The mansion of the former Imperial governor was centuries old, looming over the sandy capital city of Val’Tara as a shining beacon, old Romulan dominance etched into ice-white granite. From the upper balcony, the former ruler could stand and behold his colonial holdings, master of all he surveyed, Romulus’s envoy in this chaos-struck frontier. Now, Valance stood with the representatives of the Val’Tara Commune, a mixture of Romulans and species indigenous to this and other nearby worlds Starfleet had never met before, and sipped a cool, thick, sickly sweet drink made of some local plant as they explained their new way of life.

‘After the supernova, we were part of the Star Empire in name only,’ explained Kevris, the last-but-one Imperial Governor of Val’Tara. While the Romulan man held the bearing of one born and raised in the heart of power, he now wore simple, hard-wearing clothes, and had so far let others do the talking until it was his turn to explain. ‘Rator gave us no support. No protection. Only mandates and demands for resources. It was impossible to meet their demands, so things around here had to change. I had to work with the Taren to make this planet prosperous, or put them under the boot. And I’d spent too many decades of my life out here to stamp Val’Tara to death for the sake of Rator.’

There was a measured look in the eye of G’sset, the Taren native of Val’Tara who spoke for her species in the Commune, as she nodded. ‘Kevris and I worked together for a decade. Tarens and Romulans worked together,’ she elaborated in slightly halting Romulan. Starfleet’s universal translator had not yet caught up on the Taren tongue. ‘Power changed. Not one above the other. Equals.’

‘By necessity,’ Kevris accepted. ‘But survival is quite the motivator. Old power structures were less relevant when the empire’s grasp barely reached out here.’

Kharth had looked deeply suspicious throughout the tale of imperial dominance turned to natural equality the moment the seat of power was too distant for its reach to be felt. ‘You said you weren’t the last governor, Kevris.’

‘No. Four years ago, Rator learnt of the changes here. They sent someone to succeed me. She ruled with an iron fist, or tried to, as if nothing had changed, as if Romulus had never been destroyed. No matter how bad it was for the people. No matter how ineffective it was for anyone.’ Kevris shrugged. ‘I stayed, and I tried to advocate on behalf of the Tarens, and on behalf of Romulans who had become naturalised here.’

‘Then Rator fell last year,’ said G’sset, and her beady eyes narrowed. ‘We removed the governor.’ The Taren species were humanoid, with long, horse-like faces and flat noses. They put Valance in the mind of peaceful herbivores, but when implication lingered of what must have been a bloody uprising to remove the last governor of Val’Tara, there was little peaceful in G’sset’s gaze.

‘Since then,’ said Kevris, ‘we work together. Representatives chosen by the people, running Val’Tara for all. Not everywhere on this frontier had anything like as smooth a transition to independence, but we’ve made ourselves a hub of commerce and diplomacy.’

‘Many worlds fall to warlords,’ said G’sset. ‘They fight. They expand territory. We are place they can all come. Buy. Sell. Talk. You lucky you find us first.’

‘We gave,’ said Valance carefully, ‘any warships on our long-range sensors a wide berth.’ They were here to explore. That did not mean inviting trouble from any warlord who sought to rule the furthest reaches of the old empire. ‘I’m grateful you’ve received us.’

‘I apologise for keeping your vessel so far away,’ said Kevris. ‘But it is our policy.’ He glanced back into the looming mansion. ‘If your people can come to a good price for our records, this meeting is still a boon for both of us.’

‘I’ve no doubt that Commander Airex and Lieutenant Lindgren can assess your data and come up with a deal that benefits everyone.’ At once, imperially-educated Kevris had realised how ignorant Starfleet was of these reaches of the galaxy. Endeavour carried goods that could make life a lot easier for Val’Tara, such as deuterium reserves to keep the local power grid operating at a higher level of efficiency. Valance smarted a little at the idea that he was offering only simple star charts and government records in return, but even these were a scientific gold mine for shedding light on this unknown expanse. It could also highlight a safer route home for them.

‘I agree,’ said Kharth, padding across the balcony to peer down at the city below. ‘But are you sure Beckett and Winters are safe hitting the streets?’

G’sset gave a low hiss like a cat, and only the lack of reaction from Kevris stopped Valance from tensing. On this new alien, the sound could have been a laugh or a light scoff, but it did not, from the Romulan’s reaction, appear to be a mark of offence. ‘This is the new Val’Tara, Commander Kharth,’ said the Taren representative. ‘All are welcome if they behave.’

‘That,’ said Kharth dryly, ‘is what I’m afraid of.’

‘Do we really need to do this sort of mingling to understand the locals?’ said Ed Winters with a tone of light alarm as he followed Beckett through the winding market road in the heart of the Val’Taren capital.

‘We could sit around like background ornaments as Airex negotiates for records we can read later or Valance does diplomacy,’ Beckett pointed out, ducking under a sign. Their boots scraped over ancient cobbles as they wound between sandstone buildings in soft browns and clays, while market stall after market stall shone with brightly-coloured displays. Whether they were Taren locals pushing rustic-looking produce on rickety wooden tables or off-world visitors behind metal tables beamed down from freighters, on the dusty world of Val’Tara, they seemed to value colour. Everything was splashed with a bright accent or had been painted or dyed or stained with a dozen hues, regardless of matching or clashing. Beckett had been to a hundred sandy worlds with settlements that brought colour to the myriad hues of brown that dominated the landscape, and none had been as haphazardly decorated as this.

‘And instead, be the first people to get lost in this new world?’ Winters pressed, moving to catch up as the road widened. It was harder for them to speak if they were forced apart by crowds or the size of the street, dozens of different voices racing over each other in a cacophony, with rambling tongues their universal translator still did not recognise.

‘And find new things!’ Beckett stopped and slung an arm around Winters’s shoulder. ‘Look at this. What does it tell you at a glance?’

The doctor hesitated. ‘I’d assumed at first that the Tarens have a very different sense of aesthetics to humans, but I’m starting to suspect they see a wider range of colours on the electromagnetic spectrum. That there’s more going on to this than we think.’

‘See, this is why you’re here!’ Beckett smacked him enthusiastically on the chest before pressing forward. ‘I was wondering if colours had more cultural meaning, and maybe they do! But perhaps it’s not that we don’t understand the cultural meaning of orange to the Taren, it’s that we don’t understand the cultural meaning of… blorble.’

‘Blorble?’

‘It’s my working title for a hypothetical colour I can’t perceive and can’t describe.’ Beckett paused at one of the stalls, examining an elaborate wooden carving. ‘Do you think that’s pretty?’

Winters blinked. ‘Do you mean pretty or do you mean has cultural value?’

‘I mean “aesthetically pleasing,” smart-arse,’ Beckett retorted. The Taren woman whose stall it was watched them, beady eyes blinking slowly in apparent bemusement at these two off-worlders babbling at each other in an unknown language but made no move to intercede.

‘I suppose. The swirls are nice?’ Winters shrugged, clearly unsure what he was being asked to say. Then he frowned. ‘Have you upset Lieutenant Thawn?’

‘When haven’t I upset Lieutenant Thawn,’ Beckett muttered, and straightened. For a moment, he stared into the middle distance. ‘No, it’s not me. But she’s finalising the divorce.’

‘Isn’t that a good thing? She left Commander Rhade months ago. I thought this would be a relief.’

‘It is for me. But she’s… I don’t know. It’s a big deal. She’s kind of down about it. I wanted to cheer her up.’ Beckett sighed, then shook his head. ‘It’s a nice trinket. But I probably shouldn’t gamble on something when I’ve no clue of its cultural significance.’

‘On the one hand, it would be a unique gift from a hitherto unknown culture, which no other Starfleet officer will have a chance to acquire for a long, long time,’ said Winters. ‘On the other, we have no currency to buy anything down here.’

Beckett snapped his fingers, gave the trader a polite nod, and turned away. ‘Good point.’ As they continued sauntering down the road, he gave a deeper sigh. ‘Sorry, Ed. I know we should be focusing.’

Winters hesitated. He had not known either Beckett or Thawn for very long, meeting them only earlier that year when they had all been briefly assigned to the USS Pathfinder. But for all of their roiling arguing, conflict, coming apart and then together, even the young doctor did not think the situation was very complex. He and Beckett had spent enough time together that he knew when he could or couldn’t speak his mind, but this new dynamic since the couple had returned from their excursion into the Synnef Nebula with the Khalagu people was unmarked territory for anyone, let alone a would-be do-gooder trying to offer advice. And Winters was not terribly sure about romantic advice at the best of times.

He drew an uncertain breath. ‘Yes. But it’s on your mind. Have you tried, uh, talking to her about it?’

‘No,’ Beckett grumbled, reminding Winters that even a novice at giving romantic advice was still a fair match in this scenario. ‘She gets all… closed down about it. Says it’s done, but she’s still sad.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Anyway, I got us – you and me – some holodeck time in a couple days. Finally, our slot rolled around.’ On this deep space expedition, social holodeck time had been like gold dust for the crew. ‘What were you thinking?’

Now Winters’s hesitation was more self-conscious. ‘I know we did those late-twenty-first century music gigs. But I was thinking something more interactive.’

Beckett brightened. ‘Awesome, yeah. Do you sail? I’ve got a boat-racing program. Or an old car-racing program. Or a shuttle-racing…’

‘I wasn’t thinking sports. I was thinking holonovel.’ Winters took a slow, cautious breath at Beckett’s curious look. Normally, he took a little longer gauging his holodeck friends’ tastes before venturing this far. But time was of the essence on this expedition. ‘Have you ever played a Dragon Adventure holonovel?’

For a moment, Beckett’s expression was level. Then his eyes lit up. ‘Do I get a sword?’

‘If, uh, you want a sword -’

‘Oh, hell, yes.’ Beckett went to give him a high five, though Winters misread it. In the end, they stood in the middle of an alien street no Starfleet officer had ever visited before, smacking each other gently on the arm as they discussed a fantasy adventure holodeck program. It was not, Winters thought, his finest moment. ‘I always wanted to play one of those.’

Winters sighed with deep relief at the confirmation that Nate Beckett – cocky, self-assured, and a little bit ridiculous – was as much of a loser as him deep down. ‘There’s a whole new world one of the best writers in the business has released chapters for…’ But his voice trailed off as he realised Beckett’s attention had shifted, and he winced. ‘I mean, if you want to -’

‘Ed.’ Beckett walked straight past him and stalked to one of the market stalls. This one was set up on a metal table, with a Romulan behind it, though he was deep in conversation with another potential customer and paid the Starfleet officers approaching no mind. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

Wondering if there was another ill-advised gift on the horizon, Winters approached cautiously, only for his stomach to turn to knots as he saw what Beckett had found. As long as his forearm, the metal pylon device looked like it had been disconnected from something, but it was neither the shape nor its technological features that caught their attention. His eye fell instead on the plaque on the base, and the etching – lettering – upon it.

‘That’s…’ Winters swallowed. ‘That’s surely not possible.’

‘It’s absolutely possible,’ said Beckett in a hushed voice. ‘And that is absolutely, definitely, Vorkasi tech.’

‘This far out?’

‘It’s a super-advanced civilisation that managed to meld telepathy and technology and died out tens of thousands of years ago,’ Beckett continued in that same low voice. ‘But you make a damned good point. Who knew they could be found here? On the other side of the Star Empire?’

Winters took a moment to consider the implications, having been nowhere near as involved in the Pathfinder’s research into that long-dead civilisation. Then something else occurred, and he made a face. ‘Oh, no,’ he sighed. ‘Does that mean…’

‘Yep,’ said Beckett, clicking his tongue. ‘Now we gotta haggle.’