‘I don’t care how squirrelly he is, Lieutenant,’ Valance told Beckett. ‘I want to talk to him.’

The operations of the squadron itself, as the Starfleet formation focused not merely on the day-to-day of Gateway Station but the Midgard Sector as a whole and any more long-ranging duties that needed attending, such as the Swiftsure at Deneb, were based out of offices on the starbase. Valance and Xhakaza retained small offices aboard, with space to liaise with figures such as Harrian as the strategic operations officer, or Ambassador Hale as the lead Diplomatic Corps representative. Some day, Beckett expected Rourke to pick up a chief of staff to help manage things down here, and, worse, for Cortez – on her return to the sector – to set up space as the lead of the squadron SCE.

He liked Cortez. He just didn’t want to be there when she and Valance had to work together.

For now, he and Valance were in the rather bare central office, which bore another large meeting table and a large holographic display for briefings and analysis. And the captain was pretty pissed.

‘I don’t know what you think Narien can do to help,’ Beckett said haplessly. ‘He’s still here because we’re helping him, and he’s made it clear he’s weirdly besotted with Commander Rhade, but it’s not as if he really likes or trusts us or would vouch for us.’

‘The Khalagu are our best chance of having actual allies in the Synnef Nebula,’ Valance pressed. ‘We have to try.’

The willowy monk did not look much more impressed by Valance’s pitch, once he’d been brought down to the offices and heard what she had to say, than he had by Beckett’s or even Rhade’s. At length, he said, ‘You do understand that rebuilding trust comes from more than saying please, Captain?’

Valance, sat across the meeting table from him, tensed. ‘I offer more than that, Mister Narien. Your people are being beset by the Three Lost Crows. We can help.’

‘We’re handling this situation. We’ve been self-sufficient for decades, and that won’t stop. Aligning ourselves with Starfleet would make a statement, Captain. We’d struggle to reach any agreement with the Crows, or indeed anyone else, again. You can proclaim all you want that you’re here to stay, but you’re asking us to throw our lot in with you on nothing but faith – faith that the Romulan people have no reason to put stock in.’

There was a pause as Valance took this in. Then she leaned forward, clasping her hands together. ‘You’re right,’ she said, with a more circumspect air than Beckett, cringing in the background, had hoped. ‘It’s a tremendous ask, for the Khalagu to immediately side with us when we’d need their help in order to help them. And the Three Lost Crows – anyone at Sot Thryfar who dislikes us – would see that as an alliance if Starfleet ships immediately swept into the nebula, aided and guided by the Khalagu.’

Narien settled a little but looked suspicious at this acquiescence. ‘It would.’

‘Then forgive me for asking for everything from the outset. We need to prove ourselves to you. One of those ways, I’m sure, would be with time. If Starfleet had been settled here for five years and were asking for help, that would be different, I imagine. I can’t make that happen yet. How else can Starfleet demonstrate we want to be friends with the Khalagu?’

That made the monk go silent. He scratched his chin in thought. ‘We aren’t accustomed to people wanting to be our friends. And you want something from us -’

Valance lifted a hand. ‘You have the power here. There’s nothing we can take from you because what we want is your help and your knowledge. All I’m asking is how we can help, or what we can do for you to consider taking our help.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not looking to be manipulative. Starfleet is here to try to reach out to the whole of the Midgard Sector. You’re part of it.’

‘A fascinating part,’ Beckett burst in, unable to stop himself. ‘A nomadic group, an offshoot of Romulan society living in a phenomenon we understand very little, who’ve adapted to develop your own culture and your own practices unlike any other. It would be untenable for Starfleet to stand by and watch that be stamped out because of growing piracy.’

Narien glanced between them, wincing. ‘We don’t want anything, Captain. We want to be left alone. We’re all people who’ve left our society behind, by choice or otherwise, and come together looking for someplace we can thrive and belong. It binds us together, and it also makes us rather disinterested in what anyone from outside has to say or offer.’

‘Trade?’ Valance offered vaguely. ‘You have a setup where you filter nebula gases for deuterium for fuel, yes? Can we offer you more fuel, means of improving your filtration methods? Not to make you reliant; trade creates interactions, which foster relationships.’

‘People would see that as Starfleet trying to make us reliant, or interfering with our processes,’ Narien sighed.

‘What about just… visitors?’ said Beckett, shrugging. ‘You must have moments of cultural importance, celebrations. Can we send delegates? I’m not saying big and formal representatives, just…’

‘You?’ Narien said, not unkindly. ‘We can consider it. But I don’t know how much use it would be if you showed up for one day as an outsider.’

Valance tilted her head. ‘What about more than one day?’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Narien.

She looked at Beckett, who felt his heart surge at whatever was coming next, his instincts faster than his thoughts in catching up with the excitement as Valance said, ‘What if, when you return to the Khalagu, Mister Narien, someone comes with you, looking for nothing more than to spend time with your people? Live among them for a time, learn of your culture? We would be prepared to offer something in exchange, and can discuss terms. But the point would be nothing more than for us to try to understand each other a little.’

‘An immersive ethnography,’ Beckett gushed.

‘And a diplomatic outreach,’ Valance amended.

Narien’s eyebrow quirked at Beckett. ‘I wouldn’t call it that, Lieutenant, if you don’t want to sound like we’re specimens in your lab.’’

‘I’m sorry,’ Beckett said quickly. ‘But the principles of ethnographic research – ethical ethnographic research – demand we put the participants first, and that the researcher is a participant. It’s not about studying you. It’s about trying to learn about you first-hand, with the highest levels of respect.’

Narien leaned back with a sigh, blinking as he thought. ‘I can’t promise anything. But bring one or two people on a ship you can live on and demonstrate you are committed – that you will spend weeks, maybe months out there – and my people may accept that. You’d have to travel in the nomadic groups, learn with us, work with us. Contribute to the community. I can see what they think. Leave it with me, Captain.’

He departed then, but the moment he was out the door, Beckett rounded on Valance. ‘One or two people in an Orion-class could do it.’

‘It would be two,’ she said archly. ‘I’m not sending you in there alone.’

‘Me?’

‘You’re clearly volunteering.’ Her gaze softened. ‘I know this is exciting, Beckett. But you’ve also tried to go ground before.’ At his look, she shifted her weight uncomfortably. ‘After the Delta Quadrant. And now Frontier Day…’

Beckett hesitated. ‘Can it be both things? Is it that bad if I take a little time away from… from people? That might be best for everyone.’

Valance sighed. ‘I’ll run this past Commodore Rourke. And I want you to take this immediately to Logan and Airex for evaluation, as a research project and a security issue. But when you’re back, or even if this doesn’t happen, you and I are having a discussion about your future, Lieutenant. And you won’t be going anywhere long-term until that happens.’

It was strange to be threatened by Valance with consideration for his future wellbeing. Still, Beckett left with a bounce in his step, and because he didn’t want that to be immediately dampened, he took it to Airex first.

‘This is incredible,’ was the first thing the science officer said when Beckett returned to Endeavour and found him in his office. ‘If they let you conduct full participant observation in a culture arising from the post-Supernova Romulan diaspora…’

‘Plenty of them are pre-Supernova,’ Beckett said eagerly. ‘They’re a full culture established from outsiders from Romulan society -’

‘But different to the refugees – out there for different reasons -’

It was not difficult to begin plans with Airex for a full research proposal. The difficulty was acknowledging, four hours later, that he definitely needed to talk to Logan about it.

He found Endeavour’s new security chief down in the gymnasium and was greeted at one of the playing courts with a rattle as Lieutenant Tyderian slammed a basketball through a hoop, much to the whoops of his teammate Lieutenant Zherul.

As Forrester threw her hands in the air in frustration, Logan, dressed – as they all were – in exercise gear, slapped her on the back. ‘Don’t worry, Tes. We got ‘em right where we want ‘em.’

‘They’re ahead,’ Forrester said flatly.

‘Right where we want ‘em!’ But Logan spotted Beckett and waved a hand. ‘Nate! You joining us?’

Beckett hesitated, looking across the playing court where Logan and a smattering of the other young officers who’d been assimilated on Frontier Day had gathered for this informal game. Then he waved Logan off, heading for a bench. ‘Later, Commander. It’s fine.’

Before he could turn away, Logan had given Forrester an apologetic look. ‘Looks like we forfeit here.’

‘No,’ Beckett said quickly. ‘You don’t gotta -’

‘Thank God,’ drawled Forrester.

Zherul laughed. ‘You just hate getting your ass kicked, Tes.’

‘Are you saying I hate losing? Because yes, you’re correct.’

The young officers left, joshing and digging at each other, and Logan grabbed a water bottle and a towel before he joined Beckett at the edge of the court. ‘What’s on your mind?’

Beckett winced. ‘You didn’t have to do that. You’re off duty.’

‘But you came looking for me anyway.’

It was true. There was no urgency to the plan – the proposal still needed writing, and he could discuss the project with Logan in the morning – and still, he’d come down here. Beckett took a deep breath. ‘There’s progress with the Khalagu.’

Logan listened, making noises in all the right places, including sounding intrigued by the expedition. ‘Two people job, the captain said,’ he said at last. ‘Who would you take with you?’

Beckett shrugged. ‘I guess someone who can help keep the ship running in good order or maybe help the Khalagu. A pilot or someone technical. Harkon would probably love this. Maybe the new girl, Fox?’

Logan nodded. Then he said, ‘Did you talk to her?’

‘I should make my recommendation to the captain before I try to recruit -’

‘I don’t mean Fox.’

Now Beckett realised why he’d sought Logan out and hated himself for it. He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I went through Elsa. I know she’s not… I know she doesn’t hate me or anything. But I still can’t look at her.’

‘Forgiving yourself,’ Logan began carefully, ‘can only happen if you reach out to the people you hurt first.’

‘That’s not it.’ Beckett winced. ‘I mean, it is, but… this is going to sound totally fucked.’ Logan stayed silent, bright eyes on him, clearly aware that so much as a squeak in the wrong place would make him clam up. He sighed. ‘Is it possible… is it reasonable… for being in the Collective to have…’

He trailed off, words feeling like they were unfit for purpose or in some way sacrilegious. Logan tilted his head. ‘If you’re about to suggest there may have been a positive to your experience on Frontier Day, I am the last man to judge.’

It felt like lead was in his throat as he swallowed. ‘We lose ourselves in the Collective, right? In the – the soup of everyone. But it also kind of… boils us down to our essential self. I don’t mean like, coming out of it puts us back together and we figure out our boundaries of who we are, though, uh, that too…’

‘But there’s no doubt in the Collective,’ Logan said gently. ‘There might not be a yourself, but there also is, at the same time. Alongside and inside everyone. And you can’t hide from yourself in the Collective. You can’t lie to yourself in the Collective.’

‘I don’t remember it, not really,’ Beckett said quickly. ‘Or rather, it’s like the weirdest and darkest dream. It’s not like I remember anything about anyone else. But, yeah.’

‘You’ve been taken apart and put back together, Nate. There’s no shame in finding clarity in that. The Borg are many, many things, but they are not deceptive.’ Logan stepped forward and clasped his shoulder. ‘It’s not a betrayal of yourself to find some good in what you went through. If being assimilated and then escaping their grasp helped you be surer of who you are – you, an individual – then that’s a victory against the Collective.’

The lead dissolved a little, but in the wake of its weight was a new burden in his chest – apprehension, fear. ‘I don’t know what I do about it, though.’

‘Sure,’ said Logan. ‘But I know what I’m gonna do.’

‘Sir?’

The former Borg flicked the towel over his shoulder, grinning. ‘I ain’t giving your little expedition the go-ahead until you have yourself a conversation.’