The emergency lighting cast harsh shadows across the Mercury’s bridge as systems sputtered to life. Renard watched Valois work at the main console, his fingers moving across controls that hadn’t responded to touch in over two centuries. Behind him, Jodrak muttered appreciatively in Klingon as power routing displays came online, not bothering to cut his comms.

‘Your Federation builds redundancies upon redundancies,’ he observed, checking another relay. ‘Inefficient, safe, but… thorough.’

‘Keeps us alive when things go wrong,’ Valois replied without looking up. ‘And things always go wrong.’

Her eyes fell on Ash’rogh. As their colleagues worked, he’d stepped to the captain’s chair and was bent over the armrest, fidgeting with something on the panel.

‘It’s still cut off from power,’ she told him.

‘I wasn’t looking for systems,’ he grunted, and she took slow steps in heavy boots to see what he was doing. She found his gloved finger tracing something magnetically sealed to the armrest: a small holo-frame, its image long dead but the metal still bearing an inscription. To Captain Malard, with pride – Starfleet Academy Class of 2145.

‘Even in death, warriors leave traces,’ Ash’rogh mused as he straightened. She found herself squinting up at his helmet, trying to gauge his expression.

‘First data streams coming online,’ Valois cut in. ‘Ship’s logs, tactical records… fragmentary, but readable.’

The screen before his control panel sputtered to life, showing the chaotic final hours of Eurus-7. He’d patched the audio feed to their comms, the tinny recordings echoing inside Renard’s helmet as voices of the dead called from across the centuries.

‘Mercury, this is Stavanger. We’re taking heavy fire! Hull polarisation at thirty percent -’

‘Acknowledged, Stavanger; try to form up on our position -’

The voices cut to static. Valois enhanced the signal, pulling more fragments from the damaged archives.

‘Your ships maintained coordination even as they died,’ Ash’rogh observed, watching tactical displays show the Starfleet vessels’ desperate attempt to regroup. ‘Disciplined to the end.’

‘Captain Malard was a veteran,’ said Valois. ‘Romulan War. She knew how to fight.’

More data flowed past: sensor readings, weapons targeting, the systematic destruction of Starfleet resistance. Eight Klingon ships herding six Starfleet deeper into the nebula’s heart, cutting off escape routes.

‘Efficient tactics,’ Ash’rogh continued, sounding sincerely interested. ‘But why drive them so deep? Why not finish them quickly?’

‘I’m not – wait.’ Valois stopped, his attention caught by something in the data stream. ‘Wait. Here. Mercury’s own combat logs.’

The display shifted to show the battle from the lead ship’s perspective. Bridge recordings flickered to life: Captain Malard in the command chair, her uniform scorched, blood on her forehead.

‘Concentrate fire on their flagship!’ her voice crackled over their comms. ‘If we can cripple their command ship –’

Weapons fire lit the display. The Mercury’s phasers lanced out, striking the lead Klingon vessel – a massive battlecruiser that dwarfed the Federation ships.

‘Direct hit! Flagship’s venting plasma, losing power!’

‘Your captain fought intelligently,’ said Ash’rogh, watching the tactical display. ‘Target the leader. Disrupt their coordination. A worthy strike.’

‘Worthy of what?’ said Renard flatly. ‘They came here to explore and were slaughtered by Klingon territorialism.’ He did not have a reply to that.

The Klingon flagship listed on the sensors, clearly wounded, weapons offline. But then something changed.

‘It pulled back,’ said Valois, frowning at the display. ‘Breaking formation.’ The damaged battlecruiser began accelerating away from the battle, not toward; a limping retreat at whatever impulse power it could manage.

‘Tactical withdrawal?’ said Ash’rogh, but he sounded uncertain. Then, on the sensor display, the other Klingon ships moved. Not to escort their flagship. To engage it.

On the recording, Malard’s expression changed from hope to shock. ‘The other Klingon ships… they’re firing on their own flagship!’

The bridge fell silent except for the hum of conduits. On the display, green disruptor fire – Klingon weapons fire – struck the fleeing battlecruiser.

‘They’re executing their own commander,’ Malard’s voice continued, disbelieving. ‘For abandoning the battle.’

The wounded flagship died under fire from its own escorts, breaking apart in the nebula’s depths. Then the remaining Klingon ships turned back to their grim work, hunting down the scattered Federation vessels with renewed fury.

On the recording, a Mercury bridge officer shouted, ‘They’re coming about –’

Static swallowed the rest.

Jodrak broke the silence, his voice low. ‘Your captain said the flagship was a Mokvarn vessel – that Captain Kovor is recovering proof of our house’s role in this battle…’

Renard swallowed. ‘A battle where Klingon forces cut your house’s leaders down for cowardice.’

He sucked his teeth. ‘That is one analysis – your Starfleet captain’s perspective…’

‘The data is consistent across all logs,’ said Ash’rogh, leaning over the panel and reading, toneless. ‘Visual confirmation, tactical records.’ A pause. ‘The House of Mokvarn’s ship abandoned the battle after being wounded by this vessel.’ He straightened and looked around the bridge – at the shattered consoles, the blast damage, a place the crew had made their final stand. ‘Your captain died well. She bloodied us before the end.’

Valois stood, awkward in his EV suit. ‘We should report this to your captain. He’s scavenging the wreckage as we speak.’

Jodrak shifted his weight. ‘He will not like this.’

‘Courage is facing unwelcome truths,’ spat Ash’rogh, jerking towards Jodrak. ‘He may be proud of our House’s past and warrior traditions, but he will…’ His voice trailed off, losing momentum in the face of uncertainty. After a beat, he snarled. ‘We shall see,’ he said, and lifted his wrist to patch a communication through to the Mat’lor.

‘Captain Kovor,’ he began, voice iron. ‘We have accessed the Mercury’s tactical logs. We have… findings about the Mokvarn flagship.’ Static sizzled, and Renard could not help but note he had patched them all into the communication, when it would have been easy to keep this conversation private.

After a beat, Kovor’s voice crackled through, weary but hopeful. ‘Speak, Lieutenant. We have in our cargo bay the main command module for the ship. Proof of our heritage. I would know the tale.’

Ash’rogh’s eyes were on the bulkhead rather than look at any of them as he spoke. ‘The Mokvarn flagship engaged and was wounded. It then broke formation and attempted to withdraw. Escorts turned their guns upon it and destroyed it for abandoning the line.’

Silence met him. Then, ‘Repeat that.’

Ash’rogh drew a slow breath. ‘Our flagship fled. The rest of the fleet destroyed them for cowardice.’

Jodrak shifted his weight, restless. Valois remained still. Renard felt the bridge around them tighten, the Mercury’s dead hum and the faint tick of powered conduits answering the cold knot in her gut.

‘Federation lies,’ Kovor said at last. ‘Fragmented records, corrupted and misinterpreted to insult us. You have been aboard their ship for too long, Ash’rogh. It has bled you of sense.’

Valois lifted his arm and tapped a button on his wrist panel. ‘Commander Valois, USS Tempest. Transmitting the data now, Captain: Mercury bridge visual, tactical overlay. We’ll soon have auxiliary logs from the other ships.’

On the main screen, the hellish battle replayed: the wounded flagship pulling away, the green lances of disruptor fire, Captain Malard’s stunned description, tinny with age, filling their helmets –

‘Enough!’ Kovor roared. ‘Do you think I do not see your hand in this? You wish to claim this site wholly for yourselves, so you cut, you edit, you splice until your coward’s tale fits your need. You will not spit on the blood of my ancestors!’

Ash’rogh’s shoulders squared. ‘Captain -’

‘You will delete those files!’ Kovor snarled. ‘Purge them from that carcass. Destroy every copy. I will not have the name of Mokvarn defiled by your weak stomach and their forgeries.’

Valois’s voice was steel. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘This is not your concern, Commander! Study your own dead!’ Kovor’s fury was palpable even over comms. ‘Ash’rogh, obey.’

Renard looked at the set of Ash’rogh’s shoulders, how he didn’t move, and sidestepped towards Valois. She raised her wrist panel, showing him something, waiting for his nod of approval before she hit the button.

‘Captain.’ Ash’rogh’s voice carried the tell-tale sounds of prevarication. ‘We have treaty obligations -’

‘You have obligations to me.’

At that, Ash’rogh turned to the control panel at the shattered heart of the Mercury’s bridge, and put a gloved hand at the metal rim, hesitant but moving.

Renard’s breath caught, and she switched her comms from the channel with the Mat’lor. ‘Don’t do it.’ He stopped again, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers, tense, hesitant. Then –

‘Tempest to Mat’lor! Captain Kovor, what the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ Pentecost’s voice piped through, summoned by Valois and Renard and furious even from the Tempest’s distance.

Kovor snarled once more. ‘This is about Klingon history –’

‘We agreed to investigate separately and share what we found. Ordering my officers – or your own – to destroy Federation records violates that agreement and every tenet of the cooperation that brought you here.’

‘I will not -’

The connection went dead – and so did the control panel before them. Renard had been able to feel the hum of resurrected systems through the deck, but that ceased, too, leaving them in the cold dark of a dead bridge.

Jodrak’s voice spat over their suit comms. ‘Power fluctuation. The auxiliary spine dipped. We were relying on the Mercury’s power to transmit this much data to both ships through the interference.’

Valois turned to him. ‘Will you help restore it? Or are you going to let it stay dead?’

Jodrak looked at Ash’rogh, who did not move. He tilted in his suit, an approximation of a shrug when armoured against vacuum. ‘I am not eager to reconnect with my captain. But will have to do so eventually. Let us restore power.’ He and Valois slid to the aft panels where they’d coaxed emergency power to the bridge in the first place.

Ash’rogh did not move, still staring at the control panel. It was then Renard realised she had patched her comms to him, and only him, when telling – asking? – him to stand down. The other two faded into nothing as she watched him, the vacuum and the dead sealing them into nothing more than these two square metres of wreckage and choices.

‘And you?’ she asked him. ‘Will you gut these systems when we restore them?’

For a long time, her only answer was the hum of her suit and her own breathing in her helmet. Then, ‘I do not wish to dishonour the dead.’

‘You don’t have to,’ she said. ‘Or shy from unwelcome truths.’

He turned to her at that, fast in his frustration despite the heavy suit. ‘Do not mistake this for disloyalty.’

‘I don’t think it’s disloyalty. I think it’s a choice. You swore oaths to the House of Mokvarn, no doubt, but what of the dishonour in carrying a lie for convenience?’

‘You do not know House Mokvarn.’ Ash’rogh’s hands curled in empty air, as if he could grab the void in frustration. ‘You do not know Kovor. He is but a distant cousin of Lord Mokvarn himself – to secure something like this that supports our claim to the sector… this would elevate him…’

‘So he’s not here for loyalty to the House. He’s here for loyalty to his ambitions.’

‘What is my loyalty to the House if I share tales that, when the Empire first seized this sector, my captain’s ancestors, my lord’s ancestors, were cowards? All I have is service to Mokvarn, duty to Mokvarn!’

She took a step forward, keeping her voice level. ‘And what is that honourable service worth if the House of Mokvarn lies and schemes for its achievements?’ Her eyes scanned his face, twisted in fury, frustration, and uncertainty. ‘What is honourable service to Kovor if he asks that dishonour of you? No, I heard how he spoke to you – demands it?’

‘He… is my captain…’

‘I’ve been in your shoes,’ she said, gentler despite herself. ‘Where orders demand you do what you know is wrong. Where oaths force you to turn against yourself.’

‘And let me guess,’ Ash’rogh spat. ‘You disobeyed and Starfleet forgave? That is not how Klingon service works.’

‘No,’ said Renard, voice low. ‘I obeyed. And I live with the stain of that every day.’

At last, his eyes met her, shocked, wondering. But before he could reply, Valois’s voice crackled in over their comms.

‘We’re back in action. Data integrity secure. I’m downloading everything to my tricorder; Lieutenant, get backups, too.’

‘I am restoring our connection to the Mercury’s systems,’ said Jodrak, working away at the panel. ‘So we are no longer cut off. Though this was a merry break.’

Ash’rogh looked down at the Mercury’s control panel, and Renard’s heart lurched when he lifted his hand. But he moved it to the secondary console, restoring life to the Mercury’s sensors so they could see what was dragging out beyond the ship.

He froze, for a beat. Then a Klingon oath rang through her helmet, loud enough to echo in her ears, and she stepped up beside him, a new tension in her chest as she read the display.

‘Oh, no…’