‘See, that’s the difference between you and me, Matt. I didn’t drink the Beckett kool-aid.’ Eli Gault shoved food around his plate like they hadn’t had to fight tooth and nail to get a table for lunch in Brahms Station’s promenade. ‘He’s not got a plan. He’s posturing.’

‘I would think so,’ Rourke admitted, swallowing the last of his club sandwich and dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. ‘But he was right about Changelings in Deneb, wasn’t he?’

‘If he’d actually been right, he’d have known Vornar was a sun-damned impostor. If he’d actually been right, his information would have been useful.’ The wiry Risian looked perpetually scruffy in his uniform, and had not made more of an effort for Frontier Day. ‘If they dump you, what the hell am I doing here? I got a haircut for this gig.’

‘Then if that’s all I ever achieved in the uniform, I’ve done the galaxy a service.’ Rourke shook his head. ‘It won’t be that bad, Eli.’

‘They took your ship. Even if they don’t can you, what am I supposed to do?’

‘Valance will take you on. Or at least find you a good job.’

‘I didn’t come back for Karana fucking Valance.’ Gault threw down his cutlery with a clatter, and Rourke sat up, blinking at the sudden outburst. Or, rather, now he realised it wasn’t so sudden after all. ‘This is gross. The whole thing is gross. Starfleet hasn’t changed.’

‘We went to Deneb -’

‘Against orders. And now it’s over? Day saved? Nobody’s even got the good grace to pretend like they were on our side all along. Instead, we’re holding this ridiculous fucking party.’ He stabbed a finger around the sandwich shop, then out into the promenade. The air was thick with not just revelry, but pomp and circumstance. Red-and-gold Starfleet banners, the kind Rourke rarely saw outside of the most formal occasions or historical photos, hung from the rafters. ‘Bread and circuses,’ Gault snarled. ‘It’s not even “Pretend Starfleet Helps People Day,” it’s manifest-fucking-destiny day, let’s-explore-the-unknown-except-people-lived-there-and-maybe-they-were-fine-without-the-Federation day, it’s the most empty and hollow of celebrations for a Starfleet that hasn’t been about science since, what, the Borg? And you have to focus on the science because if you don’t, you gotta admit that all you’ve been doing the last fifteen years minimum is looking after you and yours.’

They were drawing glances, and Rourke knew Gault didn’t care. ‘We,’ Rourke said quietly.

‘What?’

‘We’ve been doing -’

‘Screw you, Matt; I quit.’

‘And that might have been great for your high horse, Eli, but what did you actually achieve while you were gone?’

Gault slammed his palms on the table. ‘The Fenris Rangers fed and protected people Starfleet abandoned -’

‘Like, what. Two worlds, and it took you a year’s worth to do it?’ Rourke knew neither of them were even angry about this, but still he bristled, lip curling. ‘In ‘93, I fed an entire refugee settlement in one goddamn day.’

‘Yeah, and you disobeyed an order to do it – from Beckett, no less -’

‘And got away with it. In ‘95, the Firebrand took out a whole pirate network who’d been coming up through the Triangle; protected half a sector. In ‘99, Endeavour stopped the Wild Hunt, the D’Ghor; last year, we saved several hundred thousand people on the planet Whixby from the Century Storm, and protected the Agarath System from being reconquered by the Romulan Star Empire. Should I go on?’ Rourke leaned forward. ‘Sure, I sometimes had to look the other way, I sometimes had to chafe under orders, but when it went right, I did more in a day’s work than you did in a fucking year, Eli. But you got to pretend you were more moral with the Fenris Rangers. Remind me how it ended with them?’

Gault’s jaw set. ‘Remind me how it’s ending with Starfleet, Matt?’ He threw down his napkin and stood. ‘Now you get to hope that being Beckett’s dog will give you crumbs, or Starfleet’s gonna chew you up and spit you out for doing the right thing. Happy Frontier Day.’

They were definitely being stared at by then. Rourke ignored them as he pressed his palms to his eyes and listened to the retreating footsteps of Gault storming out angrily. What he’d hoped to be a distraction with an old friend had made the sandwich bar – made all of the Frontier Day crowds – close, claustrophobic.

It was not easy to find somewhere quiet on a day like this. But he was still a captain, just about, and that had its perks. Brahms Station was big enough that some of its observation lounges were restricted to officers of certain ranks, but on a day like this, plenty of captains were around, and plenty of them had guests. It took three tries before Rourke found an observation lounge with a half-decent view of the upcoming Frontier Day parade that wasn’t roiling with people.

It kept the lights dim so they could see the starlight gleaming on the hulls of the ships hovering above Avalon II. Within the hour, the procession would begin, the Armstrong would launch, and Rourke just hoped the constructed air of grandeur would move something in him. After all, there was a very real chance this he’d never again see so many starships up close.

Because it was Frontier Day, a platter of refreshments had been left out, and Rourke could sink onto an armchair with a good view and a bottle of beer, alone in the gloom. He’d made tentative plans to join Harrian on the promenade, but after the argument with Gault, company was not the first thing on his mind.

So he felt a sinking sense in his gut as he heard footsteps approach, that only lurched with surprise at the voice of Lionel Jericho. ‘Matt.’

Rourke looked over with shock as Jericho, laid-back in a plaid button-down shirt and jeans, sank into the armchair beside him with his own beer. ‘Captain – Lionel – I didn’t spot you here.’

‘That’d be ‘cos I’m all incognito.’ Jericho winked at him, then jerked his head down the row of windows to where a pair of teenaged girls were sat. ‘I’m here with my daughters. Thought today was a day best spent, you know, enjoying ourselves. Whatever comes next.’

Rourke put his beer down. ‘I can go -’

‘I didn’t come over here to chase you off. If you’re alone on a day like today, I figure there’s a reason for it. Wanted to check how you were doing.’ At Rourke’s incredulous look, Jericho sighed. ‘I meant everything I said at Izar. I was wrong in Deneb. I blamed you for Dimitri’s death, when these things happen in war, and the son of a bitch who took Ramius’s place and sabotaged our raid is a hell of a lot more responsible than you are. I don’t intend to let you go down for my mistakes.’

Rourke blew out his cheeks. ‘You might not get to decide that.’

‘Maybe not.’ There was a long silence. ‘What’ll you do? If they take your uniform.’

‘I have… no godly idea.’ That was why he’d been so angry at Gault, Rourke knew. He’d been putting one foot in front of the other for days, only for one of his oldest friends to expose the cracks in his thinking. ‘I’ve been in Starfleet my entire adult life. You’re saying I should think about it?’

‘It’s always a good idea to think about it. Or so I’ve been told,’ Jericho said, wryness entering his voice.

‘What about you?’

Jericho sighed heavily. ‘Damning thing is that the girls don’t need me any more. Alison’s in her second year at ACU. Bri’s heading for the Academy in the fall. Even if I had more time for family… it’s been too little, too late.’

Rourke fidgeted with his beer bottle. ‘I hear you there.’

‘Maybe teaching. Earth. Spend more time with my brother. At some point, you gotta think about what the back half of your life is gonna look like.’ Jericho looked at him in the silence, then sighed. ‘This was a really uplifting wander over, right?’

‘Nah, it’s okay. It is what it is.’

‘You shouldn’t be alone. Not where you’re at right now. Not on a day like today. You’re acting like you’re on standby for something.’

Beckett had told him to wait. To be ready. It was why he’d had only a synthale, why he’d only made plans with people he could drop. Rourke shrugged. ‘I’m okay.’

Jericho looked like he did not believe him, but shrugged anyway as he stood. ‘You got it, Matt. I’ll see you day after tomorrow.’ He turned away, then paused. ‘Oh, and Ms Hale’s in Auditorium B. Just in case you fancied watching the celebrations with a bunch of dignitaries.’

Rourke glared, but could only shoot daggers at the Jericho’s back as the other man crossed the observation lounge, returning to his daughters. The glare turned rather more jealous as Rourke watched him reach the girls, throw his arms around them, and say something that made them laugh in some youthful protest against an indignity their father had unleashed on them.

Just as the ceremony began, he drained the synthale, stood, and headed for the door.

Everything went wrong approximately ten minutes later. Shouting. Screaming. The slack faces of young officers with nothing behind those blackened eyes but the Borg Collective. It happened all over the galaxy, all across Starfleet, and for Matt Rourke, it happened in a quiet corridor where, not for the first time in the last month, a security officer unexpectedly pulled a phaser and tried to shoot him.

Had Rourke not been on-edge after Beckett’s warning, had he not been bristling with apprehension after his instructions the previous night, he might not have reacted fast enough. As it was, his fist hit the young officer’s wrist before he dragged the phaser out of his grip, and pumped a stun blast into their chest almost without thinking.

And further down the corridor, the screaming and shouting intensified. Rourke faltered; whatever Admiral Beckett had warned him about could not have begun to prepare him for the calamity rolling out across the station, across Frontier Day. He watched through the windows as one starship detached from the formation and opened fire from another, phaser blasts rippling across an unshielded hull.

It was unthinkable. But it was what Beckett had warned him about, even if the Admiral hadn’t known this.

When something happens, Alexander Beckett had said, get to the observation lounge.

But that was decks away. And that was not the only voice echoing in Rourke’s head.

Oh, and Ms Hale’s in Auditorium B. Just in case you fancied watching the celebrations with a bunch of dignitaries.

His eyes fell on a maintenance hatchway. It wouldn’t be fast, but ladders could take him wherever he needed to go, without passing through the corridors crowded with gunfire. But Beckett was several decks down; the auditorium, several up.

Rourke gritted his teeth. Dispossessed the unconscious security officer of his phaser holster. And headed for the ladder.

When he eventually kicked a hatch open and burst into the room, it was to the sound of screams but it was not, he reasoned, to the sound of Borg voices. Rourke clambered out, doing the best job he could of being ready for trouble while looking as unthreatening as possible.

‘It’s okay!’ he called gruffly, raising both an empty hand and the phaser. ‘I’m Captain Rourke, and I’m here to help.’ His eyes swept over the room. A poorly defended doorway. A gathered crowd of important people. ‘Borg are out there. They’re not in here. And there’s a lot we can do to make sure it stays that way. Then we work on a way off this station. So everyone… stay calm. We got this.’

He’d headed for the civilians by the door controls, and was halfway through reinforcing their rather hapless attempt at locking it with some real Starfleet security measures before there was a familiar voice at his elbow.

‘Matt? What are you doing here?’

Rourke finished what he was doing, the door sealing into full lockdown with a cheerful chirrup before he turned. His eyes met Sophia Hale’s, and he took a deep breath. ‘I saw everything going wrong. I knew you were here. So I came as quick as I could.’

And Alexander Beckett could go hang.