The roaring descent of the shuttle Lancelot tore the clear blue sky in two with heat and flames and metal.

‘We’re coming in way too hot.’ Kharth’s grasp on the control panel turned white-knuckled as she watched the readings spill on the shuttle’s sensors.

‘We’re supposed to come in hot!’ yelled Shep from the pilot’s seat. ‘Let me worry about the heat on our faces, you worry about the heat on our asses!’

A glance at the tactical sensors justified Shep’s apprehensions when a fresh ping appeared mere hundreds of metres off their aft. They had indeed been followed. Kharth swore and swung to work. ‘You better set us down neat, because I’m going to need all deflector power to the rear.’

‘Stop sweating, K.’ A wide, wicked smile took over the expression of Commander Zihan Shepherd, first officer of the USS Endeavour. ‘I got this. You got this.’

Instinct made Kharth bristle at being reassured like that. She knew exactly how good she was. But there was something about Shep’s enthusiastic confidence that made her sound comradely, not condescending. Shep wasn’t telling Kharth something she already knew about herself. They were sharing in being badasses together.

Resentfully, Kharth did her job and did it well. The Romulan craft came tearing down through the atmosphere behind them, and she knew Shep needed to focus on setting their flaming shuttle down rather than evading weapons fire. But the enemy didn’t want them dead, just badly maimed, so it became a game of pumping up shields to the rear, managing energy levels so they still had juice left in an emergency.

Not that trying to crash-land a shuttle amidst rugged highlands below wasn’t already an emergency.

‘You really pissed them off,’ Kharth growled as the Lancelot rocked from enemy weapons fire.

‘Really? I thought I’d won them over.’ Another alert klaxon yowled. ‘Did they forget we’ve got what they want aboard?’

‘Looks like! You were just that charming!’ Kharth smacked a control. The system blatted at her in protest. ‘Okay, we’re pretty much out of juice, so can you win our way to a soft landing?’

‘Soft? No. Landing?’ Shep hesitated. ‘Maybe also no. Hang on!’

Another blast of weapons fire from the Romulans. Another bucking of the shuttle. Then peerless blue sky above was spinning, swapping in and out for the rocky greens and greys of the highlands below, and all Kharth could do was hang on as Shep, swearing, tried to right them on the way down. There was a lurch. The sense of floating. Then the impact.

It was technically good, Kharth knew as she was almost thrown from her seat, that they scraped across the surface of Navinor II for what felt like a hundred years. Metal seared on earth and rock, but the shuttle didn’t break apart and it didn’t roll and though the safety harness felt like it might cut through her shoulders the inertial dampeners still kicked in enough that she didn’t snap her neck from whiplash.

Their halt was not peaceful. The metal hull creaked and groaned, alert klaxons blared on top of each other, and the shuttle had come to a stop on its starboard side, but for a moment there was stillness. For a moment, Kharth could close her eyes and catch her breath and mentally check she had all her limbs.

‘Hey, K?’ Shep’s voice was light despite how ragged it came.

Kharth let out a slow breath. ‘Yes, Shep?’

‘You dead, K?’

‘No, Shep.’ Kharth reached for the straps on her safety harness, mindful to undo them carefully so she didn’t release herself to gravity’s tender mercies and the bulkhead below. ‘That Vulcan’s going to kill us.’

‘No sweat.’ After a quick struggle, Shep pulled herself free of the chair and stood on the bulkhead that was now their floor, dignified as a cat pretending it hadn’t fallen in the first place. ‘Let her be mad at me. XO’s gotta shoulder some burdens.’

Kharth hadn’t intended to like Commander Shepherd. She was more than an outsider; she was a spy, an agent, sent to Endeavour for political purposes. Her first loyalty was plainly to Fleet Captain Jericho and his swaggering mob, not this captain, this crew, this ship. More than that, Shep’s daringness came across as impulsive, often seeming like she hadn’t thought more than two steps ahead, like she was making it up as she went along. Kharth wasn’t sure yet if this was an affectation or if Shep was just lucky or talented or both.

But despite her apparent ego and ulterior motive for being here, when she’d come aboard it had been clear she’d done her homework. She’d known Kharth’s past achievements and complimented her on them in a way which felt genuine. She’d quickly identified the strengths of Endeavour’s senior staff and shown a knack for knowing when to trust them, when to give them the long rein, and how to encourage and acknowledge them in a way that made them feel valued.

‘I knew Karana Valance,’ Kharth had said in one terse, early meeting in the XO’s office. ‘You’re no Karana Valance.’

Shep had just raised her eyebrows with no sign of offence. ‘I’m not trying to fill those big boots. I’ll make my own.’

This open loyalty to Commander Valance had of course only manifested in Kharth once Valance had left, and either Shep didn’t know or had the good sense to not point out Kharth and Valance fought like cats and dogs, diametrically opposed in their approach to the universe at large. Which was another reason Kharth found herself, despite it all, begrudgingly liking Zihan Shepherd. Both of them liked to tear it up a little on missions.

‘How’s the payload?’ asked Shep, stretching limbs and patting herself down to ensure she was in one piece.

Kharth glanced at the crates in the back. ‘Still solidly strapped down. Not crushing us to death in the landing.’

‘And so do those nerds writing safety protocols save another life.’

‘Starfleet! Treacherous scum! You better come out here!’ The words echoed from outside the shuttle, from the rugged green valley they’d come crashiwn into.

‘That was fast,’ muttered Shep, moving to peer out of the battered canopy. ‘Yeah. That’s Trellian. Not alone.’

Kharth clicked her tongue and looked at the control panels. They were all dead. ‘Where did we come down?’

‘Exactly where I meant to.’ Shep hesitated. ‘Give or take a klick or so.’

‘A klick –’

‘It’s fine. Stick to the plan. And tool up.’ Stiff but uninjured, Shep headed for the aft of the shuttle and pulled a phaser rifle from the locker hanging on the bulkhead above, before smacking the door to the rear hatch. To everyone’s surprise, it groaned open.

‘We’ve got a plan?’ Kharth muttered, but did the same, and followed.

Trellian and his gang, members of the Romulan Rebirth Movement, had beamed down from the ship that hovered high above them and formed a semi-circle around the aft of the shuttle. There were only five of them, but that was five too many with a skiff’s weapons trained on them and absolutely no cover.

Still, Shep swaggered out like she was arriving at a party, rifle resting against the shoulder of her dusty uniform, and squinted at the horizon of jagged green hills and jutting grey rocks. ‘Huh. This planet really is pretty.’

‘Makes a great place to die, Starfleet.’ Trellian still bore the marks of their first run-in, the vicious cut slicing across his slanted eyebrow. ‘We warned you not to bring anyone to the surface.’

‘I think it’s pretty clear that this landing wasn’t my choice,’ said Shep, offended.

‘Definitely wasn’t mine,’ Kharth said in a mock-whisper.

‘And still you’ve got the city’s eisillium payload,’ snapped Trellian. ‘That belongs to me.’

‘You’re extorting it in your protection racket,’ Kharth scoffed. ‘Let’s not get self-righteous about it.’

The Romulan man’s lips thinned. ‘Fine,’ he said, and drew his disruptor. ‘Let’s keep it simple, then. You have what I want. Your shuttle is busted, mine’s right above with weapons charged. I’ve got five guns pointed at you. How many do you have?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Shep exchanged a glance with Kharth. ‘A dozen? Did we agree on a dozen?’

And the Starfleet security detail rose from their hiding spots in the higher ground around the Lancelot’s crash site, phaser rifles ready and bearing down on the Romulans now outnumbered two-to-one.

Trellian started. ‘What the -’

‘Yeah, it’s a trap, idiot.’ Shep rolled her eyes. ‘Now, do you want to make this a stupid stand-off where no matter what you get shot and taken in, or do you want to have a more productive conversation about the finer points of property? One of those ends with you facing Federation justice and all its comforts. The other ends with us handing you over to the city council at Navinor and getting a different kind of justice.’

Endeavour’s arrival at Navinor, one of the many sleepy backwaters of the former Romulan Neutral Zone, had been heralded with the boasts and threats of Trellian, his ship, and his crew, asserting the people living here were under his protection and under no circumstances was Starfleet to put boots on the ground. Only by pushing boundaries and playing nice with the city leaders had everyone agreed on Endeavour disembarking two officers by shuttle to the surface, where it had become apparent that Trellian would use the local populace as living shields in his continued exploitation of their meagre wealth. Outnumbered and with too many innocents nearby to risk any gambit that could include collateral damage, luring Trellian out of the city by making off with payment he believed he was due had been deemed the best way to get an even footing.

Making sure Trellian came himself and was too distracted to notice Endeavour beaming officers down to an ambush site a hundred kilometres out of the city, however, had taken Shep’s particular brand of productive provocation.

Shep and Kharth were last to beam back to the ship and on arrival headed directly for the bridge. The viewscreen was live, showing the blue-grey shape of Navinor II rotating gently below, and the three small, last-generation Romulan frigates of Trellian’s band facing off against the mighty Federation explorer.

Rourke rose from the command chair as they arrived. ‘I’ve got a warlord in my brig and some touchy Romulan minions. I’m assuming this worked?’

‘Like a charm,’ said Shep with a toothy grin.

‘If you’re not whatever team Commander T’Varel sends down to pick chunks of the Lancelot’s hull out of the highlands,’ mused Kharth.

At Science, Airex narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You look like you’ve been through a lot.’

‘Just Commander Shepherd’s great piloting, sir,’ Kharth said lightly.

Rourke gave a short laugh that Kharth heard not ring quite true. It was how he’d behaved throughout this past month with Shep’s feats and achievements – turned into the indulgent uncle figure, cheerful and simple and a little bit too blunt for the subtleties of the world. Kharth knew it was how he behaved when he wanted to be underestimated, and she understood what was going on. But it was also annoying.

‘Good work, Commanders,’ he said, turning back to the viewscreen. ‘Let’s see if we can’t send these dogs packing.’

‘They’re already turning tail, sir,’ pointed out Lieutenant Whitaker at Helm. ‘So much for their loyalty.’

‘Not quite,’ said Airex, raising an eyebrow at his display. ‘The Triumph is here.’

Rourke’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly as he took his seat, and on the viewscreen they watched as the Romulan ships indeed swept away, heading for the far side of the system on a longer route out of the sun’s gravity well – but one which would not bring them face-to-face with the Inquiry-class bearing down on Navinor II.

‘Sir, we’re being hailed,’ reported Lieutenant Lindgren crisply from comms. ‘It’s Fleet Captain Jericho.’

Rourke nodded, jaw tight for only half a heartbeat before his expression again shifted for affable bemusement when the viewscreen changed to put the bridge of the Triumph before them. ‘Sir! Not that it’s not a pleasure to see you, but aren’t these rats going to scatter with Triumph coming in so hot?’

Fleet Captain Jericho remained seated in the centre chair, looking supremely unconcerned. ‘Don’t worry about it, Captain. They’ll run right into the Independence, and we’ll follow soon after. Then they get a choice on if they do this the easy way or the hard way.’ He leaned back. ‘Assuming you uprooted their presence on Navinor II.’

‘Commander Shepherd did,’ said Rourke with an airiness that Kharth thought didn’t suit him. ‘With this extortion racket driven off, I thought we could put the city council in touch with the leaders of Nerillian. Expanding the network of mutual protection -’

‘We shouldn’t broker deals with planets out here,’ Jericho said with a quick wave of the hand. ‘We’ve driven off the Rebirth; Navinor can determine their own path now.’

Rourke faltered. ‘We can broker an agreement between local governments here, and make it a lot easier.’

‘We weren’t here to make it easy in the Neutral Zone, Captain, remember?’ Jericho leaned forward. ‘We were here to hunt down the Rebirth. Which I should get to. Wrap up here and rendezvous with the Nighthawk; they’re finishing deployment of the defence posts on the border.’ His gaze flickered to Rourke’s right. ‘Good work, Commander.’

Shep beamed. ‘Thank you, sir!’

‘Triumph out.’

Rourke sat in silence for a moment, scratching his beard as the Triumph pulled away, carrying on her course to eventually jump to warp after the disappearing Romulan ships. Kharth had no doubt that before the day’s end there’d be a tale of a daring confrontation between mighty Starfleet vessels and diabolical Rebirth pirates ending with the bad guys in cells and the good guys congratulating themselves.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, her words louder in the quiet of the bridge. ‘All we’ve done now is take out local warlords who were at least invested in milking Navinor for the long-term. With Trellian gone, what if some bigger warlord comes along who’d rather burn it all to the ground and take all the spoils at once?’

Shep turned with that wince in her eyes that she always wore when anyone implied the saintly Lionel Jericho was wrong. ‘What’re we supposed to do? Interfere and dictate what factions grow in this independent space? Make commitments to help and look after them we can’t always keep later?’

‘It’s that last one that’s at play here,’ snapped Kharth. ‘Don’t get saintly about the Prime Directive, the problem is Starfleet not wanting to get too committed to helping Romulans. Again.’

Now Shep tensed, the easy manner shifting for a mask of professionalism to come down. ‘I’m not being saintly, Lieutenant Commander. I’m reminding you of our operational policy out here.’

Kharth ignored her, rounding on Rourke. She didn’t say anything, simply met his gaze, hands on her hips, knowing the eyes of the bridge were on her. Athaka and Whitaker were too new to their posts to do anything that might resemble speaking up against the XO when the CO hadn’t said his piece. Airex likely didn’t dare side with her in case she bit his head off. And Lindgren was more likely to have quiet conversations after the fact than fan the flames here and now. So it was just her and the captain, a man she’d known to be nothing but stubborn in doing the right thing.

But Matt Rourke only shrugged. ‘Commander Shepherd’s right, Kharth. You should get checked out by Sickbay then see if you can squeak anything more out of Trellian.’ His gaze flickered between the two officers. ‘That first part goes for both of you. Dismissed.’

Stiff-backed, Kharth marched into the turbolift, and only felt herself tense more by Shep following. The doors slid shut and the lift hummed to life and, now they were in private, she could feel Shep’s guilty wince.

‘I know this sucks,’ Shep said at length. ‘And I’m sorry. But I promise you, this isn’t about us not wanting to help Romulans. I know you don’t need reminding of policy, I know you don’t need a lecture. I get this is close to home for you, though, and I am sorry.’

Kharth worked her jaw for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘Policy,’ she echoed. ‘That’s sometimes a great shield to excuse leaving people to suffer, Shep.’

Shep didn’t answer, and Kharth didn’t feel like pushing the point. Just as Rourke hadn’t opposed it, like he hadn’t opposed it for the long weeks of their new assignment, there was no way Shep would do anything but defend the words of the vaunted Fleet Captain Jericho.

I knew Karana Valance, Kharth thought bitterly. You’re no Karana Valance.