Gateway Station’s Arcade had once been the heart of the starbase, alive with visitors seeking entertainment. The Blackout had ended that, cutting off the steady flow of travellers to the Midgard system. Now, those stranded aboard drifted between bursts of restless energy and stretches of isolation. Tonight felt like the latter; Aryn and Lindgren might as well have been the only two people out.

They’d chosen L’Osteria, an Italian restaurant Lindgren said came recommended. The staff barely hid their reluctance to stay open, and Aryn suspected the place would have closed early if not for them. Now, halfway through a carafe of wine and their main courses, he realised he’d been absently picking at his food, right as Lindgren spoke.

‘What. Sorry?’ Aryn looked up, blinking owlishly.

Lucky for him, the corners of Lindgren’s lips curled. ‘You’ve been staring at your plate like it might complete an algorithm for you.’

He flushed. ‘I’m sorry. There’s a lot on my mind.’ He shovelled in a mouthful of ravioli in a somewhat obligatory fashion.

‘Was this a bit much?’

‘What?’

Lindgren leaned forward, softening. She’d worn a very pretty dress for tonight, he realised, knee-length in forest-green fabric with a hint of a sheen catching the restaurant’s low lighting. But then, he always found her very put together, deliberate without ever being showy or like she was putting on a front.

‘Coming out somewhere nice. On a night like tonight.’

‘We said we’d try this place. For months,’ he pointed out. ‘This could be our last chance.’

She looked away at that, gaze flickering, and he realised what had sounded like a logical point in his head came across as somehow both glib and pessimistic. ‘Is your team ready?’ she asked after a beat.

This was safer ground. ‘As we can be. By definition, we can’t be ready, because we don’t know what we’re going to face. Is Endeavour?’

‘We will be. It’s not our first eve of battle.’ Her gaze returned to him, and she bit her lip. ‘It’s… a lot. Throwing yourselves through the catapult, not knowing at all what’s on the other side.’

‘I agree, but as it’s our mission, and we can’t prepare any more than we already have…’ His voice trailed off as he caught himself dismissing the concern. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not being very reassuring.’

‘Because the situation isn’t reassuring, Mac.’ Her eyes lightened, wry and aware, and she reached across the red-and-white chequered tablecloth for his hand. ‘You don’t need to sell me some story so I won’t worry. I know too much to not worry, and it’s not like we’re…’

Her voice trailed off, and he frowned. ‘Not like we’re…?’

‘Well.’ She pulled her hand back. ‘We’ve only been seeing each other a few months. And were apart for most of that. It’s not like this is serious. It’s not like you’re responsible for me, too, while you’re out there.’

‘I suppose.’ For a reassurance, he thought, it wasn’t very reassuring. Aryn set his fork down. ‘Though I could be.’

‘Mac…’

‘There’s a very real chance we’re facing the end of the Federation,’ he mused. ‘Is this a time to rationally assess our relationship as new, fledgling, and thus we don’t owe each other anything?’

Her eyes widened a fraction. ‘Do you want us to owe each other something?’ At his hesitation, her lips curled. ‘Mac. What we are is fine. What we are is nice. We shouldn’t deploy with regrets. Anything else… doesn’t matter. We can still enjoy tonight.’

‘We can,’ he agreed with a hint of relief. ‘And I’m glad we’re here. Or I might have regretted it if we’d left Gateway and I hadn’t tried this alfredo sauce.’

The levity worked. One moment, they’d been two people facing oblivion. Now, they were a young couple out on a date. Lindgren smiled and topped up their wine glasses. ‘And the team? Do you think John’s out with Pierce?’

Aryn thought of John Rosewood, burdened with fears for his home and family, and of Lieutenant Emily Pierce, a distraction in human form. His lips pursed. ‘No,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘No, I do not.’

But thinking of Rosewood worrying about his home made him think of his home, Ardana, a place he’d not been in years and a family he’d not seen in longer. So he stabbed ravioli with his fork, and smiled at Elsa Lindgren, and decided that whatever commitment they did or didn’t have to each other, they could have one last night not worrying about anything else.

The Blackbird was quiet, but not in the way that meant peace. It was the hush of a ship waiting for the unknown, the silence of minds running in circles, of plans being laid and unspoken fears creeping in. In the dim glow of the Rookery, Commander Ranicus sat alone, hunched over intelligence reports, eyes skimming over probabilities and contingencies as if sheer preparation could impose order on chaos. When the door swished open, she paid it no mind – until a familiar voice cut in.

‘Hey,’ drawled Rosewood. ‘Isn’t this room for Rooks operations?’

She still didn’t look up. ‘It has the best holo-display on the ship. I have work to do. You don’t.’

‘I get it. Your quarters are too small. But you’re wasting this room if you’re not pacing. Adds drama.’ He sauntered forwards and plucked a PADD off the table.

Now her eyes raised. He was dressed down, all casual in sweats and a t-shirt. She, meanwhile, could feel her uniform collar tight around her neck, the jacket taut at the shoulders as she hunched over work. But she wasn’t a Rook. She didn’t have the same relationship with decorum.

‘Or,’ she said tersely, snatching the PADD back, ‘I could keep working while you provide your usual comic asides.’

He put a hand to his chest, indignant. ‘Asides? Excuse me; they’re centrepieces.’

Ranicus stood. ‘Do you have a reason to be here? Because I have several hundred variables to consider in drawing up this deployment plan for the squadron, and that’s before we’ve gathered a shred of intelligence on the Alpha Centauri system.’

His gaze went past her, landing on the holographic map of the trinary star system. ‘Right,’ Rosewood said softly. ‘So what’s the plan?’

Ranicus let out a slow breath, and turned. ‘I can’t make preparations for if we need to launch an immediate strike. So I have to prepare for the worst-case scenario, which means what we do if we arrive and have to cut and run.’

‘Where to go to ground,’ Rosewood surmised.

‘As one unit or split up. Yes. Whether we can use the stellar flares of Barnard’s Star, or the gas giants of Wolf 359, or the cometary fields between Proxima and the binary stars to mask our presence.’

‘The debris fields don’t provide much interference,’ said Rosewood, brow furrowed.

‘Because Federation sensor systems have understood the A-C debris fields for centuries. A navigator could compensate for the debris in their sleep. The Vaadwaur? It might take them a second.’

‘And sometimes a second is all you need.’ He gave her a side glance. ‘We’ll have to make quick calls. You ready for that?’

‘I’ve been in more battles than you -’

‘It’s not about battles. It’s about instincts. Do you trust yours?’

For a moment, they’d been working well together. Now, he was annoying again. Ranicus’s expression flattened. ‘Did you come here just to waste my time?’

‘I came here to watch some ‘vids on the big display,’ he admitted. ‘But no. You’ll waste your own time by over-thinking this.

She scoffed, already turning back to the map. ‘This is your home we’re talking about, Rosewood. You can drop the act.’

‘I didn’t say I don’t care -’

‘So you can swan about acting indifferent,’ she continued, voice getting more clipped, ‘or you can get to work and help. Because you know the region better than me.’

Rosewood hesitated. Then a slow smile crept over his face. ‘There are sections of the debris field between Proxima and the twin stars – places certain locals may have, hypothetically, when teenagers, raced shuttles through…’

Ranicus’s eyes lit up. ‘The Vaadwaur wouldn’t know about that.’

‘Probably not. But of course, I’d never have engaged in such reckless behaviour in my youth.’

She shoved him towards the map. ‘Shut up. Show me.’

The cargo bay on Blackbird was rarely full to capacity, so most of the time, they kept their workout equipment in the free space. Cassidy stood on the gantry overlooking the bay, leaning on the railing, letting himself stay in the dark. Below, Nallera had Q’ira pumping iron, pushing through the Orion’s protests, goading her with a mix of thudding enthusiasm and no small amount of bullying.

‘She’s not ready to -’

Cassidy hissed, an odd sound that was somehow both a command for quiet and an expression of irritation as Lieutenant Jakorr clanked onto the gantry beside him, voice too loud. ‘Don’t interrupt them.’

Jakorr blinked. ‘It’s just a workout.’

‘Q’ira’s got progress to make. Nallera’s the one who gets her there without making her feel like she’s got to hit some official standard.’ Cassidy eased back to lean on the railing.

Jakorr took a moment before joining him. ‘She does have to hit a standard. She’s far below the requirements -’

‘She does what I need her to do.’

‘Her infiltration abilities are impressive, sir, but I’m surprised you couldn’t find a fully trained operator with similar talents.’

‘I could. Would they also have the connections with the underworld? The charm to separate a Ferengi from his latinum?’ Cassidy shifted to look at him. ‘You’re new here. The jobs we do don’t always need conventional answers. Most of that training you admire is about delivering the right kind of violence.’ He nodded down into the bay. ‘With people like her aboard, I sometimes don’t even have to kill anyone.’

Jakorr winced. ‘That violence, sir, is defensive measures exerted to protect the Federation and its citizens. Which is exactly what it’ll take to liberate Alpha Centauri.’

‘We’ve no idea what it’ll take to liberate Alpha Centauri.’ Cassidy drummed his fingers on the railing. ‘But let’s not dress it up. It’s still killing people. I’m not against it, but don’t euphemise it like that. We kill bad guys, for the good guys.’

‘I’m surprised, sir, you have a problem with such euphemisms. Your 2IC revels in them.’

Cassidy made a face. ‘You’re new here, Jakorr. Your uniform’s still got crisp folds in it, and you’re already telling me my team’s not good enough? It’s one thing to be a snob about Q’ira, but Rosewood’s an experienced officer who’s earned his place.’

‘I know I’m out of line -’

‘You are, but I’m more baffled than annoyed.’ Cassidy straightened, looking him up and down. Then he snapped his fingers. ‘I get it. You want in on the team. And you think your standards are better than my runaway Orion and my silly diplomat.’

‘That’s not why I’m here.’ Jakorr spoke more forcefully, as if trying to regain control of the conversation. ‘I’ve got the utmost respect for Commander Rosewood -’

‘You clearly don’t, so skip to what you are here for.’

Jakorr’s lips thinned. ‘The Rooks are… adequate for all manner of missions. Particularly the unpredictable. But sometimes you need brute force, sir. A strike team. And the Rooks aren’t that.’

‘We’ve held our own.’ Cassidy’s tone hardened.

Jakorr pulled a PADD from his pocket and thrust it into Cassidy’s hands. ‘I’ve got a proposal. For a secondary team, akin to the framework of a starship’s Hazard Team: personnel who fulfil operations roles among the Blackbird’s crew, but have the training and equipment to enact or support on direct action missions.’

Cassidy’s eyebrows raised. ‘You drop this on me now?’

‘I… I’ve been working on it. Then the briefing came in…’

The PADD was pushed back. ‘It’s an idea. But there’s no time for it now.’ Cassidy turned away and leaned back on the railing. ‘We’ll talk about it when this is all over. Anything else?’

‘No, sir.’ Jakorr paused, aware that Cassidy wasn’t really doing anything but standing there. The message was clear. ‘I’ll leave you to your thoughts, sir.’

Jakorr left without another word, and Cassidy kept his gaze on the bay below. Nallera barked orders. Q’ira kept lifting, sweat dripping, face set in determination. It was enough, for now.