‘Bird-of-prey, designation IKS Morinar, B’rel class,’ Logan read from his readouts at tactical in a cool but firm voice. ‘Holding position fifteen thousand kilometres away. Their shields are raised, weapons charged and they’ve locked onto us.’

Going to red alert had immediately activated Endeavour’s defences, but a glance at the readouts on her armrest confirmed Valance’s fear: those were unreliable in their current condition. ‘Commander Thawn, get down to engineering,’ the captain instructed as she sat in the centre seat. ‘If this turns into a fight, you need to hold us in one piece.’

As Thawn left, Kharth leaned across from the XO’s chair. ‘Recommend we launch fighters.’

‘Get them in their cockpits,’ Valance agreed. ‘But I’m not escalating if we don’t have to. They could have opened fire right after decloaking.’ She glanced about the bridge, making sure her senior staff had assumed their posts. ‘Airex, do what you can to discern if there are any other cloaked ships out there.’

‘That would be difficult at the best of times,’ came his grumbling reply from Science, ‘but I’ll try.’

‘A B’rel shouldn’t be trying to pick a fight with us,’ said Valance. ‘Either they’re posturing, they know we’re wounded, or they have friends.’

‘Do you want me to hail them, Captain?’ asked Kally.

‘Not yet. Logan, lock weapons and arm torpedoes. Let’s make it clear we’re not about to roll over.’

‘Aye, Captain. Weapons locked.’

Valance took a deep breath. Grasped the armrests of the chair. Nodded. ‘Now we hail them.’

A moment later, the viewscreen came to life, showing the gloomy interior of a Klingon bird-of-prey, and the shadowed reaches of its bridge. A wiry Klingon woman sat in the command chair and leaned forward with a hint of a leer. ‘I draw my blade at you in the darkest reaches of the galaxy, Starfleet, and you want to chat?’

Valance tilted her chin up. ‘I’m Captain Valance of the starship Endeavour. I assumed a warrior who meant to use her blade would have swung by now. We’ve been on a mission of exploration; can we be of assistance?’

The Klingon captain had plainly not expected someone with her face, with her soft ridges. She sprang to her feet like a cat who’d been coiled comfortably in the chair but was suddenly restless. ‘I am Captain Ledera, warrior of the House of K’Var. Exploration seems to have gotten the better of your ship, Valance. I didn’t think staring at space would leave scars.’

‘Then you aren’t staring at the right parts of space, Ledera.’ Valance stood, aware of the intricacies of matching Ledera’s energy and tone, aware that gestures of strength were both necessary but could be wilfully interpreted as a threat. ‘We were struck by a plasma discharge in the nearby Mesea Storm. We’re putting in at Rencaris for repairs. What brings you out here?’

‘You’re asking,’ said Ledera, hand resting on the knife sheathed at her belt, ‘if I’m here to kill you.’

Valance hesitated. Then she squared her shoulders. ‘You’re asking yourself that. Or you’d have struck. You wanted to see what you were dealing with – now you see. We’re not some wounded, unarmed surveyor.’

‘And why would I want such an easy target?’

‘Why do you want such a target at all? I didn’t know Toral had declared his captains should openly strike at the Federation. Or that the Khitomer Accords had been torn up.’

‘Do they extend out here? Perhaps on paper, but what is that, out in these hunting grounds? These testing grounds?’

Valance paused again, looking Ledera over. She was a young warrior, Valance thought. Perhaps she had spotted the wounded Endeavour, been curious, and was still scoping out the opportunity. But young warriors in a place like this, far from any superiors or allies, were always eager for a chance to prove themselves. And the House of K’Var had proven their old friendship with Starfleet had soured – and their fondness for Endeavour herself all but evaporated.

There were superiors in the house, Valance thought grimly, who might shower a captain in glory for bringing back her scalp.

She straightened. ‘I have faced Romulan warlords, D’Ghor dogs, and Dominion soldiers, on my bridge and with my blade, Ledera. Neither I nor this ship should be considered a training opportunity -’

‘Bluster, mongrel. Your ship’s power levels are compromised; if you had to recharge your shields from one good volley, they would probably collapse,’ Ledera scoffed. ‘Perhaps I will leave you be. Or perhaps you may find out if you can bolster them with more bragging.’

Ledera had not only been posturing, Valance thought. She’d been buying time to scan Endeavour and take the full measure of her damage. It was one thing to watch from cloak while they moved at warp. Now, with Endeavour’s shields up, she could see how the damaged ship’s power levels fluctuated, how Thawn and Caede had to make compromises and adjustments to be battle-ready.

She was young, brash. But not necessarily stupid. Valance glanced back at Logan, her question silent, and she knew the answer even before Logan gave the faintest shake of the head.

This was not a fight they wanted.

‘If you have no more bluster,’ said Ledera, a slow, fanged smile playing across her lips, ‘then maybe I will spare you and your crew, mongrel. If you beg for your life and theirs.’

Behind her, Valance heard Kharth mutter oaths in her native tongue. Were the involvement of a Romulan not liable to escalate matters even more violently, she suspected her XO would not have kept her choice words to herself.

Valance gave an irritated sigh. ‘Is that what it takes to distract a hunting trip? Small words to ease your ego?’

‘One way or another, you will be beaten here, mongrel,’ said Ledera with a shrug. ‘The question is only if you live to see defeat by bowing and scraping at the feet of a warrior, as is your place, or if your unearned pride makes you fight and die like a dog.’

It was, on paper, an easy choice. Valance did not care about the opinion of a young, brash warrior. Nor did she think her bridge crew cared enough about the opinion of a young, brash warrior to care if their captain had to perform theatrics in front of one. To Starfleet officers, doing what Ledera asked was embarrassing for Ledera, not for her.

And still, any attempt at gathering words caught in Valance’s throat before she said, instead, ‘This is beneath you, Captain Ledera -’

Ledera snarled. ‘You think you can dictate my honour, mongrel –’

Which was when Kharth launched herself to her feet, thundering, ‘Call her “mongrel” one more time, you ignorant brute -’

Perhaps it was the insult, perhaps the interruption. Perhaps it was Ledera realising she was in danger of losing the upper hand. Perhaps Kharth’s outburst made it clear that, with her pointed ears and eyebrows, she was not a Vulcan. Whichever way, Ledera’s fist slammed onto a control by her chair, and a heartbeat later, Endeavour shook under the impact of weapons fire.

‘Direct torpedo hit!’ Logan barked. ‘Shields down to forty percent!’

‘With one torpedo? My, my,’ said Ledera in a sing-song voice. ‘What’ll it be, mongrel?’

Valance first rounded on Kharth. ‘Stand down, Commander.’ Her voice was low, firm. ‘If we’re not dying for my pride, we’re certainly not dying for yours.’

Kharth’s lip curled, but she nodded and stepped back. Rather than resume her seat, she moved behind the command chairs, and Valance could hear her prowling like a caged animal. That wasn’t the worst choice, Valance considered. If it looked like this hurt her people, then that would be more likely to placate Ledera.

Valance’s eyes went to Airex first. Her friend looked tense, almost as coiled and ready as Kharth, but, with a tight jaw, he gave the faintest of nods.

It was more bolstering than she’d expected. This was just words. Just theatre. He had her back. She drew a deep breath and turned back to the viewscreen. Somewhere, she heard another alert go off on Logan’s console, but blocked that out; he would report if something mattered. ‘Captain Ledera,’ she began in a crisp, collected, but low voice. ‘I’d be a fool to pretend you don’t have the upper hand. A second blast will bring down my shields. A third will breach my hull and kill my crew.’ She swallowed. ‘Please don’t do that.’

Ledera sank into her chair, chin raising a half-inch. ‘Why shouldn’t I? Mongrel?’

‘Because this crew -’

‘Because you can go to hell,’ came Kharth’s second interruption, and for a second Valance legitimately considered turning and back-handing her XO to stop Ledera from reacting to this further insult. But Kharth wasn’t stupid or that impulsive –

Then the viewscreen shook as the IKS Morinar was racked with weapons fire, and as Ledera’s head snapped around, Logan gave a triumphant report from Tactical.

‘Incoming starship, Captain! It’s the USS Scylla.’

‘We’re being hailed! Both of us!’ called Kally, relief flooding her voice as she pressed a finger to her ear.

The viewscreen split in half, the shadowed halls of the Morinar’s bridge shoved to one side for the other to be dominated by the blazing, alert bridge of the Manticore-class USS Scylla. Valance had never met Captain Borodin before, but the square-jawed, dark-eyed commander of the squadron’s dedicated tactical escort was one of the most welcome sights she’d ever seen.

‘Stand down, Morinar.’ Borodin’s voice was low, tight, and threatening. ‘I have a lock on you with all three forward torpedo launchers and can bring eight of my ten phaser arrays to bear. It would be wise to only pick a fight with damaged ships today.’

Ledera’s lip curled in a snarl, but her eyes flickered across the screen to lock back on Valance. ‘You need to cry for help, mongrel -’

‘Lieutenant Oraix, open fire,’ came Borodin’s cool interruption. ‘One volley, all launchers, all arrays.’

Valance tensed at that, watched as weapons fire racked the Morinar, as a torpedo seared through the shields and thudded into the hull. The Klingon bridge was awash with chaos, officers shouting in the background as Ledera rounded on her people, barking instructions.

‘Captain Borodin,’ said Valance, voice whip-sharp. ‘I think you’ve made your point. Do you need assistance, Captain Ledera?’

Ledera only spat oaths in Klingon before cutting the communication line, and a moment later, Logan was giving a fresh report from Tactical.

‘Bird-of-prey has come about and is leaving at maximum warp. Looks like their cloak’s been taken out.’

‘That was my intention,’ said Borodin, whose expression had not changed throughout this confrontation. ‘And to leave a mark they’ll remember.’

‘That was some mark,’ said Valance, but let out a deep breath. ‘But I can’t pretend you don’t have excellent timing, Captain. I didn’t know you were this far out.’

‘We’ve been assisting with Republic border security for weeks and took the lead on a patrol where we spotted you limping on long-distance sensors. We came as quickly as we could. Can we be of any assistance?’

‘Can you give us a whole new set of EPS conduits? Or, if the Empire’s warships are prowling out here… perhaps an escort,’ Valance sighed.

‘The former is no more in my engineers’ power than yours,’ conceded Borodin. ‘But the latter would be my honour, Captain. If the Empire thinks of Midgard as its hunting ground now, nobody should walk it alone.’