It felt like the uncarpeted decks of the USS Venture were perfectly calibrated for the pacing footsteps of Velora Styre to reverberate at the exact frequency to distract and irritate. Back and forth she strode at the head of the conference table, prowling like a caged predator but trapped by nothing but the bars of her own desperate officiousness.

Nose deep in the holographic projections of briefing papers hovering above her PADD, Commander Lizzie Lockhart sat at the conference table and tried to ignore her. And yet, impossible as it was, every step made it feel like the projection flickered. Impossible as it was, she persevered to focus through the distraction.

‘They should be here by now,’ complained Captain Styre, Chief of Staff to the Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence. ‘Has the captain -’

‘I’m sure we’ll be told.’ Despite herself, Lockhart’s gaze flicked to the tall windows. Nothing but the darkness of space stretched beyond.

The stars should have felt different this far out, she thought. Beyond the safe confines of the Alpha Quadrant, deep into the Delta Quadrant, far past the relatively stable environs of the Barzan Wormhole. But this was where the rendezvous had been arranged.

‘They’re late,’ said Styre in the most scoldingly aristocratic tone the haughty Betazoid could muster. It did not summon the other party. It did make Lockhart feel cringingly guilty.

The captain’s voice came over the comms twelve minutes later. ‘Bridge to Captain Styre. The Turei are here and beaming a party over. We’ll have them escorted to you.’

The stakes were already high enough that Lockhart shouldn’t have needed more reason for chest-opening relief to flood through her. The galaxy faced a possible calamity, and now they might have answers. And she didn’t have to be trapped in a room with an impatient Styre for much longer.

Lockhart was a well-trained officer, a veteran of the highest levels of Starfleet politics and privy, as a senior adviser to Admiral Beckett, a million secrets. It still took all of her professional nerve to not shudder at the sight of the Turei in the flesh when a trio were escorted in. Pale-skinned and completely hairless, their flesh looked to her like it had been smeared across the face, a child’s haphazard approximation of features rendered in white clay then stamped on a few times for good measure. Ghoulish and reclusive, they were, however, the foremost experts in the galaxy on the Underspace tunnels.

Or, at least, the only experts who would speak to them.

‘My name is Dorrik,’ said the lead Turei, standing at the foot of the table, black, beady eyes locked on Styre. Lockhart briefly wondered if he knew Starfleet rank insignia enough to recognise Styre had seniority, then realised even the slightest read of body language made it more than clear who was in charge here.

‘Captain Velora Styre, Fourth Fleet Intelligence.’ Styre clasped her hands behind her back. ‘We can do niceties or we can get to business.’

Dorrik’s brow raised. Lockhart wondered if that signalled incredulity in a Turei. ‘Business. Good. We had to traverse far out of our way to arrive safely.’

‘The tunnels,’ said Lockhart before she could stop herself. ‘You can’t travel them unobserved any more. Or, not so certainly.’

Dorrik turned to her. Then he inclined his head. ‘That is why you are here? The increased traffic in the Underspace?’ His eyes snapped back to Styre. ‘Our agreements with Starfleet utterly forbade you sharing any knowledge of the tunnels or accessing them to -’

‘Don’t posture,’ Styre said in a soft voice. ‘Not like that. If you’re experts on Underspace, as you claim, then you know full well that what’s happening has nothing to do with Starfleet. If you want to blame us, all you’re doing is showing we have no use for you.’

The thick lips of the Turei curled back. Lockhart saw a row of sharp teeth and thought of a predatory deep-water fish. ‘Do we need to be of use to you?’

Styre remained ramrod straight. ‘Underspace apertures have opened across the galaxy. Already, the peoples of the galaxy are stumbling across them, across the tunnels, and traversing them by accident or design. Your people’s entire economic, strategic, and political power stems from your mastery of Underspace. How long do you think this knowledge will remain precious? Work with Starfleet now, and be involved in the response to this disaster, and we go forward in partnership. You won’t get a better deal if things go south.’

‘Or,’ added Lockhart in a rush as Dorrik’s beady eyes narrowed, ‘we view this as an opportunity. As the captain says, your people’s entire economic, strategic, and political power is rooted in Underspace. What’s happening here has opened the whole galaxy to a new form of travel nobody could dream of before. Work with us in stopping this from being a calamity. Work with us to make it a gift.’

She hadn’t expected to be ‘good cop’ to Styre’s bad. The captain was notoriously bad-tempered and cold, traits which helped her get on with Admiral Beckett tremendously. Lockhart was an analyst, not a SAPINT officer; she thrived on data and interpretation, not face-to-face engagement. But that meant today, perhaps, she was the one who could see beyond fear and into opportunity.

Dorrik paused a beat. ‘The situation has changed,’ he acknowledged.

‘Tremendously,’ said Styre. ‘So far as we can tell, apertures have opened across the known galaxy. We’re still trying to ascertain if the apertures alone are what has changed – or if it’s Underspace.’

‘Whether,’ said Lockhart, ‘Underspace always stretched as far as the Beta Quadrant.’

Dorrik shook his head. ‘If it did, we never ventured that far. The tunnels of the Underspace are labyrinthine. Travel them without knowing the way, and it’s not simply that you might end up at an exit point far from your original destination. Some routes are more dangerous than others. You might be destroyed en route. Your ship might impact debris and be forced out of the tunnel, stranded thousands of light-years from anywhere you know with no way of re-entering the network.’

‘We know,’ said Styre. ‘Our ships are reporting these encounters constantly. Starfleet is beginning to understand the network in the Alpha Quadrant; our vessels have, wittingly and unwittingly, ventured into the tunnels. Begun to chart them. Begun to find routes, even if they are, for now, mere shortcuts saving journeys of weeks, not months or years.’

‘There are plans for more serious missions,’ Lockhart said. ‘Further exploration. Missions of commerce, of prospecting. Diplomacy.’

Dorrik’s shoulders slumped with a hint of defeat. ‘If you are already at this point, we cannot help you chart the tunnels of the Alpha Quadrant. Likely, you know more than we do.’

‘That’s not why I’m here.’ Styre planted her hands on the table. ‘You’re masters of the Underspace. Everything has changed. Before the rest of the galaxy falls into a new gold rush, upending the order of things – of borders, of commerce, of war – we need to understand. We need to understand why this has happened.’

Lockhart nodded. ‘Why has this changed?’

Dorrik looked back at the other two Turei, who had stood quietly so far. They did not say anything, but Lockhart caught the flickers of their gazes, the silent exchange. At length, Dorrik sighed and turned to the two officers. ‘This is something we have of course studied intently. As you say, nobody knows Underspace like us. That is, nobody you would speak to.’

Lockhart gave a small, encouraging smile. ‘Absolutely. We know if anyone has any understanding, it’s you -’

‘Great Fire,’ breathed Styre, cutting off the gentle reassurance. ‘You have absolutely no idea why this is happening, do you?’

Dorrik looked struck. Straightened. And then his shoulders slumped, as if helplessness were a weight dragging him down. ‘No,’ he admitted at last. ‘To the best of our knowledge, this has never happened before. And with the best of our knowledge… we do not know why Underspace has changed.’

‘We do know something,’ came the quiet words of one of the other Turei, and all eyes snapped to her. She bowed her head in apology to Dorrik. ‘I do not wish to overstep.’

‘Overstep,’ said Styre, extending a lordly hand before Dorrik could bring his person back in line.

The Turei hesitated. ‘I said “know.” Of course, nothing is certain, but, by our best calculations, by all of our studies…’

‘Yes?’

‘The initial manifestation of the apertures was sudden and chaotic. Within days, that has begun to settle. The new apertures match the pre-existing ones in, so far as we can tell, every way. This expanded network is just as stable as the one with which we were familiar.’

Dorrik’s sloping brow lowered, and he made a small, clicking noise Lockhart took for disapproval. ‘Yes. I should offer that theory.’

‘Which?’ Styre did not hide her frustration. ‘This is nothing our scientists haven’t observed.’

‘No. And it does not shine a light on why this has happened. But it gives our experts some indication of what.’ Dorrik straightened and looked between the two officers. ‘And by our best guess, this is not temporary. Underspace, or access to it, has expanded to reach across the whole galaxy. Forever.’