The Starfleet Liaison Tower had been built with the founding of Earth Starfleet, when low warp speeds kept Sol and Alpha Centauri weeks apart. Then, it had served as a forward headquarters on this bold new frontier. As the Federation was founded and humanity’s reach across the galaxy grew, its purpose had changed with its design. Once a practical concrete facility launching operations into unknown space, over the centuries it had become a shining tower of steel and glass, with purposes more ceremonial and administrative than operational.

The liberation of Alpha Centauri had reversed some of that change, with damage to the building seeing it surrounded with brutalist scaffolding blocking the shining beacon from view, and much of Starfleet’s aid in recovering from the occupation now launching from its halls.

Assigned to provide specialist advice on Vaadwaur operations, the Rooks had been given their own, small cluster of offices. From there, Aryn had analysed Federation government software to rip out Vaadwaur code, Nallera had stepped out to help disarm and secure abandoned Vaadwaur munitions, and Rosewood had written papers assessing Vaadwaur population control methods.

Everyone had their own office, lab, or – as Q’ira facetiously called her rather barren workspace – lounge, which meant when the Rooks returned to the tower and the other three disappeared into their rooms, Rosewood could turn to Cassidy with a flat gaze and say, ‘You dodged the question.’

The two stood in the corridor whose beige walls spoke of interior decorating influences still locked in the tastes of the mid-twenty-fourth century. They were alone, but Cassidy still glared and said, ‘You’re gonna have to narrow it down.’

‘Nallera’s question. Why us? Why are we on a criminal investigation?’

Cassidy grunted. ‘You got everything you need to answer that already. Why do people send us to do anything?’

‘Because we’re experts?’

‘Because we’re discreet.’ Still, Cassidy shifted his weight. ‘Because people know they can count on us. But come on. You can ask the question yourself, so long as you keep a more civil tongue in your head.’

To Rosewood’s surprise, Cassidy simply led him down the corridor to his office. But when they stepped in, they found the room already occupied, with a tall, lanky figure stood before the wide window with its dazzling display of the rooftops of Alpha Centauri City.

‘You wanted to meet the kid,’ said Cassidy to the figure, his gruff voice sounding bafflingly awkward. ‘Here he is. John Rosewood, in the flesh.’

The man at the window turned. He wore a Starfleet uniform, red-shouldered with a captain’s pips. Cropped dark hair framed sharp features and searing eyes. The smile felt sincere, Rosewood thought, but not especially warm.

‘In the flesh,’ the man repeated, inclining his head. ‘Captain Takahashi. It is good to meet you at last. Hal speaks highly of you.’

‘Don’t give him ideas,’ Cassidy grumbled. Already he was loosening his collar and rolling up his sleeves, forever seeming ill at-ease in uniform. He headed for the replicator panel on the wall. ‘John was wondering why you dragged us into a case of three dead civilians.’

Takahashi arched an eyebrow. ‘You were wondering, too. But you’re using him as cover. You can question me, you know.’

Cassidy tapped a button to replicate a steaming mug and drank deeply. He did not offer either of the others a drink. ‘Okay. Why have you dragged us into this?’

‘Why do you think?’

Rosewood looked between them and frowned. ‘Do I need to be here for this game?’

Cassidy glared. ‘Kid -’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Takahashi,’ said Rosewood, advancing and extending a hand. ‘I know nothing about you. Respectfully, who are you?’

Takahashi gave a small bark of amusement at the tone, but shook the hand. His grip was firm, but brief. Indulgent, then dismissive. ‘I dare say you’re rubbing off on this young man, Hal. He’s learning the manners of the division.’

Rosewood made quick calculations. ‘If you know who I am,’ he ventured, ‘you know I learnt the manners of Starfleet Intelligence a long time ago.’

‘You learnt the game played in the fine halls of power, from Paris to T’Met,’ said Takahashi lightly. ‘It is a delicate game, and an important one. I taught Hal the game played just out of sight, around the corners and down the dark alleyways. The one he’s been teaching you.’

‘You’re running Intelligence operations on Alpha Centauri,’ Rosewood surmised. ‘I assume as part of the liberation protocols.’

‘Operations is a strong word.’ Takahashi shrugged. ‘Advising. The division felt it best there be a fresh pair of eyes available. To see the trees those too deep in the forest might miss.’

‘And you’re why we’re still here at all.’ Rosewood glanced at Cassidy for confirmation, and found him studying his coffee. ‘Right? You asked for us to stick around with the clear-up.’

‘That was merely logical. For now, and the future.’

‘Captain Takahashi’s taking up a post in the squadron,’ Cassidy murmured, hands wrapped almost protectively around his mug of coffee. ‘Running Intel for the unit. So we’ll be working together more closely in the future.’

There was no reason Rosewood should have found that concerning. Everything was a logical step for Starfleet personnel management, particularly in intelligence, where personal trust in an asset was invaluable. But then, as Takahashi had said, Rosewood knew the game played in halls of power.

‘It’s the graffiti, isn’t it,’ said Rosewood, arms folded across his chest. ‘“Traitors.” Someone’s worried there are skeletons in the closet, and they want that door shut tightly.’

Takahashi’s brow knit closer. ‘To say someone attributes power to mysterious unknowns. Your analysis must be firmer than that. I am worried there are skeletons in the closet. I wish to know what they are before they burst onto the public stage at such a delicate time.’

Cassidy scratched his nose. ‘What do we know about the three victims?’

‘That they have only been dead for some hours, and that you must find out more.’

This seemed to give the big man some strength, and he straightened. ‘We’ll need the backing of the AC Reconstruction Office. Access to information and records under all that lovely “state of emergency” legislation. If you want us finding skeletons, I don’t have time to play games.’

‘I cannot make the bureaucrats of Alpha Centauri loosen their grips on their precious devolved governmental authority,’ mused Takahashi, ‘but Mayor Ryan has assured us that Starfleet will have his office’s full cooperation.’

Rosewood gave a soft snort. ‘The only thing that’ll be worse than his administrators getting murdered is his administrators getting targeted by some sort of vengeance killing. Which reminds me: the press?’

Takahashi waved a hand. ‘Will be briefed through the usual channels who know how to control the flow of information. The graffiti will not be mentioned. This will, for now, be publicly treated as part of the post-occupation chaos, a regrettable but random tragedy.’

‘Alpha Centauri City isn’t exactly used to random murders.’

‘Alpha Centauri City has been through a lot of changes,’ Takahashi pointed out levelly. He stepped to the desk and picked up his PADD folio, balanced on the edge, and tucked it under his arm. ‘If that answers your questions…’

Enough, thought Rosewood. For now. He knew better than to speak up, though, looking to Cassidy.

The big man grunted. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of this, sir. And keep a tight lid on it.’

‘As always, Hal. Again, Commander Rosewood, it was good to meet you.’

‘Thank you, sir. Likewise.’ Rosewood waited in silence as Takahashi left, and only when he’d counted to a few beats after the door had shut, only when Cassidy had started to slouch back towards his desk, did he look up. ‘He recruited you.’

Cassidy’s frown was more open now. ‘Yeah? What of it?’

‘I’ve just never seen you so…’ Rosewood paused, fishing for the word. ‘Deferential.’

‘It’s respect. Takahashi knows how the galaxy works. Not always a popular perspective in the fluffy twenty-fifth century, but he sees politics, and he sees shadows and he knows how to get through both of them.’ Cassidy set his mug down on his desk. ‘If he says we need to get to the bottom of this and keep a lid on it, that’s what we do.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,’ said Rosewood mildly. ‘Nobody’s ever accused me of being an advocate for honesty. It was just…’

Cassidy glared. ‘Just what?’

The description of the twenty-fifth century as ‘fluffy’ was ridiculous on the surface. The last twelve months had seen Frontier Day and the Nightfall incursion, two of the biggest disasters the Federation had faced in a generation. But they had come after the turnabout of 2399, the end of the Federation’s so-called downturn, its increasing institutional paranoia and xenophobia after the Attack on Mars. A long decade and a half of tighter legislation and sharper knives.

A long decade and a half in which John Rosewood had learnt his trade, and in which he suspected Hal Cassidy had been tempered and steeled. In which Captain Takahashi, almost certainly, had prowled shadows and halls of power, and perhaps ruled them. Likely with Hal Cassidy at his side.

I just never saw you come running when someone called, Rosewood thought, but didn’t say. He shook his head. ‘Guess I know a little more about you than I did before.’ He gave a smile, like it was an empty tease, a deliberate taunt. Not a sincere observation and slick evasion all in one.

Cassidy sank into his chair and grunted. ‘I’ve gotta start requisitioning those surveillance records. So you can get lost, now; you’re a distraction.’

‘I’ll go dig into our victims,’ said Rosewood, straightening and settling back into a professional mask. ‘See who they might have betrayed.’

Cassidy grimaced. ‘In an occupation? By a brutal, oppressive force? Where they were local government officials, and lived through it? Not sure they’d have had a single choice where they didn’t betray something or other.’