‘And there’s no way I can talk you out of this?’ Commodore Matt Rourke had sounded less like a disapproving superior officer, and more like a doctor whose patient was wilfully disregarding their advice. Between them in the squadron commander’s office had hung the golden promise, the holographic projection of the sleek shape of the Norway-class USS Asger, forcing the two men to look through the shimmering hull to meet each other’s eye.

John Rosewood simply didn’t look at either as he sipped his coffee. ‘Is this a new blend?’

Rourke looked like he knew he was being pushed around, the veteran officer’s jaw working for a beat. ‘Pure raktajino feels like it’s going to war in your stomach. A little Arabica mixed in keeps the kick while brokering a peace accord.’

‘I expect Valance likes the Klingon coffee. This is good stuff; keeps officers on their toes without giving them the jitters.’

‘You should try it three meetings in.’ Rourke’s look was pointed. ‘Like the conversations I have with my command staff.’

Rosewood took a beat. Sipped the coffee. Smacked his lips. ‘My job in the squadron was always going to have the enormous glass ceiling I like to call “Ambassador Hale.” Even in command of the Asger, I’d be the second-string diplomat. Tidying up messes you and she left behind. She was never going to trust me as an equal.’

Again he watched Rourke see the strings he was tying around him, feel the wire cut his skin. Rourke was romantically involved with Hale, and had to fight the instinct to defend her while navigating the professional needs of the situation. ‘And a gunboat’s the best alternative?’ he managed at last. ‘An Osler’s a tiny thing and you’ll still be down in the pecking order, even in the field team -’

‘I can do some good there. Get my hands dirty.’

A cloud crossed Rourke’s expression. ‘The orders coming down for this outfit, you might want to know where the soap is, John. I know the last few months have been hard…’

‘I don’t know, sir, I’ve been taking it awfully easy, it feels; too easy -’

‘I mean since Frontier Day.’

‘Which didn’t hit Gateway.’

‘I mean since…’ Rourke’s gaze flattened. He had to know he was getting nowhere with this. ‘This is something you’ve got to work through for yourself, I guess.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ John Rosewood set his coffee cup down and gave Commodore Rourke a smile bright enough to shine through the projection of a future he’d just turned down. ‘I’m looking for something a little different from life. That’s all.’

A week later, different looked like a beachside bar on Calder II. Nestled on the Federation frontier to Romulan space, one of the pins stretching the elastic, changeable border, the world itself was unremarkable except as a resupply point for Starfleet ships journeying the old Neutral Zone, and anyone who wanted one last stop before the end of civilisation. Rosewood had grabbed a transport here from Gateway to find rough living for locals eking out an existence on the brink – but for Starfleet officers on shore leave, people knew how to roll out the carpet.

A kilometre inland would give a burgeoning colony – or shelter, depending on your perspective – of spacers and itinerants, the desperate and the opportunist. On this beach, he could shuck his uniform for khakis and a linen shirt and perch on a bar stool overlooking golden sands and waves whose crash was an inviting chorus. To the casual observer, it would be hard to tell the officers on shore leave stretched along this beach from the locals looking to get something out of them.

John Rosewood was not a casual observer. So when the young man slid onto the barstool next to him, droplets of seawater still cascading down olive skin, he knew he was about to be hit up by a local.

With a grin, Rosewood nudged his sunglasses onto his forehead. ‘Buy you a drink? They come in little… okay, I don’t know what this shell is. So I’m gonna call it a coconut.’ He waggled his cocktail, nestled in some local nut or seed, complete with a little umbrella in the top.

The young man slicked back wet hair and gave a smile slightly more coy than Rosewood expected. ‘Hi… I’m just here to meet friends.’

‘I’m very friendly.’ Had he just found one of the few Calderites who’d come for some honest-to-God surfing? ‘I’m great company while you wait. How were the waves?’

That put the young man more at ease. He leaned on the bar and looked back, eyes brightening as he soaked in the sea he’d just conquered. ‘Really awesome. This place, it just helps you be one with… yourself, you know?’

That was more like it. ‘A place to unwind,’ Rosewood agreed, gesturing for the bartender to get a second one of the silly little cocktails. ‘I’m a big fan of working out all the knots and kinks the galaxy puts on us. We don’t get many chances.’

‘We don’t.’ The young man’s eyes fell on the drink when it was put in front of him. The coy smile remained. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it. Drinking alone’s only fun for so long.’ Rosewood extended a hand, lips curling. ‘John.’

‘Ensign Bright – Tom.’ After a bashful adjustment of the drink, the young man met the handshake.

Rosewood paused. ‘Ensign.’

‘Yeah.’ Bright’s apprehension redoubled. ‘USS Tigris. Look, you seem fun, but I really am only here for a quick wind-down before I meet friends. I know stuff’s hard on Calder, so we don’t have to do the whole thing, I could just cover your dinner here and we don’t have to…’

‘Don’t have to what?’

‘Um.’ Bright put the drink down. ‘I’ve offended you.’

‘I’m not offended,’ said Rosewood with deep offence. ‘I thought you were…’ He paused. If he said ‘a local,’ then the inevitable next step was for him to explain that he was Lieutenant Commander Rosewood, and he’d just been hitting on a young officer with very little restraint. Not to mention imply he’d horribly misread the situation. He cleared his throat and stuck his nose in the air, affecting a more snooty manner. ‘I didn’t think you were an ensign, that’s all.’

Bright looked crestfallen. Rosewood felt a little guilty; the young man hadn’t done anything wrong. Pride demanded he remain impassive. ‘I’m sorry,’ Bright said for no reason. ‘I’m gonna – look, I see my friends, I’m just gonna take my drink…’

‘Nuh-uh.’ Rosewood grasped the shell. The sheer pettiness made him feel a little better. ‘You go see your friends, Ensign.’ And I pray none of them have any reason to recognise me. The odds were exceedingly long. But he wouldn’t have been shocked, the way his luck had been looking lately.

The warm sun made him feel a little better as Bright left. As did the rushing of the waves. He had work to do soon, but in the meantime, he could still let the splendours of the galaxy rush over him and wash away the troubles, not least of which was the stinging embarrassment of that exchange, one he could quickly forget –

‘That was smooth.’

He’d not noticed the other figure sat at the bar. He should have, Rosewood thought as he looked across. This was a big guy, wearing a light jacket even in this heat, though it did little to mask a powerful frame. Nursing a chilled beer, he was easily taken for a spacer, with the roughness around his figure, the dark stubble, the short haircut.

It wasn’t just being so recently wrong that had Rosewood more hesitant in accepting such an impression, though. If nothing else, somehow this big, muscular guy had managed to sit nearby and be completely overlooked.

‘Smooth wasn’t really the goal,’ Rosewood said, swirling his silly cocktail in its silly shell. ‘Guess I was putting on a show.’

The man grunted, and Rosewood suspected he had the right read on things when he shifted a couple stools down to be next to him. ‘They told me you could charm the wings off a butterfly. Instead, I just saw you talk a pretty young thing out of bed. Was that supposed to impress me?’

There were only so many ways to wriggle out of this one, so Rosewood made the judicious decision to not try. ‘You must be Commander Cassidy.’

‘And you’re the tourist.’ The man called Cassidy grunted and had a swig of his beer.

‘Soaking up rays on Calder before we ship out doesn’t make me a tourist -’

‘Treating my team like something you can hop on for a jaunt does.’ Cold eyes met his. ‘Why should I let you aboard my ship?’

‘You mean, aside from the fact Commodore Rourke and, maybe more importantly, Fleet Captain Faust said yes?’

‘I could leave you here. Beg forgiveness later. This line of work, you figure out what you can get away with, so long as you deliver results.’

‘Wow.’ Rosewood shoved the cocktail straw in the corner of his mouth and made sure to be as noisy as possible as he sipped. ‘You really didn’t think I had game, huh.’

Cassidy paused. Put the pint down. Shifted to face him. ‘I run a special operations team. I’m not here for some little admiral’s kid to beef up his service record with some action before he moves to a desk.’

‘My service record’s fine,’ Rosewood scoffed. ‘Read it. You’ll find commendations from my time on the Hazard Team during Gatecrasher.’

‘Then what is it?’ Cassidy leaned forward, voice dropping. ‘All sad that Daddy’s dead and you want to work out your feelings someplace?’

Another noisy sip through the straw. ‘It’ll take more like the third date before I open up about my tragic backstory -’

‘Maybe not sad, then,’ Cassidy rumbled. ‘Maybe angry. Angry it was Starfleet what killed him, but now we pat all those Borg kids on the head and say “it wasn’t your fault,” so there’s no place for that anger to go.’

The cocktail shell slammed down on the table. ‘And you’re a complete nobody, Hal Cassidy.’ Rosewood’s voice went cold. ‘What was it, Maquis brat who found he had no place to go when his parents’ crusade got crushed, so had to come crying to Starfleet for scraps? Where they shoved you in a small black box so you can work out all those violent fantasies someplace acceptable?’

Something cold coiled in his gut. Not at Cassidy’s momentary blank stare, dark eyes giving nothing away even as Rosewood felt around the edges of his skin to work a blade underneath. But when, a moment later, Cassidy smiled.

‘That’s me,’ he said, and Rosewood this time could feel the strings wrapping around him, the wires tensing in his flesh as Cassidy snared him. ‘Seems you do got that anger. Good. Shall we go see what we can do with it, you and me?’