The ‘Harbour Bell’ announced itself from half a street away.

Music escaped through open doors, collided with the music from other establishments and continued into the square as though it would all blend together seamlessly. It did…. ish. A glowing sign above one of the entrances displayed a brass bell suspended over waves. Beneath it, a smaller notice promised:

OPEN SONG NIGHT – COURAGE REWARDED, TALENT OPTIONAL

Sora stopped in the middle of the street.

Rebecca continued for a few more steps before turning.

“You said Karaoke,” Sora said.

“Yes.”

“You neglected to mention it was public.”

Rebecca looked at the people moving through the doorway. “That is generally how these places operate.”

“There are private singing rooms,” Sora said hoping that Rebecca was just joking with her.

“Not here.”

“You researched eleven marked stops, tidal routes and the exact time of sunset.”

“Twelve stops.”

“You could have found a private room.”

Rebecca placed one hand over chest. “And deprive these people of my presence?”

“Yes.”

Without her uniform, Sora could not retreat behind her rank, or some urgent matter that required her immediate attention elsewhere.

She looked toward the end of the street.

Rebecca stepped into her line of sight. “You promised to come.”

“I did not.”

“You followed me from the café.”

“That is not the same thing.”

Rebecca’s expression softened into something hopeful. “One drink, you don’t have to sing.”

Sora crossed her arms, “That is exactly something you would say to someone before pressuring them into singing.”

“I would never pressure you.”

“You once followed me through three decks of the Horizon because I hadn’t eaten lunch.”

“That was a medical emergency.”

“No, it wasn’t”

Sora looked at the crowded doorway.

The emotions insider reached her in waves. She could feel anticipation, embarrassment and amusement but all folded together into something warm. People wanted the performances to succeed, even when all sung in the incorrect key.

There was a little nervousness within there too.

“One drink,” Sora said.

Rebecca smiled, “Of course.”

“And you will not enter my name.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You answered too quickly.

“My name is already entered, I’ve no need to commit additional crimes.” She turned toward the doorway.

Sora followed her inside.

The Harbour Bell had probably started off as three separate buildings and expanded whenever a shared wall became available. The main bar occupied the oldest section, its dark wooden ceiling crossed by beams covered in names and dates. An open courtyard lay beyond it, protected by a transparent canopy displaying a night sky.

Retractable walls had been folded away joining all the rooms around the courtyard into one big space.

A low stage stood at the far end. Above it, a display showed the current singers’ chosen lyrics and several animated sea creatures dancing in time with the music.

A young Andorian stood at the centre of the stage performing a romantic ballad with everything he had. Two others stood below him and swayed with their arms around each other’s shoulders and sang along with him.

The rest of the room joined in during the chorus or whenever he lost his place.

Rebecca looked delighted.

Sora watched her for a moment, then. “You planned this.”

Rebecca smiled, “I planned the opportunity” she replied.

“That is exactly the same thing.”

They found a small table near the courtyard wall. Rebecca put her bag beneath it and immediately started looking toward the stage.

Sora followed her gaze.

“You’re nervous.”

Rebecca turned back. “I am not.”

“You have checked the performance order three times.

“I’m interested.”

“You’re pressing your thumb against your fingertips.”

Rebecca stopped doing it. “That proves nothing.”

“You do that before your medical evaluations.”

“I also do it when deciding which dessert to order.”

“There’s no menu in your hand.”

Rebecca folded both hands on the table.

A server approached and placed two small bowls of salted snacks between them. Rebecca ordered something called Harbour Ember without asking what it contained.

Sora asked for a water.

Rebecca looked disappointed.

“One of us should remain capable of identifying the way back to the hotel,” Sora said.

“I know the route.”

“You took us around the same fountain twice this afternoon.”

“I liked the fountain” Rebecca replied with a grin.

Their drinks arrived as the Andorian reached the end of his song. He held the final note for way too long, completely lost it, but then received the loudest applause of the evening.

He bowed as though that was what he meant to do all along.

Rebecca applauded with both hands above her head.

Sora took a drink of water. “You are encouraging them.”

“That is the point.”

A Colludean woman stepped onto the stage next. She chose a rapid folk song which half the room seemed to know. People clapped in a complicated rhythm. A group near the bar began a coordinated dance between the tables, narrowly avoiding staff and furniture.

Rebecca watched, fascinated by the crowd.

Sora watched Rebecca.

At the market, Rebecca’s enjoyment had been divided between the experience itself and the need to manage it. She had consulted her itinerary, counted packages and considered which person might like each new thing she found.

Here, she had nothing to organise.

The sight of her sitting and enjoying herself without responsibility was a rare one.

Then Rebecca’s name appeared on the display at the side of the stage.

She went very still.

Sora read it.

REBECCA THORNE – “ROADS BEYOND THE MORNING”

“What is that?” Sora asked.

“A song.”

“I gathered that.”

“It’s an old one.”

“Do you know it?”

Rebecca stared at the display. “Enough of it.”

The host called her name, Rebecca didn’t move.

Sora rested her hands around her glass. “You can stay here.”

Rebecca glanced at her.

“No one will care,” Sora continued. “There are dozens of names on the list, you don’t have to prove anything.”

Rebecca looked back toward the stage.

For a moment, Sora felt her hesitation. Not the fear of embarrassment, something quieter.

A nurse, a friend, a Chief. A person who volunteered before anyone else could be asked to.

Then she smiled, not the broad easy smile she offered stranger. A smaller and definitely more stubborn one.

“I know,” she said as she stood.

The crowd welcomed her before she reached the stage. The Andorian officer she’d applauded earlier gave her a nod as she passed his group. Rebecca stepped beneath the lights and accepted the microphone.

The instrumental introduction began.

Sora recognised it after a few notes. It was a Starfleet favourite, old enough to have loads of variations. The verses concerned departures, distant stars and roads which always bent home.

It required a greater vocal range than Rebecca had. Rebecca discovered this during the second line. But she wasn’t bad, it kind of worked.

Sora lowered her face towards the water.

Rebecca continued without hesitation. She pointed toward the audience during the chorus, commanding them to join in with her.

They obeyed.

The Andorian shouted the words beside the bar. The Colludean dancers joined in. Someone added a harmony from a table across the room but was quickly drowned out by a group of… enthusiastic officers.

By the second chorus, nearly everyone was singing. Rebecca no longer had to carry the tune alone.

Sora watched her beneath the warmth of the stage lights, laughing between lines and conducting the room with her free hand.

There was no fear in her now.

Only joy.

Not relief after danger. Not the satisfaction of having helped someone. Joy for its own sake.

Rebecca reached the final note, failed to reach it but compensated with volume.

The room erupted.

She bowed way too deeply and returned to the table flushed but triumphant.

“Technically, quality was not among the judging criteria,” Sora said.

Rebecca sat opposite her. “I was magnificent.”

“You were loud.”

“Courage and volume are universally recognised measures of musical excellence.”

“The third verse contained a melody that the original didn’t have.”

“Personal interpretation.”

“You also changed several words.”

“I improved them.”

Sora passed her the Harbour Ember.

Rebecca drank half of it before remembering she had disliked the local drink at the rooftop café.

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “What is in this?”

“You ordered it.”

“It tastes warm.”

“It is called an Ember.”

“No, physically warm. After swallowing.”

Sora watched Rebecca breathe carefully through her nose. “Should I find a nurse?”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

The next performers came and went. A Tellarite couple transformed a sentimental duet into an argument over who had begun in the wrong place. A group of junior officers chose a dance number and quickly discovered they only knew the chorus.

Sora relaxed.

The emotional current of the room continued to move around her, but it felt less like pressure than a tide carrying everyone in the same direction.

No one had come to judge. They had come to be seen trying. A local musician took the stage carrying a narrow stringed instrument with a body like an open spiral. Instead of selecting a song from the venue’s catalogue, she spoke briefly with the host and then began to play.

The melody was quiet enough that the room gradually quietened down.

Sora felt something in the shape of the music.

Not familiarity exactly. The intervals were Colludean and the rhythm carried something of the ocean. But beneath those differences was what sounded like a travelling song.

A melody designed to be remembered without the need of instruments.

Her grandmother had sung something similar when she was a child.

Not this song, one from Betazed. Used on journeys before transporters had made departure an ordinary thing. It was about the certainty that those who knew you properly would recognise you again.

The musician finished.

The lost thanked her and looked toward the display for the next name.

Sora stood.

Rebecca stared up at her.

“What are you doing?”

“I do not know.”

“That seems unlike you.”

Sora was already walking toward the stage. The host greeted her and asked for her selection.

“It may not be in your catalogue,” Sora said,

“Traditional?”

“Yes.”

The host nodded and gave her the microphone stepping aside.

The stage lights were warmer than Sora expected. Beyond them she could just make out Rebecca at their table, sitting completely still.

The room waited as Sora closed her eyes.

She did not explain the song. Explaining it would make it a performance. Plus, she was not entirely certain she could start singing if she started talking about it.

She began.

Her voice entered the room softly, one clear note followed by another.

The Betazed words required long vowels and gentle changes in pitch. The first verse spoke of leaving before dawn, when the people at home were still sleeping. The send described the roads changing beneath unfamiliar stars. By the third, the traveller had forgotten the shape of her own doorway.

But someone waiting still remembered the sound of their footsteps.

Sora could feel the room listening.

She could also feel Rebecca.

The awareness was unavoidable, not because Rebecca’s emotions were louder than others but because Sora already knew their shape.

Recognition. Sadness. Affection.

Something more complicated beneath those things, left unnamed.

Sora opened her eyes.

Rebecca was watching her as though she had forgotten anyone else was present. The final verse promised that home was not a place which remained unchanged. It was the act of recognising and being recognised.

Sora let the last note fade naturally.

Silence remained for one breath.

Then, the room applauded.

She returned the microphone and stepped from the stage.

Rebecca was still watching when she reached the table.

Sora sat.

Rebecca opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“That is unusual,” Sora said.

Rebecca glanced down at her drink. “I was trying to think of something clever to say.”

“And?”

“I decided against it.”

“A wise precaution.”

Rebecca looked at her again.

“That was lovely.”

Sora smiled, “Only lovely?”

“I’m trying not to alarm you with sincerity.”

The warmth beneath Sora’s ribs had little to do with the room. But before she could answer, the Andorian from earlier appeared at the table. His antennae angled cheerfully forward.

“That was beautiful,” he told Sora. “Both of you.”

Sora glanced at Rebecca.

Rebecca looked delighted at the inclusion.

The Andorian gestured between them. “Have you served together long?”

“No,” Rebecca said,

“Yes,” Sora said at the same time.

They looked at one another.

“It depends on how you measure long” Sora explained.

“Time can become, complicated,” Rebecca added.

The Andorian accepted this with the resilience of someone used to answers like this in Starfleet.

“You know each other well?” he asked.

Rebecca’s expression flickered, as though preparing to explain the Horizon, the displacement and the months aboard the Vor’Nal.

Sora spoke first. “We’re friends.”

The word settled easily.

Rebecca looked at her, Sora didn’t look away.

After a moment, Rebecca nodded towards the stage. “Very recently, terrible friends. She allowed me to sing in public.”

“I specifically told you that you didn’t have too.”

“But you didn’t stop me.”

“Once you have an idea in your head there is no stopping you.”

The Andorian laughed, wished them a pleasant evening and returned to his companions.

Rebecca remained quiet.

Sora took another sip of her water.

“You said that as though it was obvious,” Rebecca said.

“What?”

“That we’re friends.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yes.”

Rebecca smiled down at the table.

“It is.”

A crash split the room.

Metal struck stone behind the bar. Glass shattered. Someone shouted in surprise. Rebecca was on her feet before the sound ended. One hand reached toward her hip. But there was nothing there.

Sora’s body lurched.

For a fraction of a second, the canopy vanished. Above her was a smoke, the lights were red and someone was calling for a strategic report.

The Rebecca’s hands closed around her wrist. Not tightly. “Sora?”

She did not answer.

Rebecca’s eyes tracked the room, still searching for an attack that didn’t exist.

A server apologised loudly. Staff began to collect the fallen tray and broken glasses. The music had stopped.

Rebecca looked directly at Sora.

“Name the room.”

Sora swallowed. “The Harbour Bell.”

“Name something warm.”

“You” Sora smiled and looked down. Rebecca’s hand remained on her wrist. “Your hand.”

Rebecca’s fingers loosened but did not move away.

“Name something ridiculous,” Rebecca said.

Sora stayed focused on Rebecca. “Your singing.”

Rebecca exhaled.

“That does not count.”

“It is the most ridiculous thing in here.”

“There is an animated squid above the stage wearing a hat.”

Sora looked.

The venue display has resumed its idle animation. A purple sea creature rotated slowly above the lyrics screen, wearing an elaborate golden hat.

“This is also ridiculous,” she conceded with a smile.

The room came back fully. Rebecca released her wrist, though neither sat immediately.

“Are you ok?” Rebecca asked.

“No,” Sora replied.

Rebecca nodded, “Me neither.”

The answer seemed to steady both.

The host restarted the music. Conversation gradually returned. The dropped tray became an anecdote rather than an attack. Rebecca looked toward the exit.

Sora sat the question.

“We do not have to leave,” Rebecca said.

“I know.”

“Do you want to?”

Sora listened to the room for a moment. The embarrassment of the server who dropped the tray. Concern from nearby guests. Laughter returning carefully around them.

Life resuming.

“No,” she said. “I would like to stay.”

Rebecca sat.

After a moment, Sora did too.

They remained until the final singers had finished and the stars above the courtyard faded towards morning.

—–

Outside, Colludea had become quieter but not silent.

Street musicians played slower songs for smaller audiences. Restaurant staff cleared tables beneath strings of lights. Far beyond the rooftops, the harbour reflected the city in broken bands of gold and violet.

Rebecca and Sora walked towards the hotel carrying the lantern materials they had collected earlier. Their shoulders bumped once. Then again, a few steps later.

“You are drifting,” Sora said.

“You are.”

“I’m walking in a straight line.”

“So am I.”

Their shoulders touched a third time. Neither moved farther away.

After a while, Rebecca said, “you called me warm?”

“You asked for something warm.”

“There were lamps.”

“They were several metres away.”

“There was a drink on the table.”

“You said it tasted warm, not that it was warm”

Rebecca considered this for a moment.

“So, under pressure, you chose me?”

“I also chose your singing as ridiculous.”

“Yes, but after.”

Sora looked ahead, hiding her smile from no one.

The bells of Colludea sounded somewhere across the harbour. Tomorrow, the Homeward Lights would rise high above the city. For tonight, Rebecca and Sora walked beneath the ordinary ones, close enough that neither needed to look around to know the other was still there.