Beckett felt like he was swallowing daggers before he drew a deep breath and said, ‘I need your help.’

And because he was asking Adamant Rhade, the broad-shouldered, golden-haired, lantern-jawed Betazoid stood from his desk and just said, ‘Lead the way,’ before he’d even finished explaining.

‘It’s not that Narien won’t talk to me,’ Beckett insisted once they were in the station corridor heading to the guest quarters they’d secured for the monk. ‘But he’s under no obligation to cooperate, and I think he knows I’m here to find out if he’s a bloody liar.’

‘I’m happy to assist,’ Rhade said, honest brow furrowing. ‘Though my interview training likely doesn’t align with yours.’

‘I don’t need you to ask questions.’ Beckett hesitated. ‘He spoke very highly of you. You in particular, sir; it’s clear he appreciates you saving him at Scarix, that he didn’t expect it of Starfleet, and I think he suspects you’re an outlier. I need you here, so he trusts me.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’ But then silence fell, and Beckett could feel the unspoken weighing down on them as they walked. Worst, Beckett knew he had far more unspoken than Rhade did. After all, they’d both kissed Rhade’s wife. Inevitably, Rhade looked at him and said, ‘How are you, Lieutenant? We’ve not spoken in a while.’

‘We don’t serve on the same ship any more,’ Beckett pointed out quickly, like that was the only reason. ‘But I assume you’re asking about Frontier Day.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Rhade said, firm and clear and with such sincerity that Beckett wanted to punch him. ‘I hope you acknowledge that. And Rosara doesn’t either.’

Beckett’s gut tied itself in knots, and he stared down the corridor as they walked. He was dealing with a Betazoid. However ethical Rhade was, he had to keep his emotions clamped down. The good news was that blistering, smothering, suffocating guilt was both unsuspicious and deeply sincere. ‘She’s said as much?’

‘No,’ Rhade allowed. ‘But – we haven’t properly talked about it.’

Shocker.

Either Rhade was more self-aware than Beckett knew, or he heard that. ‘I’m giving her space,’ he added quickly. ‘But the way she acts, the way she speaks of what happened to her… I know she knows you’re her friend, and you’d never hurt her.’

They reached Narien’s quarters, which stopped Beckett from throwing up in rage. ‘I’ll ask you to go in first, sir,’ he said sweetly.

The monk Narien was a scrawny Romulan with scraggly long hair tied back and a pronounced brow that gave him the look of a perpetual scowl. He looked suspicious on letting them into his small, very generically decorated quarters – bigger than Beckett’s on Endeavour, thanks to the space of a starbase – but brightened at the sight of Rhade. ‘Commander! It’s good to meet you in the flesh.’

The two shook hands, and Rhade’s calm smile looked to put Narien at ease immediately. ‘I’m glad we can meet. It looks like you’re settled in and have everything you need?’

‘What I need is to be on my way,’ Narien said with a tongue click, but he ushered them to the seating area. ‘But this young man keeps asking me if I’m a thief.’

Beckett gaped. ‘I’ve never asked that.’

‘You wanted to ask me about the history of the Order of Ste’kor. You’re very clearly trying to tell if I’m from the Order of Ste’kor, and that if I’m not, you assume that means I stole the artifacts from the monastery.’

Rhade raised his hands placatingly. ‘We have the greatest respect for the traditions of your people and want to understand them – not only to expand our own knowledge but to help you preserve your culture. But yes, Lieutenant Beckett does want to make sure that you’re not transporting ancient artifacts of the Order of Ste’kor to sell them to the black market.’

‘I’m not selling them to the black market,’ Narien said huffily. ‘I’m selling them to the Republic’s Institute of Science.’

Beckett leaned forward, gaping. ‘You’re telling me you’re a monk, and you are selling them?’

‘The Order of Ste’kor is dead. I am a monk. The Republic will preserve these antiquities, study them, put them to good use. I and my people do need money,’ Narien said simply.

Rhade frowned. ‘Your people?’

Narien hesitated. Then he looked at Beckett. ‘The Order of Ste’kor was founded in the earliest days of not merely the Romulan Empire but the exodus. As we travelled, as we embraced our passions free from the restrictions of the Vulcan dogma, we found we could not connect with our natural abilities so easily. It was the belief of some that our feelings inhibited our telepathic capabilities. The Order sought a way to stay connected without abandoning who we are.’

‘So you’re telepaths,’ Beckett said softly. ‘I knew that much.’

‘It is why our artifacts are essential,’ Narien continued. ‘I’m not any more telepathic than your average Romulan. I have a little more connection to these abilities through training, but it is… insignificant. Over the centuries, the order thus gathered objects – some of Vulcan history, some of other cultures, some things we brought with us – that were imbued with psychic energy. That allow us to expand our minds and retain some connection to something stripped from us by Vulcans.’

Rhade shifted his weight uncomfortably. ‘Experiments with psychic energy can be dangerous.’

‘Everything can be dangerous,’ Beckett cut in. He didn’t want Rhade’s experience with blood dilithium to cast a shadow over this discussion and looked back at Narien. ‘Where did you take these artifacts from?’

Narien hesitated. ‘I’m not here to supply Starfleet scientists with a new location for them to plunder.’

Beckett bit his lip. Then he said, ‘We know the monastery at Tirellia still has extensive storage facilities that nobody’s returned to. Did you take it from there?’

Narien tilted his head, staring at Beckett. At length, he replied, ‘Tirellia isn’t one of our monasteries.’

And Beckett smiled. ‘You’re right. It’s not.’

There was a beat, then Narien laughed. ‘A test. Very good, Lieutenant. Are you satisfied I am who you say I am?’

‘Yes,’ Beckett allowed, ‘but that doesn’t explain why you need to sell these goods. You could go to the Republic with them, surely, and continue your work?’

‘That’s not my duty any more. It hasn’t been my duty for twenty years – since before the supernova.’ Narien sighed. ‘What does it matter any more; the Star Empire’s gone. I was arrested for working with the Reunification Movement when I only wanted Vulcan research. The Empire exiled me. I’ve been with the Khalagu ever since.’

‘The Khalagu?’ Rhade said.

Narien looked like he might say no more, but then he met Rhade’s eyes and sighed again. ‘Exiles. The unwanted. Since before the supernova and continuing even as the Star Empire fell. Rejected from our society, we slunk to the Synnef Nebula. We’ve been there for decades, maybe centuries, a culture of nomads hiding beyond the reach of the Empire or Starfleet. I joined up with them twenty years ago upon my exile. I returned to Imperial space only to secure artifacts to sell to the Republic. The Khalagu are my people now. My home now. My purpose now.’

Beckett’s brow furrowed. ‘I’ve never heard of this group.’

‘Why would you? We crossed the Neutral Zone illegally and hid there. Then Starfleet turned their backs on the Romulan people. The nebula hides us.’ Narien shrugged. ‘There are planets and stars within it. We’ve a network of ships, stations, settlements scattered that have set up the resource acquisition we need, but for the most part, we wander between them, gathering and processing nebula gases for fuels. And we want to be left alone.’

‘So why head back to the monastery?’ Beckett asked softly.

Narien grimaced. ‘Aside from Rator’s collapse making it safer? The same reason I’m telling you all of this. We lived in a degree of harmony with the local troublemakers – we had nothing they needed, sometimes we traded, but otherwise, the gangs left us alone, and we them. But something’s changed. They’re expanding their operations, like you saw with the Three Lost Crows at the asteroid belt.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not selling artifacts of my order so we Khalagu can live more comfortably. I’m selling artifacts so we Khalagu can pay the likes of the Three Lost Crows to leave us alone.’

Rhade leaned back, eyes going to the ceiling. ‘The Three Lost Crows and other gangs use the Synnef Nebula. Of course they do. They can hide out there, smuggle there. It blocks half our sensors, half our comms.’

‘We know how to navigate it,’ said Narien. ‘Better than they do. But we don’t want much, Commander. We only want to be left alone.’

Beckett gave a slow nod. ‘I’d love to hear more from you about the Khalagu. This is a whole society thriving near us that we’ve never known about. Starfleet is in Midgard for the long haul, Narien; we can help each other. Thanks for putting up with the scrutiny, and I’m sorry for having to double-check your story.’

Narien shrugged, more relaxed now that he wasn’t being directly challenged. ‘It would be regrettable if artifacts of the order fell to the black market,’ he allowed.

‘We can let you be on your way-’

‘No.’

Both turned at Rhade’s interjection. The big man grimaced apologetically. ‘That is to say, of course you can be on your way, Mister Narien. We won’t stop you. But I ask you to stay a little longer.’

Narien frowned. ‘Why?’

‘We’re looking into the Three Lost Crows as we speak. Starfleet is here, and we’re here to stay, and that includes pushing back on a group that preys on innocent people. I’d appreciate it if you helped us as much as you can – and then we, in turn, can make the nebula, the region, safer for everyone.’

It was perhaps manipulative, though Beckett believed Rhade didn’t have a manipulative bone in his body. But it also meant that a source of sociological information as valuable as Narien might stick around. He straightened. ‘We can also help you make your sale to the Republic without going through dangerous territory. If we facilitate that trade… will you help us?’

‘No.’ Narien frowned, and Beckett’s heart sank. Then he looked to Rhade. ‘I will accept the offer of facilitating trade if you wish to make it. And I will stay a little. And I will help you. But not in exchange for that help. But for you, Commander. You saved my life. I owe you my time at the least.’

Well, thought Beckett as Rhade and Narien again shook hands, and he considered the work ahead of him trying to help broker the deal with the Republic. Fuck me, I guess, for trying to improve cultural connections when Captain Starfleet’s here to save the day.

And still, when they left, and Rhade clapped him on the back and said, ‘Good work, Lieutenant,’ it was impossible to not feel a little better at the vote of confidence.