Sirius’s StratOps emptied in a shuffle of boots, murmurs, and the low hiss of doors. Rourke’s closing words still hung heavy in the air. ‘Make no mistake: we’re not going to defeat the Vaadwaur ourselves. But if we can bring down the Blackout, the next wave from Starfleet will. What we do next defines the future of Alpha Centauri.’

Cassidy had said nothing during the final moments, merely watched. Rourke’s words hadn’t been a reprimand, but they echoed in Cassidy’s gut like one. What we do next.

He stood alone as the captains filed out, fists tight at his sides, jaw set, not quite ready to return to the Blackbird. Were he a less seasoned operator, he might have thought himself alone until there was a voice from his shoulder. It spoke of how deep in his thoughts he’d been that the speaker nevertheless surprised him.

‘You never came by. After the battle.’

His eyes stayed locked on the central holographic display, though he frowned. ‘You thought I would?’

It was more brusque than he meant. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to see her. But the thought of reaching out hadn’t occurred to her.

To his faint relief, she gave a small sigh that sounded, somehow, indulgent. ‘I hoped you would. I wanted to thank you.’

At last, Cassidy turned, frown still in place. He’d not quite been able to look at her during the briefing. Not quite dared soak in the details of her; still pale, still worn, still with the scars – visible and invisible – of the hammering Liberty had taken.

He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to thank me.’

‘This isn’t obligation, Commander. This is sincerity. We were caught out, isolated, boarded. They’d already killed several of my bridge crew. What would have happened if you’d been any later?’

Cassidy drew a slow, painful breath. Her dark eyes were latched onto him, not piercing, but steady. ‘I wasn’t about to hang you out to dry for the Vaadwaur. We did what we had to do.’ At the quirk in her brow, he shifted his feet. ‘I guess that means, “you’re welcome.”’

Her lips twisted. ‘Was that so hard?’

Rather than engage with the tease, his gaze hardened. ‘Are you alright?’ he blurted, then amended, ‘Your ship. Your crew.’

‘It’s been a few weeks. We’re ready. One last push.’ She gave a firm nod. ‘Are your team?’

‘We’re…’

‘Down an operative. Worked to the bone longer than any of us. The cornerstone of this entire plan.’ Galcyon tilted her head. ‘No pressure.’

‘Pressure isn’t a problem for us.’

‘That’s what people say when they don’t have the time to even think about the stakes.’

‘Will thinking about the stakes help? It won’t change them.’ Cassidy shook his head. ‘My team has to be the tip of the spear. We have to be tight, precise. There’s no room for a single mistake.’

‘Maybe,’ she allowed. ‘But that sounds like a lot.’

‘It’s the job -’

‘And the job is why you saved me and my ship, I know. That doesn’t mean I don’t owe you, Commander. Which means… has anyone asked if you’re alright?’ It didn’t sound like that was where she meant for the sentence to go, but her chin tilted up, expression open and honest and unrepentant.

He swallowed. ‘I…’ The standard deflection died in his throat. It was hard to not blink and see her at the brink of death, knelt on the deck of her bridge, a Vaadwaur gun pressed to her head. That had been it, he knew. The real start of the fire driving him to burn everything. ‘I’ve lost track of my focus a bit these past weeks.’

‘Do you remember what I told you? After the Lliew Rift?’

‘Not being alone, not needing to do things alone, just means the rest of Starfleet get us as far as the aperture – and then the rest is on us, then we are alone -’

‘Are you alone right now?’

He stopped. ‘What does that matter?’

‘I didn’t ask if you needed an extra gun by your side on a boarding action, Commander. I asked if you’re alright?’

Somehow, in the blink of an eye, he wasn’t stood before the spinning projection of the strategic map of Toliman. He was instead sat on one of the nearby chairs, her beside him, and he didn’t quite remember agreeing to move or even taking a single step.

‘I…’ He paused. Felt the feelings spin out before him, vast and amorphous. It wasn’t that Hal Cassidy didn’t reflect on his emotions, or ignored them. Rather, he took quiet pride in understanding and mastering them. Putting them into words, however, was a less practiced skill. ‘I let myself lose sight of what really mattered.’

‘What did you have in sight instead?’ Galcyon’s voice was gentle, but he still started. It wasn’t the question he’d expected.

‘Revenge,’ he said simply. ‘I thought I was identifying a threat and trying to eradicate it. I was wrong. I let myself get blinded by what happened to…’ To you. Your ship. ‘At Proxima,’ he finished instead. ‘I let myself simplify the mission. Make it personal. It wasn’t personal.’

‘I think this is very personal for everyone,’ she pointed out softly.

‘There’s taking it personally, and then there’s letting that blind you. I did the latter.’ He paused as he drew another raking breath. ‘That’s not really what’s on my mind. I… it was still simple. I still understood my job. My role. My purpose. Identify a threat, destroy it. And then that turned out to be empty, actually.’

‘Isn’t that what you’re doing next? Identifying the outpost. Destroying it.’

‘I am.’ It took some effort to look at her. ‘I need that not to be empty, though.’

It didn’t make much sense when he said it out loud. But her thoughtful expression was ponderous, not confused. ‘Vengeance is… simple,’ she agreed at length. ‘It fires you. Pushes you along.’

‘Threat eradication is simple. But that’s misled me. Stifled me.’

‘Except that’s not all you do, is it?’

He frowned. ‘What I am outside of my work doesn’t matter to -’

‘I mean in your work. You’re not a weapon, Cassidy. You’re a protector.’

‘Sounds like splitting hairs.’

‘Not to the people of Alpha Centauri, who you’re helping liberate. Not to your team, who you’re looking after all while you do this.’ She paused, and he watched as her gaze dropped a beat. ‘Not to me and my crew. If all you did was eradicate threats… we’d all be dead.’

His eyes dropped, her words sinking deeper into him than he’d expected. It took him a moment to find his voice, and when he did, his words were wry. ‘Thought you were thanking me, not fixing me.’

The faint smile returned. ‘I felt I owed you one, Commander.’

‘I reckon after Llieuw Rift, we’re equal, ma’am.’

‘Then I suppose this conversation leaves you in my debt.’ She stood and smoothed her uniform. He watched as he saw the awkward movement of her injured arm, full mobility not yet restored. ‘I know how you can make us even, though.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said as he got to his feet, too. ‘Finish the job.’

‘Hardly, Commander. I know I don’t need to ask that of you.’ The corners of her eyes creased. ‘Be a little kinder to yourself. Not in the standards you hold yourself to. But…’ Her gaze raked over him. ‘You’re more than you think. More than threat eradication.’

He wasn’t sure he believed her. But Cassidy knew better than to argue, so instead he gave an awkward nod. ‘I’d tell you to stay safe out there…’

‘But Liberty will be in the fighting. As we should be. And you’ll be in the lion’s den. So there’s very little safety to be found.’ Galcyon’s expression softened. ‘But I’ll tell you to stay safe anyway, Commander.’

The next breath Cassidy drew felt a little stronger. A little sweeter. He nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’