From orbit, Oltanis IV’s atmosphere looked bruised, or perhaps rotting, with hues of browns and greys from the thick clouds and dim, reflected light of the nearby star. Where the surface could be seen, so, too, could the scars of its history: crumbling Federation infrastructure, scattered Romulan outposts, and jagged, makeshift structures filling in the gaps.

‘I’ve not been here since I was a cadet, when this was a resupply hub for Starfleet’s evacuation operations,’ mused Ranicus, stood at Cassidy’s left side on the Blackbird bridge. ‘It was a place of hope back then.’

‘Sure,’ rumbled Cassidy. ‘Until the Federation remembered that there’s a cost to not putting yourself first.’

Falaris leaned over her console at Ops. ‘It looks like everything left behind by Starfleet has been repurposed. It’s ad hoc, but effective.’ She made a small, disquieted but unsurprised sound. ‘I’m also picking up pockets of life-signs clustered in very confined spaces.’

Rosewood glanced at her screen. ‘Beyond just habitation?’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t want to leap to conclusions.’

‘They’re holding facilities,’ said Cassidy, looking over, voice blunt. ‘This place was just an illicit tech development and trade hub until the Borg tech trade really took off. If you didn’t get your hands on bits from the Artifact or the devices going off in the summer, guess what’s the best source of Borg equipment?’

‘XBs,’ breathed Rosewood. ‘Jesus.’

‘Not sure any higher power gets out this far.’ Cassidy looked at Ranicus. ‘We drawn much attention?’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no local authority, no infrastructure to monitor traffic, and none of the locals are doing any active scanning on the off-chance they find us. Silent running’s stopped anyone noticing us so far. It should suffice for getting us to the surface.’

‘We won’t be able to go full undercover,’ he said, nodding, ‘but it’ll do for keeping out of harm’s way. Take us down to land. Rooks are gonna go in with the Nomad.’

‘Try to not lose this one.’

As the Blackbird descended through the atmosphere, the surface became clearer. Vast stretches of rusted-out industrial zones, the remnants of once-proud Federation infrastructure, showed spotty signs of life. Some hummed with activity, turning raw materials brought to Oltanis into whatever goods could be sold on out here. Others were dead and gutted, no longer in use, but with the occasional sign of life from scavengers. Here and there, small shanty town settlements clustered around the decayed husks of industrial life.

The Blackbird set down in a dusty, abandoned starport some distance from the main cluster of habitation. It took a half-hour’s drive by Nomad before the Rooks were rolling through the outer perimeter of a bazaar of illicit goods. Armed guards in mismatched armour patrolled the area, each working for a different outfit, from gangs to companies, while drones whirred overhead, keeping a suspicious eye on everything.

Stale, arid air thick with the metallic scent of industry and death hit them when Rosewood pulled the Nomad up and they rolled out. Q’ira glanced back at the vehicle, raising an eyebrow. ‘We just gonna let the locals rip this apart?’

‘They can try,’ said Rosewood with a thin smile. ‘If they want a run-in with automated defences.’

Cassidy looked at her. ‘You said you knew where to start.’

‘I’ve an idea,’ she said. ‘Until or unless your girl up there can pick up a trail on Aestri’s ship. We want to talk to Gravik; he’s the local Syndicate fixer. It’d make sense for her to check in with him for whatever she needs in this place. He’d help her for free or for cheap, and he knows everyone.’

‘And if not,’ said Cassidy, scratching his chin, ‘he might be pissed if a Syndicate lieutenant’s cutting him out of local ops. Lead on.’

She gave a tight nod and adjusted her jacket, leading them through the grimy, crowded streets of the settlement. Traders hawked goods on either side of them – hacked tech from the Federation, Free State, or Star Empire; weapons from all origins; selections of narcotics.

‘Far cry from Ilior,’ mused Aryn.

‘Is it?’ said Rosewood. ‘Ilior was the same, just on a bigger scale.’

‘It was cleaner,’ said Nallera.

‘On the surface.’

They passed a stall behind which a metallic skeleton was strung up on a wall, the frame of a body embedded with mechanical implants. Rosewood caught a glimpse of a familiar oily, emerald hue, and had to look sharply at Aryn.

‘Is that…’

His head was down, hands in his pockets with his shoulders hunched. It was Nallera who answered, falling into step with him.

‘Borg. Yeah, that’s probably the remains of a drone or an xB with the biological components, uh, purged.’

Rosewood’s jaw tightened, and he stepped up beside Cassidy. ‘This place is a cesspit.’

‘All the better to get lost in.’ Cassidy had barely spared the stall a glance, but he raised his voice an iota. ‘Keeping your lunch, Four?’

‘Still here.’

Rosewood wanted to rebuke him for the mockery, but then Q’ira gestured to a building ahead.

‘We’re here.’

It had once clearly been a Federation command post, now stripped and gutted. A patchwork of neon lights and a sturdy barricade surrounded it, and above the door hung a banner with the Syndicate sigil, the most brazen and open display of their power and presence Rosewood had ever seen.

‘Let’s hope like hell they haven’t heard I killed Torrad-Var,’ she mused. ‘Or this is going to be a real short conversation.’

There was only one guard at the door, and it didn’t take much convincing from Q’ira to let them in. In Redoubt, they’d been checked by tight security and stripped of their weapons before being allowed anywhere near Torrad-Var. But that had been at the heart of a Syndicate stronghold, and this was only an outpost. If Oltanis was ruled by the law of the jungle, there was no way they could demand anyone disarmed themselves anywhere.

‘Just four guys in here,’ Nallera murmured as the Rooks passed through the doors into the main building. ‘Not heavy security.’

‘Gravik doesn’t have stuff here. There’s nothing much to steal,’ said Q’ira. ‘He deals in information and connections. Plus, who wants to piss off the Syndicate by hitting their hub here without a big payday?’

Going from a marketplace with a corpse strung up in the street to a dingy office felt incongruous even by the standards of the cesspits Rosewood had been to with the Rooks. Gravik kept a desk where the local Federation administrator would have, though all original equipment had been stripped out and replaced with the Syndicate’s own gear. In the gaps between the screens on the far wall, Rosewood could see the scratched and disfigured Federation emblem engraved into the stone.

Gravik himself was a wiry Orion, his skin a pale blue and marred by thin scars. He sat behind the desk with his feet up, fingertips pressed together.

‘It’s Q’ira, isn’t it? Torrad-Var’s girl,’ he said in a voice like a low purr before he stood. ‘Always happy to receive a representative of the Master of the Bleak Shadow.’ But his eyes fell on the others. ‘Less happy to receive Starfleet.’

‘We’re not here for trouble,’ said Rosewood, stepping forward before Cassidy could. ‘Just business.’

‘Business.’ Gravik ran his tongue over his teeth like he was tasting the word, then looked back at Q’ira. ‘I hope they’re making it worth your while.’

‘They pay good if you don’t push them,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Torrad-Var has me looking into the affairs of one of our own. Aestri.’ There was a tell-tale flicker in Gravik’s expression, and she cocked her head. ‘She came by?’

‘Came. Left.’ Gravik shrugged. ‘I know your boss doesn’t like her much. But I try to not pick sides in these sorts of disagreements between the brethren.’

Q’ira sighed, then sauntered closer, the sway of her hips signalling to Rosewood the change in her tactics. ‘Are you sure? Because I can be convincing. And both Torrad-Var and I can be… grateful.’

His leering was open and unapologetic, but Gravik winced. ‘I’d consider it if you hadn’t rolled up with the enemy.’

‘You don’t have to hand anyone over on a platter,’ Q’ira purred. ‘We just want to know what her business here was, who she talked to, and maybe where she went.’

‘That’s quite a lot, actually,’ he pointed out.

Rosewood cleared his throat. ‘I’m not going to try to strong-arm anyone. Starfleet knows places like this exist, and if it wasn’t on Oltanis, it would be somewhere else. But Aestri’s the problem; she’s the one who’s brought us here -’

‘Fuck this,’ groaned Cassidy, and the next thing Rosewood knew, the Rooks’ leader had grabbed Gravik by the throat and slammed him down onto his own desk.

Both Rosewood and Q’ira shouted, but the big man ignored them, glowering down at the flailing, helpless Gravik. ‘Where’d Aestri go? What was her business.’

‘I don’t…’ Gravik sputtered, choked. ‘…you don’t dare…’

‘What, beat the shit out of you? Are your two guards gonna stop me?’ Cassidy snarled. A jerk of the head towards Nallera had her turning, phaser in hand, towards the door, and Rosewood looked on incredulously to see Aryn step beside her. ‘Other people don’t turn this place upside-down because the Syndicate would come for ‘em. Do you think Starfleet gives a shit right now if the Syndicate’s mad at us?’

All Gravik could do was choke more.

‘One, this is crazy,’ hissed Rosewood. ‘We want him alive and cooperating.’

Cassidy ignored him. ‘Nice computer system you got there. I could jack into it and have my ops officer pull all your info in ten seconds. Maybe fifteen if the connection’s bad. Then I won’t just find your records of Aestri’s coming and going, but all Syndicate info. How’s that for picking sides, letting Starfleet snatch and grab all that intel?’

Gravik was pawing desperately at Cassidy’s forearm, ineffective.

‘Okay, so it’s encrypted. Maybe it takes my girl an hour to decrypt it, find what we need.’ Cassidy tilted his head this way and that. ‘So there’s perks for both of us to you telling me exactly what I want.’

Rosewood found he’d bitten the inside of his mouth and could taste blood. ‘One, you want to loosen his grip so he can answer, or choke him out first?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘I best mind my manners with scum.’ He let go with a shove that had Gravik choking and sputtering. ‘Call guards, and all you get is front-row seats to the Chief back there ripping them apart.’ In the background, Nallera somehow cracked her knuckles without dropping her phaser.

Gravik rubbed his neck, chest heaving. ‘…Aestri came,’ he rasped at last. ‘Wanted the most serious outfit I knew for Borg tech supplies and modifications. I sent her to a chop shop run by this Romulan guy, name of Kanem. Southern side of the city.’

‘Location,’ Cassidy growled.

‘Here.’ Gravik picked up a PADD and jabbed in details, then tossed it to Cassidy. ‘They’re serious people.’

‘So are we,’ said Cassidy with a shrug. ‘If I find you’re bullshitting me, this place burns to the ground. Got it?’

Gravik shot a furious look at Q’ira. ‘Torrad-Var’s gonna hear of this. And if he’s on board with that, I’m taking this all the way to the Queen.’

She tossed her hair over a shoulder, though Rosewood could see a glint in her eye. ‘Babes, for an information broker, you’re really behind,’ was all she said.

Gravik knew better than to push his luck further, at least, and nobody stopped the Rooks leaving. Eyes were on them all the way back to the Nomad, but that, too, was untouched, and they were rolling southwards within fifteen minutes of leaving Gravik’s place.

Once the door was shut and they were moving, Rosewood gave up holding his tongue. ‘You should have warned us you were going to do that.’

Cassidy looked incredulously at him. ‘What was your plan? To baby the Syndicate broker?’

‘We could have done that without burning a line on our intel!’

‘My way worked,’ Cassidy snapped. ‘And last I checked, you answer to me, kid, not the other way around. I don’t gotta warn you about shit.’

Behind them, Q’ira spoke now, quiet and resentful. ‘There goes any chance anyone in the Syndicate listens to me again, though. I just used my credit to get you in, and you spent all of it.’

He twisted in the chair, but to Rosewood’s surprise, his voice dropped. ‘Your credit was blown the moment you walked in with Starfleet, first. Second… any day, now, word’s gonna get out that you sold out and murdered Torrad-Var with us. So, yeah, I spent it. Because we’re at use it or lose it time. This is what it’s gonna take to find that Changeling.’

Q’ira didn’t answer that, and the Rooks fell silent as Rosewood drove the Nomad trundling south in the direction set out by Gravik. Perhaps Cassidy was right, Rosewood reflected; perhaps they had to be heavy-handed with Q’ira’s influence, staying barely ahead of the news that would doubtless see her made a pariah among her people.

But it was increasingly unclear to Rosewood where, exactly, the limit was for Cassidy on what their mission was going to take.