a Starfleet captain.’

‘Ah. You’re saying we have to be more fun.’

‘I don’t -’ Borodin turned, brow furrowed. ‘You seem determined to read the worst into what I say.’

Galcyon gave a small smile. ‘I actually do hear what you mean, Teo. But you are truly terrible at saying it.’ She gestured towards the shore, voice light. ‘Perhaps, when we get to Huntsbury, you try being a little clearer with Juliette.’

He swallowed. Looked at the shore. Leaned on the railing. And said, after a long wait, ‘We have a few days on this ferry.’

‘Yes.’

Borodin nodded with determination. ‘It’s time for card games.’