Ellie Stone stood in the bedroom door, arms folded across her chest as she watched her father struggle with his collar. ‘Dad, you wear that jacket all the time.’

‘Perils of rank,’ muttered Rourke, fiddling with the outer layers of his dress uniform as he faced his reflection in his mirror. ‘Doesn’t mean I like it.’

With a sound of frustration, she closed the gap to reach up and adjust his pips. ‘There. It was wonky. That’s what was wrong.’ But her brow still furrowed as she looked up at him. ‘You’re worried about this.’

‘There’s nothing to be scared about,’ he said, any of his own nerves immediately dissipating beneath the instinct to reassure his daughter. ‘The Cardies aren’t going to try anything. We’re doing our investigation, they’re building their nav beacons.’

‘I’m not scared. Why would I be scared? You’ve dragged the ship through the new intra-galactic highway. This is cool.’ Ellie’s hands dropped. ‘You don’t trust the Cardassians.’

‘I don’t know the Cardassians. This is nothing more than a formal dinner. A courtesy. It’ll be fine.’

‘And it’s a chance to know them?’ She tilted her head. ‘And Sophia’s gonna be there, right?’

‘Worried I’ll say something rude?’

‘Always. But you look like you need someone who’s got your back.’

Under no circumstances had Rourke discussed the Dominion War with his daughter. He wasn’t inclined to talk about it at the best of times; doing so with a teenager and a relationship he was still stitching back together was far from the best of times. Neither, he mused, had he particularly elaborated on these experiences with Hale. That was less about avoiding being forthcoming, and more about the Cardassians being somewhat irrelevant to his duties. Until now.

Rather than directly reassure, Rourke took a different tack. He squeezed his daughter’s shoulder and smirked. ‘It’s just dinner.’

She didn’t look convinced, but the advantageous thing about discussions with a teenager when he had to go to work was that he rarely had to explain himself. And still, when he got down to the shuttlebay to await the arrival of Gul Kaled’s shuttle, lining up alongside the security guard of honour, next to Commanders Locke and T’Falith, when Sophia Hale arrived and slipped in next to him, she gave his hand a quick, warm squeeze of reassurance he hadn’t known he either needed or even suggested he might need.

‘Remember,’ Rourke rumbled to the security officers as the Cardassian craft eased into the shuttlebay, ‘we’re here for an honoured guest, not a possible threat. Diplomacy mode, people.’

The Cardassian shuttle, bulky and boxy and with its bronzed-brown hull looking as grimy to Rourke as he found all of their ships, eased onto the deck with a hiss of thrusters. For a moment, there was silence. Then the aft ramp descended with a wheeze of pressure equalisation and pistons, and before him stood three Cardassian officers.

Gul Kaled descended first, as tall and broad as Rourke himself – though, Rourke thought, perhaps a little more solid and muscular. Pale eyes swept about the shuttlebay before they even contemplated the people, soaking in every detail, and Rourke felt discomfort worm up his spine at the sense of his ship, his sanctum being scrutinised, examined, assessed by an outsider like this.

Still, he took a step forward and extended a hand. ‘Gul Kaled, I’m Commodore Rourke. Welcome aboard the Sirius.’

‘Commodore.’ Kaled’s boots rang out as he descended the ramp to the desk, his gait one of military precision. He did not bat an eyelid at the offered handshake, his grip firm. ‘Thank you for welcoming me. She is an impressive vessel. Mighty indeed, and yet… comfortable.’

Soft, Rourke heard, but Kaled was then introducing his companions – his science officer and another staff officer whose duties Kaled did not explain. They sounded, to Rourke’s ears, like ranking figures not in the midst of more essential duties back on the Edorasc, or on their platform under construction.

‘A pleasure,’ Rourke said almost automatically. ‘May I introduce Ambassador Sophia Hale, the head of my squadron’s diplomatic mission. And you know Commander Locke and Lieutenant Commander T’Falith, of course.’

‘Commander.’ Kaled approached Locke first, but showed him no greater warmth than he’d displayed for Rourke. ‘It’s good to see you on a starship.’

Doing real work, you mean? Rourke wondered.

Locke didn’t bat an eyelid, but seemed to step in a little closer, make the handshake friendlier. His voice dropped, and whatever coolness Kaled was showing him was not reciprocated. ‘Gul Kaled. I’m really pleased to see you get your own ship. You deserve it.’

That did seem to wrong-foot Kaled, who faltered for a heartbeat. Or, perhaps, it was what came next that made him falter, as he turned to the Vulcan T’Falith. In some ways, his stance became even more crisp, even more formal, but the cold defensiveness Rourke had sensed seemed to seep away for a different edge.

Nerves?

‘Lieutenant Commander T’Falith.’ He did not reach for her hand, nor did the Vulcan offer it. Instead, he gave a deep nod that bent him slightly at the waist, and stayed in that deferential position for a heartbeat. ‘It is gratifying to see you again. I trust you are well?’

‘I am most well, Gul Kaled.’ T’Falith’s voice was as level as Rourke had ever heard a Vulcan’s, but softer. ‘I, too, am satisfied to see you, and satisfied to see your professional progress. It comes as a surprise, I confess.’

Something hovered about Kaled’s lips as he straightened. ‘I was not in a position to mention the Edorasc in our last correspondence. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Always.’

Rourke cleared his throat. ‘Let’s proceed to the dining hall, shall we?’

T’Falith was thankful to see the hand of Ambassador Hale in the reception meal. Some Starfleet captains tended to receive foreign dignitaries by serving them with pale imitations of their own culinary traditions, but Hale clearly had too much experience for such a misstep.

‘I thought you might enjoy food from Commodore Rourke’s home. But I know Cardassian food tends towards sweetness, so I’ve had the chef try to take that into consideration,’ Hale explained once the seven of them were seated around the captain’s dining room. Just off the main promenade, it was close enough to have easy access to the ship’s leisure facilities, while private enough for more delicate meetings, with a turbolift access point right outside for direct travel.

‘The fish and meat are all artificial, of course,’ Rourke assured them. ‘And we’ve got a few wine options. You can pair with the course or just drink what you want.’

Kaled’s science officer, a middle-aged, sharp-eyed Cardassian woman named Lenaria, looked the most enthused of the three. ‘Potted shrimp,’ she read brightly off the menu display next to her seating place.

‘It’s about the traditional preservative method,’ said Rourke, visibly brightening when met with curiosity. ‘Using seasoned butter…’

Decorum meant that Rourke was at the head of the table, with Kaled on his right and Hale at his left. Next came Locke and Lenaria, leaving T’Falith at the far end with the last of the Edorasc’s party.

‘Are you familiar with Earth wines, Dalin Forsk?’ she asked in a light, polite tone.

The Cardassian called Forsk met her gaze impassively. ‘No.’

‘With these meal choices they are more likely to be dry than sweet. If they are not to your satisfaction, I am certain arrangements can be made.’

Forsk reached for his glass of water and had a sip. ‘I’m fine.’

The conversation did not endure much further, which satisfied T’Falith more than enough. It gave her a chance to watch.

Perhaps Kaled had brought Lenaria intentionally as a social screen, or perhaps he’d been lucky enough that someone diplomatically appropriate could handle much of the discussion. She, Hale, and Locke very quickly fell into polite conversation of an easy patter, starting with foods and fish and comparisons between Earth and Cardassian dishes. That was a topic drifting in and out throughout the meal, particularly when she reacted to the main course of beef wellington with curiosity and delight.

All Kaled said, as his science officer enthusiastically dug in, was, ‘It is richer in flavour than it appeared,’ which Rourke clearly took as a begrudging approval.

‘Try the carrots,’ Rourke urged, almost competitively. ‘Honey-glazed. Even sweeter.’

‘It is perfectly satisfying,’ said Kaled, himself more defensive. ‘Your efforts to host us graciously are noted, Commodore.’ A beat. ‘And appreciated.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Rourke slugged back some wine. ‘I thought you might want to stretch your legs if you’re out here in the middle of nowhere on a warship.’

‘Conditions aboard my ship are perfectly comfortable, if not as opulent as here,’ said Kaled. ‘But we are, both of our ships, far from home in an unknown frontier. All traditions of travellers and explorers demand we provide what support and succour we can. May I ask how your search for your missing ship proceeds?’

Rourke’s expression flickered. ‘You spotted the Liberty returning through Underspace and the Alhabor proceeding deeper into the sector. They’ll hopefully have better luck than us.’

‘You think they may have fallen beneath the surface of the planet.’

‘Decreasingly likely. But possible.’

Kaled paused, chewing on beef wellington. Then he nodded. ‘I hope that is not the case.’

‘And how proceeds your work?’ Rourke pressed, obviously a little frustrated. Around the table, chit-chat faded for the others to quietly watch the exchange, gazes flickering back and forth like it was a tennis match.

Kaled did not miss a beat. ‘Our mission proceeds apace, thank you.’

Rourke’s eyes went to Locke, who, with a wince, ventured forth, looking at Lenaria. ‘I’ve found,’ said Locke, a little falteringly, ‘ways of studying the tachyon particle flow to better gauge the stability of navigational routes through the tunnels.’

Lenaria brightened. ‘Yes! It does seem comparable to the currents of particularly dangerous surface oceans. I’ve monitored those closely since our arrival. I assume that’s how you’ve had a trail to follow for your missing ship?’

Despite her friendlier nature, T’Falith observed, she was not about to break ranks. So went the rest of the dinner; the Starfleet officers gently forthcoming on their business, although she noted they kept the possible riches of deuterium in the ocean close to their chest. The Cardassians, in turn, responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm to engage with the topic, but offered almost nothing about their own work.

As the last of the sticky toffee pudding was scraped from tables, Rourke leaned back in his chair, looking disgruntled before he looked to Locke. ‘Perhaps you and Dalin Lenaria could discuss some of our general findings on Underspace? A fresh pair of eyes might offer some insights on problems we’ve tied ourselves in knots over.’

Lenaria looked to Kaled. ‘If we aren’t needed back immediately.’

He grunted with an air of disinterest T’Falith thought affected. ‘Mn. Take Forsk with you. If I’m welcome, Commodore, to take in the public areas while our officers exchange research notes.’

‘Sure,’ said Rourke, and looked now rather pointedly to T’Falith. ‘Commander, if you’d like to escort our guest?’

It was, T’Falith thought, extremely transparent. But it seemed like it would do.