FIC: "We Smash Like Glass" [ST:DSC | Cornwell, Cornwell/Lorca | teen | 24,000 words]

[lizbee]

Fandom:Star Trek: Discovery
Rating: Teen
Relationships: Katrina Cornwell/Gabriel Lorca
Characters: Katrina Cornwell, Gabriel Lorca, various and assorted OCs, Christopher Pike, Sarek, Spock
Warnings (highlight to read): Minor sexual assault in the form of a non-consensual kiss. Also allusions to ableist attitudes.
Notes: Sequel to "Mother-in-Law's Tongue", but reading that is completely optional. This was going to be a nice, short set of scenelets, but ... grew. A lot. It is 100% going to be completely chucked out of canon in just a few days, I'm sure. Quick note on the ending, highlight to read: If what you need is a fic that ends happily for the Cornwell/Lorca ship, this is maybe not the story for you. Title from "Holy Moses" by Washington. Please do not look too closely at the space medicine, the space mental health care or the space physics. Do feel free to picture Rob Collins as Dr Winters, because I think he'd look ace in one of those white and silver medical uniforms.

Summary: Recovering from her injuries, Kat struggles, against Starfleet orders and medical advice, to save the crew of Discovery from their captain.



"Tell them we need to relieve Captain Lorca of duty. More people will die if we don't."

"She's fighting the sedative. Admiral, please calm yourself. You're about to go into surgery."

"Tell them. Tell Terral."

"Dr Madani--"

"Please."

"Increase the dose."

*

Recovery started with pain.

Good news: she could feel her legs again. More or less. Bad news: her brain was still integrating the new nerve receptors, and that meant weeks of phantom sensations and unpredictable stabs of pain.

Her doctor was unsympathetic.

"If treatment had been delayed much longer, your autonomic nervous system would have started shutting down," said Noor. "Luckily for you, I'm--"

"The best neurosurgeon in Starfleet," Kat finished. She was flat on her back in a private post-op recovery room, but she was damned if she was going to let Noor Madani patronise her. "You did mention that. Twice. Not known for your humility, though."

"My what?"

"Remember how Cooper used to warn us about doctors developing god-complexes?"

"Says the vice admiral." Dr Madani put her PADD down and examined Kat's toes. "Do you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"Hmm."

"Is that bad -- ow!"

It wasn't the pressure of Noor's hand on her middle toe that Kat felt, but bitter cold that went right through to the bone and radiated up her leg. She caught her breath and described it to Noor.

"Interesting."

"Noor--"

Noor's hand closed around her toe again. "How about now?"

"You're touching me. But it's … far away. Like we're both wearing thick layers."

"Good." Noor retrieved her PADD and made some notes.

"What's the prognosis."

Noor just said, "Hmm."

Kat looked around, but there was nothing within arm's reach that she could throw.

"May I sit?" Noor asked. Which was worrying, because You'll be fully recovered and back on duty next week wasn't the sort of news that took up a lot of time.

"Of course," said Kat.

"I'm going to be honest," said Noor, which was another bad sign. "Your close encounter with a Klingon plasma converter came close to destroying your brain stem, and your cerebellum wasn't in great shape, either. Luckily--"

"You're the best neurosurgeon in the fleet."

Noor looked wounded. "I was going to say that Discovery's chief medical officer is no slouch. If he hadn't stabilised you and had you on a medical transport as fast as he did, you'd be permanently disabled."

Kat felt a flicker of hope, along with a sensation of warmth around her right ankle. "But I'm not?" she asked.

"With proper treatment, you'll be able to walk unaided in normal gravity in about six months."

"Six months!"

"Maybe a year."

Kat exhaled slowly. Fine. She could do this.

"When can I get back to work?" she asked.

Noor stared at her.

"Katrina," she said slowly, "you just spent three weeks as a prisoner of war. I know it's been a long time since you had a real job, but would you allow a patient to even think about returning to duty any time soon?"

She thought of Lieutenant Tyler. An extreme case. But still.

"No," she conceded.

Noor stood.

"A very young man from the psych department has been asking to see you," she said. "Shall I tell him you're at home to visitors?"

"I guess I'm not going anywhere."

"That's the spirit." Noor started to walk away, then paused. "Katrina," she said, "before the surgery, you were trying to tell us something. Do you remember what it was?"

It was urgent that she tell them. They had to know. It wasn't safe. He wasn't safe.

"Don't you?" Kat asked.

"I … you were heavily drugged. A lot of people heard."

"Tell them we need to relieve Captain Lorca of duty. More people will die if we don't."

Kat's mouth was dry.

"Your heart rate has increased," Noor said. "I'm going to tell the boy from psych to wait a bit longer."

"No," Kat said. "Please. I need to speak to someone."

Noor gave her a look of disapproval and walked away.

But she got real -- albeit bland -- food for lunch, her first proper meal since she left Discovery weeks ago, and a nurse helped her shower and change into standard issue pyjamas before he attached a monitor to the base of her skull.

She studied her face in the handheld mirror she had found in her bedside drawers. All the physical signs of her captivity were gone, the black eye, the bruises on her arms and torso and the lesions left by pain sticks. She just looked tired and middle-aged.

A stab of pain ran down her left leg, through her knee and into her foot. She swallowed her gasp, but the mirror went flying, landing on the floor near the door.

The nurse retrieved it for her, and she was so grateful she wanted to cry.

"I'm afraid we can't offer you any pain relief," he said, pulling his PADD from his belt. "Dr Madani wants a log of these episodes."

"She's a sadist," Kat muttered, but it was perfunctory.

"But the good news is, you're being released from post-op. A room has been prepared in section A9. That's the variable gravity wing. It's more accessible, and closer to our rehab facilities."

She had to smile and be grateful. And she was. Grateful. She was just so, so tired.

And you really think you're ready to go back to work?

Her new room contained a desk and a comm unit. And a window. Even the biobed was slightly wider than standard sickbay issue.

It was designed for long-term patients. Her mother had spent a couple of months in a place like this when she broke her pelvis a few years back. The way she told it, she had passed the time running a small scale gambling ring and trying to persuade the more impressionable nurses to build her a still. Anything, she said, to kill the boredom.

At least Kat had a private replicator. She was tempted to order a scotch, but restrained herself. Nurse Toda might not realise it was a joke -- it was a joke, she told herself -- and in any case, the computer would probably refuse her.

And her last glass of scotch had been on Discovery, and look how that turned out.

Toda gave her a PADD, to continue the pain log for Noor, and left her sitting in bed with a jug of water by her side and a promise that he was only a call away.

As soon as he was gone, Kat opened her messages.

Or tried to. All her logins had been cancelled. It would have been done the moment Starfleet knew she had been captured, and she wasn't surprised, but she had hoped they would be reactivated when she was retrieved.

She only had access to Noor's pain log and the public newsfeeds, which told her little that she didn't already know: the Ship of the Dead had been destroyed and the planet of Pahvo saved, a decisive victory for the Federation, and every civilian in the galaxy had an opinion about what this meant for the war.

There was even grainy footage of the explosion, captured by the nearest Federation outpost. None of the reputable news sources featured so much as Discovery's shadow, and the few less reputable feeds she could access merely contained wild speculation about which Starfleet vessel had been responsible. The Enterprise and the Defiant were the popular choices, she noted, which would irritate Gabriel when he--

"Don't sedate me yet, Doctor. I need to see Captain Lorca. Call him again."

"Admiral, the captain is very busy, and I cannot delay treatment any longer."

"That's an order, Doctor."

The kiss of a hypospray at her neck. "I'm terribly sorry, Admiral, but under the circumstances, I don't think you're in any position to give…"

Her hand closed around his wrist, as tight as she could manage. The doctor faltered.

"I'll call the captain," he said.

The door chime startled her out of her reverie. She dropped the PADD in her lap, poured herself a glass of water with shaking hands, and said, "Come in."

Her visitor was a tall young man with dark skin and fine features, wearing medical whites. His own PADD was in his hand.

"Is this a bad time, Admiral?"

She wasn't good at identifying Earth accents, but she thought he might be Australian. Or from New Zealand. The southern hemisphere, at least.

"I'm Dr Winters. Dan. I've been assigned as your psychiatrist, and I'll be coordinating your formal debriefing when you're ready."

South African, maybe?

She realised he had stopped speaking, his expression one of concern.

"Admiral?"

"Doctor--" Wintahz -- "Winters."

He smiled. "Please, call me Dan. May I--" He indicated the chair.

"Go ahead." Her turn to speak. Her head was starting to ache. "Why delay the debriefing?"

"The Ship of the Dead was destroyed with all hands immediately after your rescue. To be blunt, Admiral, any observations you gained as a prisoner are--"

"Worthless."

He smiled gently. "Not time sensitive. Which is good. It means our first priority is your recovery."

She stared at her bare feet. Her right foot felt hot. In her first days on Earth she had fallen asleep in the sun and woke up burnt. This was the same feeling, but her foot was ghostly pale.

Dr Winters was speaking again.

"--long-term outcomes, but I think that with--" And he had realised she wasn't listening. "Admiral?"

"Sorry," she said.

He made a note on his PADD. She could guess what it was. Inability to concentrate.

Winters looked up and caught her watching him.

"Sorry," she said again. "I was fine this morning. I just--"

"I don't have to tell you that recovery is difficult," he said. "In fact -- this might sound strange, but I was excited to be assigned your case. Your paper on treating senior flag officers was one of the inspirations for my PhD."

He didn't look old enough to have a medical degree, let alone a PhD on top of it. No, that was unfair, he was probably in his early thirties. She'd had a child by then, and was on her way to being chief medical officer on a starship.

Concentrate.

She said, "Then you know all my tricks."

He grinned. "And some more, probably."

Reminding her, gently, that his experience and research were more current than hers.

"I've taken the liberty of letting your family know about your rescue."

"You spoke to Sarah?"

"And your mother. They were both very happy. There hasn't been much good news in the last few months. I'm afraid your mother took a fall a few weeks ago -- ironically, she's in a facility like this on the other side of the quadrant. But Lieutenant Cornwell's commanding officer has given her leave. She'll be here in a few days."

"Where's Discovery right now?"

Dr Winters made another note, and said, "I'm afraid I don't know. Don't have clearance."

Probably true. Although she'd be surprised if he didn't have some connection with the intelligence services, given that he had been assigned to debrief an admiral.

Unless you're paranoid.

Her head was pounding. She'd have to record that for Noor. Unless it was psychosomatic.

"Admiral? Admiral Cornwell?"

Kat licked her lips. "You need to send a message to Admiral Terral. Tell him that I recommend -- no, I strongly urge -- I insist--" She broke off as a muscle spasm gripped her left foot and radiated slowly up her leg. Through gritted teeth, she said, "Relieve Captain Lorca of duty."

Winters gave her a worried look.

"You're in pain," he said. "I'll call the nurse."

"Good. Then call Terral."

Nurse Toda took one look at the scans and called Noor, but Kat's attention was -- at last -- on Winters, sitting back out of the way, reading something. Her file, she guessed, the complete version accessible only to Starfleet Medical unless she consented otherwise. The one which recorded Gabriel Lorca as her daughter's father.

Please see past that, she thought, this is not a personal vendetta or a relationship gone wrong or--

Noor pressed a hypospray to her neck, and the pain became distant.

"Please don't sedate me again," Kat whispered.

"Your body's rejecting some of the new nerve receptors," said Noor. "I need you back in surgery."

"No, not--"

"Don't be ridiculous, Katrina!"

She was tired of begging doctors to listen to her. Tired of scrabbling at hands and trying to hold them back.

"You know," she said as the darkness slowly claimed her, "the last person to take me seriously was Michael Burnham. A damned mutineer. What does that say about…"

*

"Gabriel."

He kept his distance, just beyond her ability to comfortably see him. The doctor had immobilised her. As if it wasn't bad enough that she couldn't feel her legs.

"Come here," she said, and added, "Give us some privacy," to the chief medical officer.

"Admiral--"

"Go," said Gabriel.

They were alone, and she immediately regretted it.

She regretted his closeness, too. He leaned over her, one hand over hers, the other beside her head. Close to her neck.

"Kat, you're okay. You're gonna be fine. I've destroyed the Ship of the Dead, Kat. We may actually win this thing."

He touched her cheek. Reminding her how near he was. Too intimate. She wanted to run away.

"Captain," she said, "you need to stand down. Relieve Tyler of duty, he's in no fit state to serve, and--"

He seized the distraction. "Tyler is a fine officer--"

"He had a post-traumatic flashback in the middle of a mission. He was disassociating. He needs help. So do you."

"Kat--"

"Did you think I'd forget? Or were you hoping I wouldn't come back?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched. She could see the flicker of the pulse in his jugular.

Her vision blurred, and she realised there was a tear trickling down her face, into her hair.

Gabriel wiped her eyes.

"Kat," he said gently, "it's almost over. I just have a few things to take care of. I need to make it right. Then I'll come back. Throw myself on Starfleet's mercy. And yours. I can fix this, Kat."

Too late, she wanted to say. They had more than thirty-five years of history, they had a daughter, but it was too late. His mental health and career might recover. Their friendship could burn for all she cared.

She said, "Don't touch me, Captain Lorca."

He obeyed, moving back and calling for the doctor.

"We're done," he said.

Another tear rolled into her ear.

"Ready, Admiral?" the doctor asked.

No. "Yes."

"Kat." As the sedative entered her system, Gabriel returned, looming over her, taking both of her hands in his, leaning forward and kissing her on the lips. His tongue grazed her teeth, and if she had had any strength left, she would have bitten it off.

He pulled away, and the last thing she saw before she passed out was the pity in the doctor's eyes as he looked down at her.

*

She woke up back in the post-op ward, with an ache in her lower back and a faint, but not unpleasant, tingling in the tips of her toes. When she opened her eyes, she found the lights were dimmed. Night, then. But which night? She felt like she hadn't moved in days.

A gentle snore interrupted her chain of thought. She shifted, and saw a figure curled up in the uncomfortable hospital chair, resting her head on her uniform jacket.

Kat had only seen her daughter briefly since the war started, a couple of weeks after the memorial service for the Buran. She had looked like the walking dead then, the only colour in her face the grey circles beneath her eyes, and her eyes themselves. Pale blue, like her father's.

Sarah still looked exhausted, and there were new lines around her eyes and mouth, a faint crease in her forehead that came and went as she dreamed. But her hair, coming loose from its ponytail, was glossy, and she had lost the fragility which had so worried Kat that day.

She could have watched Sarah sleep all night, but a nurse came in after half an hour or so, and Sarah stirred, meeting Kat's eyes and smiling while the nurse ran her tests.

"Mom," she said when they were alone, leaning forward to take Kat's hands, "Mom, I was so worried."

"I know, I know."

Kat reached out to cup Sarah's cheek in her hand --

Gabriel touching her cheek, as if the same hand hadn't just been wrapped around her throat--

Gabriel leaning down, tracing her lips, pushing himself into her space--

She stopped, and squeezed Sarah's shoulder instead.

"I'm home," Kat whispered. "I'll be fine, I promise." It was a promise as much to herself as to Sarah. "I just need time, okay?"

Sarah sniffled, wiped her nose and attempted to smile.

"You look like shit, Mom," she said.

Kat couldn't quite return the smile, but she managed to make her voice light as she said, "You sound like your grandmother."

"She sends her love. Not in those exact words, but … you know." Sarah leaned back, winding a strand of hair around her finger. "She had a fall a few days after we were told you'd been captured. Says she lost her footing climbing a Jeffries tube, but -- yeah."

"We could share a ward."

"You'd murder each other."

"Yeah." This time, Kat was able to smile. "How'd you get here so fast? Or -- how long was I out?"

"You went into surgery again this afternoon. I arrived a few hours ago." Sarah looked uncomfortable. "I … called in a favour."

"Really? You?"

Sarah shrugged, as if she hadn't spent her entire life avoiding anything which smacked of special treatment or nepotism.

"I needed to be here. And the Enterprise was en route, so … I called Captain Pike."

"Chris is here?"

"M'mm. They ran into Klingon forces out … somewhere." Sarah was getting drowsy again. "His first officer's getting a new set of lungs installed right now."

She pulled her chair closer to the bed and put her head on Kat's chest. Kat ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, smoothing it. Sarah closed her eyes.

"Dad know you're okay?" she asked.

Kat stilled.

"His crew got me out of there," she said eventually.

Voice carefully neutral, Sarah said, "How is he?"

Broken. Worse than either of us. What a family we are.

She was silent too long. Sarah looked up at her, watching her. She had always been perceptive.

"Like that, huh?" she said.

"It's complicated," said Kat.

Bitterness deepened the faint lines around Sarah's mouth. "It's always complicated."

Then she lowered her head, one hand curled around Kat's, and went to sleep, a dead weight on Kat's chest.

Kat wouldn't have pushed her away for the world.

As she drifted off, she realised she was moving her toes.

*

"It could have been worse," said Noor. "Considering. I had to replace some of the new tissue with artificial nerve receptors."

"Is that bad?"

"It's new. For humans, anyway. Betazoids have been using it for decades." Noor prodded Kat's ankle. "How's that?"

"Your hands are cold."

"Sorry." She didn't sound apologetic. "Try to lift your leg."

She failed, but she could feel her muscles trying.

Noor gave a satisfied nod. "I'll get a paper out of you," she said.

"Glad I could help." Kat relaxed her legs and leaned back. "Have you spoken to Dr Winters at all?"

"The psych? No. He took off after I knocked you out."

"I think I scared him."

"Katrina," said Noor gently, "you scared all of us."

Released from post-op, again, she was accompanied back to her room by Sarah and an unfamiliar but solicitous nurse. At least this time she was allowed to control her hoverchair, instead of being pushed like a child in a stroller. She might even start to get used to seeing the world from sternum-height.

Her replicator's menu was limited to bland, nutritious food, and her attempt to order a cup of coffee was met with prim disapproval. She settled for iced fruit tea (no sugar) and a light meal of fish, rice and green vegetables for herself and Sarah.

Sarah kept up a stream of -- she almost wanted to call it prattle: light, empty small talk about her quarters on starbase, her grandmother, her Parrises squares team's prospects at their next match. Gossip about her crewmates and Enterprise personnel she had encountered on her trip.

She carefully avoided serious topics: the war, Kat's captivity, the Buran. She wasn't quite as adept as her father at manipulating a conversation, but she didn't need to be. There was too much Kat couldn't talk about yet; she was happy to listen, to nod and say "Hmm" when Sarah slowed down, and let the chatter wash over her.

Until, when the plates had been recycled and she had finished her second glass of tea, Sarah took a deep breath and said, "Has Dad done something to piss you off?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Call it instinct."

Or projection.

"It's classified," said Kat at last. She watched Sarah drawing in on herself, tucking her elbows in, folding her hands together. "Sarah, have you spoken to anyone? Since--"

"Of course." She gave Kat the sort of are you joking or are you an idiot? look that had entered her repertoire around the time she turned eleven. "'Grief is messy, and I'm allowed to be angry.' So I am. Angry." The crease between her eyebrows deepened. "I wish I could stop. I'm so tired of -- every morning, I wake up, and for a few seconds I'm fine, until I remember. I'm sick of myself. And that just makes me angrier."

"That is normal."

"It's boring. But I can't seem to snap out of it. And I've tried -- well, a lot." She rubbed her nose. "You want to hear something stupid?"

"From you? Always."

That earned her a faint snort and a shadow of a smile. "Sometimes I think it would be easier if I was a proper widow. Not … in between. If I could say, 'Oh, my wife died in the war.' Instead of, 'My girlfriend, who was sort of my fiancée but we hadn't really talked about it properly yet, was killed in action.'"

"That's not stupid. Humans are drawn to labels and categories. They help us make sense of the world. And our feelings."

"Yeah. I guess I feel like I'm missing … something." Sarah stood up and returned her glass to the replicator for recycling. "Mostly? I miss Margot. And I miss who I was, before."

I miss you, too, Kat thought, but she just said, "It's been less than six months since the Buran. You need to give yourself time. And be kind to yourself." She squeezed Sarah's hand. "You're doing well, I promise."

Some of the tension left Sarah's body. She got to her feet and began to pace. It was a restlessness Kat recognised.

She made a point of stretching.

"You know," she said, "I'm really tired. I think I'll read for a few minutes, and then get some sleep. If you don't mind?"

Sarah seized on the excuse.

"Not at all," she said. "I might go for a run." She kissed Kat's temple. "Call me if you need anything. Grandma said I should bring you a bottle of vodka -- but I think she was joking. Mostly."

"Mostly."

Alone, Kat turned to the comm unit at her little desk. This time, her logins were active, but she only had access to superficial systems. Unclassified briefings, personal messages, her media library.

They don't know if you can be trusted, whispered the paranoid part of her mind, but she pushed that thought aside. More likely someone -- Dr Winters, for example -- had decided she'd concentrate better on recovery if she wasn't trying to catch up on everything she had missed during her captivity.

Just tell me where Discovery is, she begged silently. Tell me Gabriel can't do any more damage.

She settled, instead, for looking up Dr Winters' personnel file. It turned out that he had been born in the Tiwi Islands and educated in Sydney, Australia, so that was one small mystery resolved.

She replicated more tea and opened his PhD thesis on her PADD. She didn't have the energy to concentrate on his dense writing and complex research, but it was nice to just sit, not hungry or thirsty or in pain. To start to feel like herself again.

(When did worry about Gabriel become a normal part of her existence, a form of mental white noise that she could ignore until it grew too much? Probably the day she heard he had survived the Buran, or maybe the days after that, when all her messages went unanswered.)

(No. It was when she found out he was the only survivor of the Buran.)

And here she was again. Worrying about Gabriel. And about every life entrusted to his care.

She was pulled from her reverie by the door chime. She put down her PADD, hoping to see Dr Winters, but it was Chris Pike who entered her room.

He looked around and said, "Shoot me if I ever end up in a place like this."

Kat found herself almost smiling. "Trust me, Chris, some of the alternatives are worse. Have a seat. Drink?"

"Cold water, thanks." He sank onto the little couch, elbows on his knees. "I hate hospitals. The smell, you know? Puts me on edge."

He accepted a tall glass of water from Katrina. His fingers brushed hers, and though he couldn't quite smile, the lines around his eyes deepened.

"You look great, though. When I heard you'd been captured -- I'm glad you made it out."

"Me too," said Kat. "Thank you for bringing Sarah."

"We were on our way. I was glad to help."

"How's your first officer?"

"Recovering. The machines are still breathing for her. She'll be out of action for a while." He shook his head. "But the doctors say she'll recover. I just hope she doesn't take a medical discharge. We've lost too many good officers in this war."

"You don't have to tell me."

He managed something like a laugh, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, and Katrina couldn't bring herself to try.

Chris said, "Sarah lost someone, didn't she? That's why she--"

"Her fiancée. On the Buran."

"Shit." He put his glass down. "Yeah. That explains -- yeah. I asked how her dad was doing. Knew right away it was the wrong thing."

"It's a sore spot."

"If my old man had--"

"Yeah." Kat stared at her hands. "It's hard. For all of us."

Chris reached out, his hand hovering for a second over her knee. Then he thought better of it and stopped, and Kat exhaled.

"If you need anything," he said, "a friend or a starship captain, or someone to punch Gabriel on Sarah's behalf--"

Even in humour, the thought made her stomach turn. "That won't help."

"You sure? I've always said--"

"Chris. Please."

He stopped, looking at her. Examining her.

I don't need another old boyfriend swooping in and making promises he can't keep, she thought. I need a starship captain I can trust to--

To what? Follow orders she had no standing to make?

Chris straightened up.

"Anything you need, Admiral," he said.

"Thank you, Captain."

*

When Chris left, she called a nurse to help her into bed, and fell asleep thinking about the weapons systems on Constitution class starships and the sensation of the blanket against the tops of her feet.

Kat woke up a couple of hours later and, with a nurse's help, showered -- for the second time in two days, and it felt like an absurd luxury -- and ate another small, light meal. She thought of calling Sarah, but she was almost enjoying having time to herself, with adequate food and all the water she could drink, and air that wasn't full of blood and torture.

If not for her physical condition, she realised, it would have been easy to persuade herself that she was fine. Like Gabriel's Lieutenant Tyler. What had Gabriel been thinking, to return him to duty? How had he persuaded his chief medical officer to sign off on it?

Breathe.

She pushed the thought out of her head and, instead, placed a call to her mother. No response, so she recorded a message confirming that she was okay, Sarah was with her, everything was fine.

Her mom would take it with a grain of salt. But the effort made her feel better.

Her door chimed. This time it was Dr Winters, his face drawn and serious.

Kat felt her throat tighten.

"What's happened?" she asked.

He licked his lips. "As you advised, Admiral, I applied for a clearance upgrade. In fact, I contacted Admiral Terral directly. I've spent the last day immersed in the Discovery files."

"And?"

"May I sit down, Admiral?"

She gestured at the little couch by the window, and joined him.

Dr Winters said, "You've made a number of serious allegations against Captain Lorca. To me, to Dr Madani and her surgical team, to the emergency team on the medical transport."

"I know."

"I've seen your record. And his. Admiral Terral told me that your judgement is invaluable where the captain is concerned."

She didn't mean to speak, but she found herself saying, "Not this time. I didn't see it until it was too late."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Anxious. Guilty."

"Then, Admiral," said Dr Winters, "tell me about Captain Lorca."

*

Speech, ironically, deserted her. She had spent so many vulnerable moments frantically trying to share her fears, and so many waking hours pushing them aside. Now she had an audience, and the words were gone.

Winters was patient. He didn't push. Or judge. He replicated a jug of cold water and two glasses, and waited.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," he said when the silence had gone too long. "Tell me how you met."

"Officially? We met at the Academy."

"Unofficially?"

She smiled at the memory.

"Copernicus City. On Luna. This was before they raised the legal drinking age. Back then, it was practically mandatory to spend some time there."

Yet she had managed to avoid it until that week. Low gravity zones held no novelty for a kid who had grown up in rickety old space stations on the edge of Federation territory, and the thought of losing control in front of her privileged, planet-raised fellow cadets was the kind of thing she had nightmares about.

"It wasn't my thing at all," she said, "but I'd just had a relationship end, and my friends insisted. I was about to start my final year at the Academy, and I thought, screw it. I'll go, I'll have fun."

"I'm guessing from your tone that you didn't have fun," said Dr Winters.

"It turned out that I didn't care for crowds, loud music or sweet cocktails. Not every night, anyway. And I didn't want to get drunk and hook up with strangers."

"Is there anything else to do in Copernicus?"

"Not much."

She had found herself drifting through the clubs, drinking just enough to make the world slightly blurry, watching the mating rituals and feeling sorry for herself.

And on the edges, here and there, she kept seeing the same face. A young man -- well, a boy on the edge of adulthood -- who navigated the dark spaces with an easy confidence she envied. They made eye contact once, and he raised his violently purple drink to her in an ironic toast, then turned his attention back to the boy on his arm.

She saw him again a night later, kissing a girl in an alcove near a night club's waste recyclers. He didn't notice her, and she wouldn't have interrupted him for the world. At least someone was having fun.

The next day, sick of sitting around the hotel, waiting for her friends to wake up and recover from their nights, she left the city and took a transport south to the Apollo 12 Museum in the Ocean of Storms.

And on that transport, looking horribly bright-eyed despite the late nights and over-indulgence, was Gabriel Lorca.

"We got to talking. He'd been visiting that museum since he could walk, there was nothing new there for him. But when he found out that I'd never been, that this was my first time on Luna, he dropped the jaded act. He was … smart. Passionate about history. Ambitious."

"Charming?"

Kat wrinkled her nose. "He thought he was. It was cute."

The doctor winced. "Ouch."

"Anyway, I was a complete stranger having a bad time, and he helped me out. So we became friends."

Clumsily dancing in vacuum suits on the surface of the moon, with the Earth shining down on them.

There had been one other encounter on Luna, when an argument between Gabriel and his roommate almost turned into a brawl. While her friends broke up the fight, she had taken him back to her room and fixed the damage to his face.

Then he had kissed her, and they fumbled awkwardly in the tiny hotel bathroom, until they paused for breath and realised simultaneously what a bad idea it was. Fraternisation between first year and senior cadets was strictly forbidden, and he was eighteen and just out of high school, and she was twenty-one and felt a million years older. And she didn't want to be another of his summer break conquests.

They didn't even have to discuss it. Just stepped back, adjusting their clothes and trying not to touch each other.

"We weren't joined at the hip," she said now. "But we made time for each other. I thought of myself as his mentor, but it went both ways."

"How so?"

Kat pictured herself as a young woman, tall and gawky and forever out of place. "I grew up out near the Romulan neutral zone. The sorts of stations where the owners tried to keep replicator technology out, because they wanted to keep the crew shopping at the company stores. I was six before we had a food replicator in our quarters. Living on Earth and attending the Academy, surrounded by people who'd grown up without even a memory of want, who assumed that everyone else was just like them -- there was culture shock."

"I can imagine."

"I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder. And Gabriel was exactly the type of person who brought it out. But he also taught me how to fit in. Pass for someone like him." Kat studied her hands. "He made me laugh. And I trusted him."

"You had a child together."

"Yeah, eventually. We were never exclusive. We've never even lived together. We're incompatible in a lot of ways. I'm more or less a serial monogamist, and he's … not." When had the veins on the backs of her hands become so prominent? They looked like her mother's hands, not hers. "Gabriel was reliable. He respected me. Admired my ambition. He was a good father. A great officer." Her throat was tightening up. "I trusted him," she repeated.

Dr Winters said, "Are you ready to tell me what happened to change that?"

"The Buran." She hesitated. "I -- he -- we -- I'm prepared to waive doctor-patient privilege if it will make it easier to relieve Gabriel."

Winters looked at her.

"All right," he said, and pulled up a document on his PADD for her to sign. "I'm obligated to inform you that anything you share now--"

"Could go on my permanent record, yeah. I know. I don't care anymore."

Winters accepted the PADD back and said, "Tell me."

"Our daughter's partner was a security officer on the Buran. Margot. Lieutenant Margot Parata. I was at Utopia Planitia when the Buran was lost, overseeing the Crossfield Project, but I dropped everything to get to Starbase Thirty for the memorial. And Gabriel just … didn't speak to us. Not about anything important. And he could barely see, but he was already talking about his next command."

"Did that worry you?"

"Of course. I told myself that he was in denial. He needed time. I told Sarah that, too. We believed it, for a while." She wiped her eyes impatiently. "He shouldn't have been cleared for duty. I know what the tests say, but they're wrong." She could feel the panic and anger rising again. "He lied. Actively deceived everyone. Even me."

"Breathe," said Dr Winters. "You're quite safe here."

When she was calmer, she said, "He campaigned to get Discovery. It wasn't like him at all. But everywhere I looked, he was calling in favours. Politicking. I heard a rumour he even got his mother to put in a word on his behalf."

"His mother?"

"Francesca Lorca. Federation Councillor for Earth." Kat pushed her hair out of her face. "The man I knew would have cut his own throat before he relied on nepotism. I put it down to gossip, but now…. Anyway, he was shortlisted for Discovery."

"Under your command."

"Yeah. I recused myself from the selection process as soon as his name came up. That … seems like a mistake, now."

"Why do you say that?"

"Hindsight. If I had lobbied against him--" She sipped her water. "I know it's pointless to obsess over hypotheticals, but I'm his senior officer. I'm responsible."

"How'd you go from recusing yourself to giving Captain Lorca his orders?"

"Terral. He came up through the Vulcan Expeditionary Group. He finds humans complicated, so my background in psychiatry is useful there. When I told him that I had a personal relationship with Captain Lorca, he said it would be a strength." She managed a weak smile. "Vulcans don't have rules against fraternisation. They're not emotionally compromised, the way we are. At least, that's what they say."

"What was it like, working with the captain?"

"Fine. At first. He kept me at arm's length, but I thought he was just keeping it professional. Until…" She tried to think back. "I can't remember exactly when I realised it was a facade."

"'It'?"

"Everything."

Dr Winters waited for her to clarify.

"His demeanour. What I thought was professionalism was just … avoidance. He was still staying away from me. And my oversight. Making questionable choices, but they were working out for him, so everyone thought he was brilliant."

"Except you?"

Kat wrapped her hands around her water glass, letting the chill distract her.

"I always knew he was brilliant," she said. "He had nothing to prove to me. Nothing to hide. So why was he lying?" She shook her head. "I went through his psych evaluations. Textbook perfect, every one. Even the brain scans. There was just enough change from his peacetime results to seem plausible, but none of it matched up with what I was seeing. Then he went and picked a fight with Terral. I went out to Discovery to confront him."

"What happened?"

"I slept with him," Kat admitted. "We talked. Well, I talked, he deflected the conversation. We drank scotch. I tried to push, he pulled away. I thought going to bed might help us connect." She stopped to draw a shaky breath. "And I missed my friend." She met Winters' eyes. "You gonna lecture me on fraternisation?"

"That's not my job," he said. "Did it help? Did you connect?"

"No. No, he said all the right things, but it was like being with a stranger. I could have been anyone. And then--" She realised she was touching her neck, and stopped.

"What?" Dr Winters asked.

"I woke him up," Kat whispered. "Took him by surprise, and he had a hand around my throat and a phaser pointed at my head in a second."

It was oddly gratifying to see Winters' eyes widen, his professional detachment cracking just a little.

"Were you scared?" he asked.

"Yes." She blinked, and a fat, hot tear rolled down her cheek. "He was panicking. He didn't know where he was, or who I was -- and then he did, and that was worse. Because I'd seen through the facade, but he still thought he could talk his way out of it."

"What did he say?"

"He was apologising, but--" she had to stop to wipe her eyes again. "He was leaning over me. Touching my face. I think he was trying to comfort me, but I felt threatened."

"What did you do?"

"Got up. Dressed. Told him he'd be relieved of duty." Her voice was cracking. She held out her glass. "Could you get me some more water, please?"

He did so, along with a box of tissues. Kat blew her nose and poured herself a fresh glass of water, drained it, then poured another.

"He started begging."

"To keep his command?"

"Yeah. He said it was all he had. Told me he lied on the tests."

"In so many words?"

"'I admit it, I lied on the tests.'" There had been times, during her captivity, when the words ran around and around her mind, until she started to wonder if the Klingons had devised a way to use her own memories to torture her. "He promised he'd get help."

"Did you believe him?"

"I believed that his panic was real. And that he'd say anything to keep his command."

Dr Winters gave a silent, mirthless little hah.

"I turned and walked out. Less than an hour later, he asked me to take Sarek's place at the peace talks."

"And you agreed."

"How could I not?"

He conceded the point.

"I knew it was probably a trap. And that Starfleet wouldn't sanction a rescue. I had fantasies of Discovery swooping in to save me, but I knew it wouldn't happen. And that was good. So I told myself."

"Did you believe it?"

"On and off." She drank more water. "I sent a message to Terral before I left Discovery, but it was … incomplete. Just letting him know I was worried about Gabriel, and Terral should encourage him to take medical leave and seek counselling. That was my next mistake."

"What made you hold back?"

"I doubted myself," Kat said. "He wasn't the only one panicking back there. I was angry and scared. Not in a good place for making decisions. I thought, if he really wanted help, he might step down voluntarily. Preserve his career." She hesitated, then said, "There was also an element of self-interest. I didn't want fraternisation with a subordinate on my record."

Winters nodded.

"I don't care anymore," she added. "My perspective has changed."

"Three weeks as a prisoner of war can do that."

"No," she said. "Maybe. I can't even think about that yet. I was thinking of my rescue. And after."

The doctor looked up at her.

"Go on," he said.

"Captivity wasn't … it could have been worse. I was beaten and tortured, then hauled off to a medic to be patched up so it could start again -- but I knew where I stood. I'd hold on as long as I could, but I was going to die on that ship. And that seemed … easy."

Winters looked dubious, but didn't argue with her.

"Then L'Rell turned up, and we came so close to escape. The last thing that went through my head as she slammed me into that power relay was gratitude, that I wouldn't have to worry anymore about breaking under torture.

"Next thing I knew, Michael Burnham was injecting me full of stimulants and painkillers, and her crewmate was having a trauma flashback in the middle of a mission."

It was easy to talk about counselling Tyler through his episode. A relief to discuss someone else's trauma, and to bask in the doctor's professional respect.

A sort of sick reprieve before rescue finally came, and she found herself in Discovery's sickbay, begging to see Gabriel.

"And I was begging," she said. "I was frantic. I wanted to tell the doctor to relieve Gabriel of duty, but I knew he wouldn't listen. But I got him to call Gabriel down. Eventually."

"And?"

"And…" Now she wanted to cry, but she couldn't. "He told me it would be okay. Everything would be fine. And he wasn't even trying to pretend it was true." Her hands were shaking. She knotted her fingers and squeezed her hands between her knees. "I was paralysed. Sedated. Effectively restrained. He kept touching my face, and I couldn't pull away. And he kissed me."

"Against your will."

Kat nodded. Her voice was low and tight as she said, "At least the Klingons didn't give me platitudes. I just lay there." She tried to laugh. "What else could I do? My oldest friend was screwing me over. He would have left me for dead, but his crew saved me. So now he was destroying my credibility. I saw the way the doctor looked at me, after Gabriel left."

"How was that?"

"Pity."

"Because you were assaulted?"

"Because I was romantically involved, and wounded, and hysterical." Anger rose up in her throat. "And I did it to myself, too. Every second I could, I was begging someone to listen. Until I realised I was just damaging my own credibility."

"I'm listening now," said Winters. "And I'm not the only one. Everyone who heard you got your message to Admiral Terral."

She blinked. "Everyone?"

"Everyone. Including Discovery's chief medical officer. He sent the recordings of your vital signs, too. He was very disturbed by the way your stress levels increased while Captain Lorca was with you."

"Huh."

"Do you want to press charges?"

"Against Gabriel?"

"Conduct unbecoming. Along with the rest."

Kat wanted to get up and pace. She settled for flexing her calf muscles.

"I don't know," she said at last. "I want him to burn in hell. I want him absolutely destroyed. Humiliated. Forever. I've never hated a sentient being the way I hate Gabriel right now."

"But?"

She shook her head.

"Sarah."

"I see."

"I want to protect her."

"That's quite understandable."

"And myself, I guess. It's that self-interest again."

"You don't have to decide now," said Dr Winters. "In fact, I'd urge you not to. But it's an option to keep in mind."

"Thank you."

"How are you feeling?"

She wished she could say, Unburdened and light.

"I have a headache. Not--" she waved vaguely at the back of her head as Dr Winters pulled the scanner from his tricorder. "Just tension."

"I can give you something for that."

"Thanks." She checked the time, and realised with surprise that it wasn't quite nineteen-hundred hours. It felt much later. But the hypospray the doctor gave her relieved the tension in her neck and head, and she realised she was hungry.

"Will you be okay if I leave you now?" Winters asked.

"Yeah, Dr Madani will be around to check up on me any minute."

"Good." Winters stood up. "My feeling right now is that addressing the matter of Captain Lorca is our highest priority."

"Terral--"

"I'll send him my preliminary report tonight, but I was actually talking about your recovery, Admiral. I notice you've barely mentioned your captivity, except to downplay it."

"I'm not trying to be stoic," said Kat. "I just can't think about anything else until I know Gabriel and his crew are safe."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing.

"I'll speak to Admiral Terral as soon as I can," he said, and left her alone.

Noor made approving noises at her physical progress, and she even managed to move her toes and lift her legs a centimetre or so off the bed.

"Tomorrow," Noor said, "if I'm still happy with your progress, I'm going to cut your gravity down to one-sixth and hand you over to the physical therapists. Still getting pins and needles?"

"It comes and goes."

"Numbness?"

"The inside of my left knee, but it didn't last long."

"Hmm." Noor made a note. "It's nineteen-twenty hours. I want you to eat and get an early night. Dr Winters doesn't want you taking anything for sleep at this point, so I recommend a light meal and a cup of chamomile tea." She helped Kat sit up and return to her hoverchair, and left.

Dinner was beef and vegetable soup, a small piece of fine white bread and a fruit salad. Kat found herself craving richer protein, the fungus wedges she had eaten as a child, or a bloody steak.

She was dragged back to her chamber to find the standard dry rations replaced with a heaving bowl of worms. A sick joke, or a kind gesture?

Her stomach heaved as the first worm popped in her mouth, fresh blood sliding down her throat, but she forced herself to keep eating until the bowl was empty.

She pushed her tray away.

"Not hungry?" Sarah asked.

"I've had enough." Kat picked up the bread and began to tear it into pieces, rolling them into balls.

Sarah watched her, undeceived. She picked up her own bread and said, "Scuttlebutt has it the war's all but done. We'll be down to border patrols and prisoner exchange by the end of next month."

Doubtful, Kat thought.

"I hope so," she said.

"Francesca was on the newsfeeds. Full of praise for Starfleet's heroes."

"Good for her."

"I reached out to Dad this afternoon."

That got Kat's attention. She looked up sharply.

"What did he say?" she asked.

Sarah snorted, a hint of a sneer touching her lips. "Nothing. He didn't answer. I don't know why I bothered." She stirred her soup. "Are you going to tell me to give him time? Again?"

"No." Kat's voice was hard. The words, I am weighing up whether or not to have your father charged with assault hovered on the edge of her tongue. She pushed them down and said, "If you're waiting for your father to show remorse or grief or -- or self-awareness, you're wasting your time."

Sarah's eyes widened.

"Let it go," Kat said.

After all the months of grief and resentment on Sarah's side, and silence on Gabriel's, she would have expected this new advice to come as a relief. Instead, Sarah just looked concerned, and walked on eggshells for the rest of the evening.

Sleep came more easily than she expected, but she had vivid dreams of walking through endless corridors, chasing someone or something she couldn't reach. Until she went through the wrong door, and found herself trapped in a Klingon sarcophagus, the smell of death around her, and Gabriel holding her down.

She woke up crying. Heaving, painful sobs that racked her body, and she couldn't even roll over to muffle the noise in a pillow.

The sound attracted a nurse, who, seeing there was nothing physically wrong, helped her sit up and brought her tissues and more tea and a wet towel for her face.

"Would you like me to sit with you, Admiral?" he asked, but Kat just put her face in her hands and waved him away.

It was grief, she realised when the worst of the tears had passed. Gabriel had been part of her life for so long, and now he wasn't. If he had died, she could grieve and move on, but this break -- she was angry as well as sad, and frustrated by her own powerlessness.

You can't save him, she told herself, again. You've done everything you can to protect his crew.

Yeah, but too late.

Take care of yourself. Look after Sarah. Sit with your grief.

Easier said than done. And lurking behind that were her memories of captivity. The longer she pushed them away, the harder it would be to manage the trauma.

She drank half her tea and lay down, trying to think back on her weeks with the Klingons. But it was memories of Gabriel that kept rising to the surface: his face when he held Sarah for the first time, the way he gripped her hips the first time they kissed. His hand holding hers through the vacuum suit as they left the pressurised dome and stepped out onto the bare surface of Luna.

I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorrier you didn't want to save me.

His mouth on hers. The bitter taste of promises he wasn't going to keep.

This time, her sobs were silent.

*

She slept badly, when she finally did sleep, and woke up to a nurse shaking her awake and bringing her breakfast. Sarah followed a few minutes later, and Kat braced herself for the effort of being sociable, but Sarah seemed as tired and melancholy as Kat. They ate in silence.

She had dreaded low-gravity rehab. Being in one-sixth gravity always reminded her of the surface of the Earth's moon, and Gabriel. But it turned that, even at sixteen percent gravity, the effort of moving her legs and hips was sufficient to wipe any other consideration from her mind.

Her physical therapist was a Betazoid man with a shaved head and the stolid poker face of a telepath who knew exactly what his patients wanted to do to him as they suffered under his care. He introduced himself as Ander, addressed her as Katrina, and didn't seem to know anything about her that wasn't in her chart. Nor did he care. She appreciated that, and tried to repay it by not swearing too loudly in her head as she tried to raise her legs while holding a foam ball between her ankles.

"You're doing well," he said eventually. "Do you want a rest?"

"Not yet," Kat said, her teeth gritted. She was covered in sweat and her legs were shaking, and her lower back was beginning to ache, but she felt magnificent.

"Two more minutes," Ander said. "I'm very pleased with your progress, Katrina. I might have you walking in low gravity within a week, if you keep this up." He gave her a pointed look and added, "Provided you don't set yourself back by pushing too hard."

Well. Didn't need to be a telepath to say that. Just a health professional.

"I'll be good," she promised.

"Keep the ball. I've given instructions that your room is to be kept at sixteen percent gravity for the next four hours. Practice the exercises for five minutes every hour, and no more. And don't try it at full gravity yet." He tapped his temple. "I'll know. See you tomorrow, Katrina."

The best thing about low gravity was that Kat was able to maneuver herself between her hoverchair and bed. Showering was not advised at one-sixth, but she cleaned herself up and changed into fresh sweats, and felt like a whole new woman.

Her messages contained an apologetic note from Dr Winters, saying that he was caught up in urgent business and wouldn't see her that day, but if she wished to record a personal log, he would be happy to look it over and discuss it when he could.

She did not wish, she decided. The thought of spending another day sitting with her feelings and memories made her stomach churn.

Instead, she called her mother, and they had a long chat about nothing in particular. New model hand phasers. Rumours of movement along the Romulan neutral zone.

It was going nicely until her mom said, "How's Gabriel?"

"Fine. I think. I haven't spoken to him in a while." Which was technically true. "What do the doctors say about your progress? When--"

"Fuck my progress, Katie. I'm ninety-two years old, there's only so much they can do. Except force me to retire, and, you know, maybe it's time. Anyway, Sarah says her father has done something to piss you off, but you won't talk about it."

"I can't, Mom. It's classified. I thought you liked Gabriel."

He had always gotten on better with her mother than his own. When he was on paternity leave, she'd get home from her shift to find him sitting with Yvonne in her little garden, Sarah nestled in his arms, listening to one of her heavily embellished stories of life on the frontier.

But now she said, "I could forgive him for killing Margot, if he'd only fucking talk about it. I never thought he was a coward, but Sarah is fucking broken, and he won't even speak to her. And now she says he's done something to you."

"He hasn't," Kat said, a little too quickly. "He…" She sighed, reviewing what she could recall of the confidentiality clauses. "He could have rescued me. He was right not to do so, I understand, but I just -- it's hard."

It wasn't a lie. Just the smallest part of the truth.

Her mother nodded.

"I understand. That's a hard position."

"I don't know if I can forgive him," Kat whispered.

Her mom smiled sadly. "That's what Sarah said. You need me to kick his ass, baby?"

"What, from your hoverchair?"

"You hold him down. I'll shoot him."

Kat found herself laughing, which turned into a sob.

"Oh, Katie," her mom said, reaching out. "Fuck him. Don't let it break you. He made a hard choice, and it was probably the right one -- but you survived anyway, so fuck him. Be angry. Long as you need to be."

Between gasps, Kat said, "Is that -- what you told -- Sarah?"

"In so many words."

"And -- Gabriel?"

Her mom smiled. "I sent him a message a couple of months back. I said that I knew he was going through a difficult time, and if he needed to talk about it, he should fuck off and try anyone else in the galaxy, because until he pulled himself together and had a proper conversation with my granddaughter, as far as I was concerned, he could go and fuck himself."

"And?"

"Well. I know he watched it. Want me to send the same again for you?"

Kat just shook her head.

*

She did the exercises. She tried to read an important novel about the early years of the Martian colony. It turned out to be heavy going, which was probably why she had been putting off reading it since it was published a decade earlier. She started a thriller instead, but abandoned that when the heroine was abducted and tortured by Romulans.

So she turned to the newsfeeds. The Klingons were dividing into factions, and engagements were limited to border skirmishes and ground combat, as they struggled to hold the planets they had taken.

There wasn't so much of a whisper of Discovery's movements. Back on Starbase Forty-Six, she had a team of five officers dedicated to keeping rumours and speculation about Discovery from the media and social channels, but they had never been completely successful. Either their work had dramatically and improbably improved, or Gabriel had become far more discreet since her capture, or Discovery had simply vanished.

Strange.

But not, she reminded herself, her problem.

Nevertheless, she returned to the comm and placed a call to Terral.

To her amazement, he answered. There was even a subtle lifting of his eyebrows, a widening of his eyes, which made her think he was happy to see her.

"Katrina," he said. "It's good to see you're recovering."

"Thank--"

"But I was given to understand you would not be returning to active duty for some time." He raised one eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"I'd feel better if I knew what was happening with Discovery," Kat said. "I know my clearances are frozen, but if you could just give me an idea--"

"Katrina," said Terral, "you know very well that I cannot."

"Admiral--"

His attention was caught for a moment by something she couldn't see, and for the first time, she realised he wasn't taking this call from his office on Starbase Forty-Six. Behind him was a cabinet with transparent aluminium doors, which clearly reflected a starfield distorted by subspace.

"Where are you?" she asked. "You're at high warp. Terral, what's happening?"

He returned his gaze to her.

"Admiral Cornwell," he said, "I've seen the preliminary report from Dr Winters. I understand your concern for the Discovery and her crew. But this is entirely out of your hands. You must focus on recovery. I'm prepared to make that a direct order if I have to."

Kat forced herself to smile.

"You don't," she said. "I understand. I was out of line."

"Not at all, Katrina. You're in a difficult position. But I must ask you to trust me."

She nodded.

"Thank you for your time, Admiral Terral."

"Live long and prosper, Admiral Cornwell."

She closed the channel and, forgetting the low gravity, hurled her foam ball across the room. It flew in a long, graceful arc, bouncing off the far wall and coming to rest on the floor near her feet.

She couldn't reach it.

Kat sent a short, sharp message to Dr Winters, asking him to call or visit at his earliest convenience. She resisted the urge to make it an order, but she suspected her tone of voice made it obvious.

Then she called a nurse to retrieve her foam ball and went on with her exercises.

*

Winters got back to her the next day, but was evasive when she asked about his report to Terral, or what had kept him away. Kat didn't push. If she were his commanding officer, she'd have given him Gabriel's psych evaluations and demanded a detailed profile, ideally with an unreasonable deadline. If he was now reporting to Terral, he might have that job, plus the task of filling her shoes as Terral's personal guide to the human psyche.

Either way, she was not presently entitled to know. And she had too much self-respect -- she hoped -- to push a young officer to violate confidentiality.

Instead, they talked about her captivity. Klingon food, the torture, the unpleasant sensation of dermal regenerators designed for alien skin, then a few hours of rest and the beginning of a new cycle.

"I told myself that the only power I had was in not breaking," she said. "But I knew there'd come a point where I'd have the power to make the torture stop."

"By talking?"

"Mm."

"Very few people can withstand prolonged torture."

"I know. But this … wasn't so bad."

Dr Winters raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not downplaying it," she added. "It was -- when Burnham told me she wasn't on a rescue mission, that she was going to leave me in that -- that morgue, I nearly cried. She gave me a phaser, and I really think that if I'd been alone, I might have thought about shooting myself."

He overlooked her waffling -- 'might have thought about' -- and said, "But you weren't alone. You had Lieutenant Tyler in your care."

"Yeah. And he was a prisoner for seven months. Then went straight back to serving." She shook her head. "That's why I think my experience wasn't so bad. I was so close to giving up. But he survived so long. I'd like to talk to him again, after--" she changed tack. "I admire him." She fumbled for humour. "There can't be more than half a dozen ex-PoWs, right? Perfect size for a therapy group."

"I think we're up to fifteen, actually," said the doctor. "But you and Tyler were held for the longest."

"Shit." Animals. "What's Tyler's secret? You should write a paper."

"In time. How are you sleeping?"

"Badly. I've taken to lying awake at night, reviewing starship weapons systems."

"Revenge fantasies?"

"Maybe. Beats counting sheep, though."

She wanted a starship again. Small and fast and heavily armed. Starbase Eighty-Eight had only the most rudimentary defences. She outlined them for Sarah over dinner, knowing it was a coping mechanism, and not even a subtle one, but also not caring.

When she had run out of words, Sarah said, "I've applied for a transfer. There's a position here in life support systems. I could do it in my sleep."

Kat put her fork down.

"Are you out of your mind?" she asked. "You're a xenobotanist. I know you had to put your work on hold for the war, but--"

"I'm not leaving you like this," said Sarah. "You'll end up collecting vintage phase pistols and brewing your own moonshine, like Grandma."

Or sleeping with a phaser under my pillow? Attacking my lovers when they wake me? Not that she was planning to take a lover any time soon. Noor had matter-of-factly promised that her sexual function would recover, same as everything else, but right now, nothing seemed less appealing.

"You shouldn't be alone," Sarah was saying.

Kat picked up her fork and wrenched her mind back to the issue at hand.

"I'm not," she said. "I'm surrounded by professionals. I don't need you … hovering." That sounded too dismissive. She speared an unfamiliar purple root vegetable with her fork and added, "It's a kind thought, and I appreciate it, but I couldn't live with myself if you threw away your career just to stagnate in life support systems and watch me learn to walk again."

"Mom," said Sarah, leaning forward, "I need you to understand something: I don't care about my career anymore. I don't. I enjoy my work, I love research, but I'd walk away without a second thought if I could--" She was tearing up. "I lost Margot. I think I've lost Dad, and I thought I'd lost you. Please, please don't send me away."

Kat pressed her right hand over Sarah's and moved around the table to pull her daughter close, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances.

When Sarah was calm, Kat said, "I'm going to offer a suggestion, and you can ignore it if you want."

"But you'd rather I didn't." Sarah wiped her nose. "Okay."

"Request an extended medical leave and mental health support."

"But I don't—"

"You do need it. Have you taken more than a few days since Margot?"

Sarah shook her head.

"The war—"

"Seems to be winding up. The fleet can do without you for a couple of months." This insistence that the universe wouldn't cope without her, did Sarah get that from Gabriel? Or Kat? "I promise, I'd give this advice to any young officer in your shoes. You're no good to anyone if you're running on fumes." She squeezed Sarah's hand and let it go. "And it would be nice to have you around."

"I'll think about it," Sarah promised.

Later that night, Kat lay awake, Sarah's words echoing through her head. I think I've lost Dad.

It was only twenty-two hundred. Barely late, by Sarah's standards. Kat retrieved her PADD and sent a short message.

Why do you say you think you've lost your father? Has he spoken to you?

Sarah's reply came straight away.

No. I had a call from Caroline this afternoon. He's not taking her calls, either. Felt like the nail in the coffin.

Then she added, And go to sleep.

Kat did, but the question nagged at her the next day. It wasn't a sign of anything, Kat told herself as she brushed her teeth and tied her hair back for another session with the physical therapist. Gabriel had a tense relationship with both of his mothers, to the point that Sarah was almost three before they even learned they had a granddaughter. And he was consistently avoiding contact with everyone who really knew him.

Nevertheless, when she had completed physical therapy, she showered and put on proper clothes for the first time since her rescue. Just soft leggings and a dress, and she didn't bother with shoes, but it was enough to bolster her self-esteem. She pinned her hair up, and even considered putting on make-up.

No. Don't give her the satisfaction of thinking you've made an effort on her behalf.

She studied her reflection for a moment longer, then shut off the mirror, steeled herself, and placed a call to the office of the Earth representative to the Federation Council.

She was routed through two assistants and the secretary to the chief of staff, and had to reiterate twice that she was a Starfleet vice admiral with security and combat oversight. After forty minutes, with a warning that the Councillor could spare just five minutes, she was looking at Francesca Lorca's tanned, lined face and bright blue eyes.

"Katrina," she said, her voice alive with a pleasure she certainly didn't feel, "my briefings didn't mention you were back on active duty already. Are you sure you're up to it?"

Fuck you, Francesca.

"I won't take up too much of your time," she said, making her voice as warm as she could manage. "When did you last speak to Gabriel?"

Francesca raised her eyebrows. "I think it was some weeks ago."

"You talk for long?"

"I know you've been away from things for the last month, Katrina, but surely you remember what this war is like. We're both very busy."

"I hadn't forgotten. What about Caroline?"

"She's been working from Alpha Colony since September. I can't say I keep tabs. I'd assume she sends a message every couple of weeks. It's her usual routine."

"How did--"

"Katrina." Francesca's voice had lost all semblance of friendliness, and her eyes were hard. "I know you've been making allegations about Gabriel's fitness for command. No less than three people have been kind enough to drop by, saying I 'ought to know' what kind of rumours are flying about my son. And who has been starting them."

She leaned forward, her face filling the screen. "Believe it or not, Katrina, I've always respected you as an officer, and as the mother of my granddaughter. But I promise, if you pursue this vendetta against Gabriel, I will destroy you. You'll end up in a dead end position in the dullest, most distant corner of Federation space -- and that's if you have a career left at all. Don't underestimate my influence."

"I don't," said Kat. Her fists were clenched, and she prayed the tension in her shoulders wasn't obvious. "Did you use that influence to ensure Gabriel was assigned command of Discovery?"

Francesca's eyebrows flicked up. "I don't like what you're implying."

"Did he ask you to? Or did you take the initiative?"

"If you think you can discredit me as well as Gabriel, you--"

"I think lives are at stake and I don't give a fuck about the politics, Francesca." It came out louder and harsher than Kat intended. "He's not psychologically fit for command, and if you had anything to do with his posting to Discovery, you're as responsible for the deaths as -- as me."

Francesca's face was pitying.

"Are you looking to share the blame, Katrina?"

"Good officers have already died because Gabriel's judgement is impaired. I'm just trying to save lives."

"If believing that is what helps you sleep at night." Francesca's hand hovered over the comm console. "I think I'll forget that this conversation took place. For Sarah's sake." Her lips thinned. "Don't contact me again, Admiral Cornwell."

She cut the connection, and Kat buried her head in her hands and screamed. Which summoned two nurses, and she had to persuade them that she was fine, there was no need at all to call Dr Madani or Dr Winters or anyone, she just needed some time and for people to leave her alone.

They obeyed, but reluctantly. Kat's hips ached and her feet were cold, and she suspected she was an outburst away from having her comm access revoked. She took a deep breath, replicated a cup of herbal tea and, before she lost her nerve, sent a personnel file to Francesca Lorca. Let her consider the final weeks of Ellen Landry's life, culminating in her gruesome death because Gabriel had pushed her too hard.

Looking to share the blame? Fuck you, Francesca.

Then she drank her tea and concentrated on breathing and gentle exercises until Sarah joined her for lunch.

The first thing Dr Winters said when he arrived was, "I hear you contacted Captain Lorca's mother."

"Let me guess. She called Terral. Terral called you. Told you to rein me in."

"Not quite. Her chief of staff made the call."

"Are you reporting to Terral now?"

"For the time being," was all Winters would say.

"Do you work for Starfleet intelligence?"

His long fingers flexed.

"I've spent the last few years in internal investigations," he said. "I wanted to get back to patient care. Working with you seemed like a good opportunity."

"Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for."

Kat exhaled. "Starfleet doesn't trust me."

"Starfleet's an institution. It doesn't have feelings either way." He sat down. "The people who know you are concerned."

"About whether I'm an agent for the other side?"

"About your health, Katrina!" It was the first time he had used her first name. "Your fixation on Captain Lorca is impeding your recovery, and now it looks like you're going to throw your career away."

"If I were a double agent," said Kat, "it'd be a nice trick. Throw the sector into chaos making allegations against a key player in the war. Start rumours that threaten a senior politician."

"From what I saw," said Winters, "you weren't the one making threats."

"You're monitoring my outgoing calls."

"It was recorded at Councillor Lorca's end. Her chief of staff sent a copy to Admiral Terral, with a few suggestions for what he could do with you." Winters leaned back. "No one believes you're a double agent."

"Just paranoid?"

"Maybe a bit," he conceded. "Look at it this way: my patient is a fifty-seven-year-old flag officer. Despite her exemplary record, she engaged in an ill-considered intimate encounter with a subordinate, which ended in violence. Just a day later, she was captured by the enemy and endured three weeks of torture and deprivation. An escape attempt left her with severe injuries. Now free, she is dealing with exaggerated feelings of responsibility for her subordinate--"

"It's not--"

"--and is engaging in behaviour which undermines both her recovery and her sterling professional reputation." He held out his hands. "What would you recommend for my patient, Dr Cornwell?"

She huffed. "When you put it that way, it's obvious. Your patient needs to trust her doctors. Put it all out of her head. Let go of her grief and guilt and concentrate on herself."

"Easy to say."

Kat picked at her fingernails.

"She's powerless," she said at last. "Even before she was captured -- since her friend attacked her in bed. She keeps coming back to that moment." She swallowed, her hand twitching to touch her throat. She squeezed it between her knees instead. "She knows Starfleet has listened to her, is taking action against … her friend. But she's not allowed to know more, and it makes her anxious."

"How would you help her? Assuming that giving her access to more information is both contraindicated and expressly forbidden by her senior officer."

"Behavioural therapy. Drugs to control her adrenal response. Give her something else to think about." She shrugged. "Maybe she can take up basket weaving."

Winters smiled.

"Mostly," Kat said, "I guess she just needs time."

"To heal?"

"To forgive herself."

Her mouth was dry. But she didn't cry.

Instead of basket weaving, Winters persuaded Noor to give her the run of the medical wing for a few hours a day, and freedom to explore the starbase, provided she was properly rested and completing her low gravity rehab. Kat felt a little like a child being provided with a shiny toy to keep her from throwing tantrums, but between the change of scene, the more intensive behavioural therapy and the new cocktail of drugs to micromanage her brain chemistry, she also felt better.

"It's probably psychosomatic," she told Chris's first officer. "But I'll take it."

The commander smiled, but her new lungs were still too fragile to permit speech.

Hey, I had brain surgery a few days ago, and look at me now, Kat thought. Her physical therapist had promised she could start walking in a couple of days' time, although he also warned she'd find it difficult.

"You been watching the newsfeeds?" she asked. The commander nodded. "It really does look like the war's almost over. I just wish I could get access to a briefing document."

The commander mouthed, Chris?

"Sure, I could ask him. But I'm trying not to piss off my doctors too much."

As if on cue, the commander's doctor arrived for her next round of tests. He pointedly glanced from Kat to the door. It wasn't a subtle hint.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

Chess, the commander mouthed.

"Sure. One of these days, I might even come close to winning."

The commander shook her head, but she was smiling.

Chris took her out to dinner that night, at a restaurant which overlooked the starbase's vast observation deck. Her possessions had arrived from Starbase Forty-Six, and she deliberately overdressed: dark red tunic, boots, a silver necklace and matching earrings. Starbase Eighty-Eight was full of Starfleet officers recovering from war injuries, and she was far from the only person in a hoverchair, dressed up for the sheer pleasure of being alive to do it.

She let him dominate the conversation while she enjoyed a meal slightly richer and more flavoursome than the infirmary replicator would allow. The Enterprise was short-handed following its encounter with the Klingons -- his first officer was just the worst of many casualties -- but he was in and out of the sector on short-range missions.

"Constitution class ships are targets," she agreed between bites of white meat in a sauce that tasted like butter but wasn't. "All it takes is a Klingon commander with a taste for glory--"

"Exactly. Keep them away from the starbase, at least." He sipped his drink. "It's a good opportunity for assignment rotation. I've got my science officer filling in for Number One. He's pretty green, but he's a fast learner." Chris paused. "No pun intended. Racial or otherwise."

"Sorry?"

"My science officer. He's literally green."

"Orion?"

"Vulcan. Came up through Starfleet Academy, if you can believe it."

"I can." She remembered seeing some of the paperwork. "Spock, right? He's Michael Burnham's brother."

Chris blinked. "Michael Burnham, the mutineer?"

"Mm'm. Raised on Vulcan after her parents died."

"Huh. I don't think I know anything about Spock's family. I guess there's a reason for that. Hard enough being the first Vulcan at Starfleet Academy, without your sister -- foster sister?"

Kat shrugged. "I didn't ask."

"You've met her?"

"She's the reason I made it off that Klingon ship."

Chris's eyes narrowed. "You like her."

"I barely know her. And I thought it was a mistake to give her a place on Discovery." She could think of that conversation without flinching. Dr Winters would be proud of her. "But I've never been so happy to open my eyes and see a human face before."

"Well, it doesn't make up for starting the war--"

"You know as well as I do that's an overstatement--"

"--But I guess it's a start."

Over dessert -- fresh fruit grown on the station, and a homeopathic quantity of sorbet -- Chris said, "If you can spare her, I'm thinking of offering Sarah a place on the Enterprise."

"You know she won't accept favours."

"It's not a favour. I need someone to pick up Spock's slack while he fills in for Number One, and Sarah's the best qualified. But if you need her--"

I need her to be well and whole.

Kat just said, "Don't hold back on my account."

"I'll offer her a transfer tomorrow, then." He snagged a lychee from Kat's plate and added, "She'll have to decide fast, though. In two days, we leave for Andoria with a hold full of medical supplies."

"Interesting job for a Constitution class ship."

"Matt Decker's on his way with the Constellation. They've had their own run-in with the Klingons. Two of us in one place, that's just--"

"A bigger target."

"Exactly."

"I haven't seen Matt in years," she said.

"That conference at Hondor II?"

"More recently, I think."

She knew exactly when she had seen Matt: New Year's Eve, 2251. She had been a brand new rear admiral, hosting friends in her ridiculously large quarters on Starbase Eighteen. Gabriel brought Matt as his date, and they lingered into the early hours, long after all the other guests had left, and Kat's own partner had kissed her goodnight and gone to bed. Drinking scotch and arguing about strategy and starship design, and teasing Kat for abandoning her captaincy to become a desk jockey.

She remembered lying on the floor, watching the room spin, marvelling silently at the perfect stability of her life. She had gone from psychiatrist to flag officer in just over fifteen years, the first person to make the jump from Medical to Command. She had a civilian partner whose career was completely separate from her own; she and Gabriel had achieved a personal and professional equilibrium, and their daughter would graduate from the Academy in six months' time.

She had everything she wanted.

"Kat?" Chris touched her arm, and she jumped. "Katrina?"

"Sorry," she said. "I was a million miles away."

Matt would want to see her. He'd probably ask after Gabriel. Their relationship hadn't ended badly, it had just reached a point where it was more off than on. They were still friends, as far as she knew. As far as Gabriel had friends right now.

"I'll need to -- to find something to say."

"Kat?"

With an effort, she returned her attention to Chris.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "It's … still difficult."

"Don't apologise." He squeezed her hand and let go. "I've been captured before. You're doing well. You probably don't need me to tell you that, but--"

"No," Kat said. "I appreciate it."

*

Walking, even in low gravity and leaning against the parallel rails, was every bit as difficult as she had been warned. Her muscles were still learning to take instructions from the new components of her nervous system, and every step was a battle.

"Any discomfort?" Ander asked.

"You tell me."

He said nothing.

"Fine," she said. "My left knee feels like it's about to give way. My inner right ankle is hot, and the outer ankle is cold. I have pins and needles in three toes, but I can't figure out which ones."

And while she had gone through the list, she had taken three steps. Good.

"Are you in pain?" Ander asked.

"Discomfort. Not pain."

"Then we'll continue."

She reached the end of the railings and turned slowly to go back. A few weeks ago, even as a prisoner of war, she hadn't given the act of walking a second thought. Now she had to plan every moment: place her feet, wrap her fingers around the railings to take her weight, shift her hips, move one foot, then the other.

She turned, and nodded, satisfied. She was covered in sweat, but by God, she was doing it.

"Well done," said Ander. "Now--"

He was interrupted by footsteps outside, and Dr Winters' voice, some distance behind: "Ambassador, stop! I cannot let you--"

The door to the rehab room opened, and a man entered. Vulcan. In late middle age, by his people's standards; beyond that, she couldn't guess. His pace slowed and his heavy robes swirled as he entered the low gravity field, but his attention was on Kat.

Her hands tightened around the railing as she realised what he was seeing. She wore sweatpants and an old T-shirt, with perspiration dripping down her face and pooling under her arms. Her hair was a mess.

"Ambassador Sarek," she said.

Sarek raised one eyebrow and said, "Admiral Cornwell."

"Ambassador, please." Dr Winters had arrived by his side. "Admiral Cornwell has not been cleared for duty, and disrupting her recovery could have grave--"

Sarek waved a dismissive hand.

"Admiral," he said, "I understand you've been expressing concerns about Captain Lorca and his handling of the Discovery."

Kat's gaze flicked from Sarek to Winters, whose jaw was set.

"I have," she said.

"I take it you haven't been kept up to date on the current developments."

The chill down her spine had nothing to do with her new nerve receptors.

"What new developments?" she asked.

Sarek's mouth was tight but his voice was even as he said, "The Discovery is missing."

Kat opened her mouth to speak, but her knees were giving way. She tightened her grip on the rail, but her palms were slippery.

The ambassador's cool, dry hand closed around her forearms as she collapsed.

*

This time, after her shower, she put her uniform on, and despite everything, something inside her relaxed when her insignia slipped into place.

Ambassador Sarek and Dr Winters were waiting when she emerged.

"I've spoken to Admiral Terral," said Sarek. "You have been returned to active duty."

"Against my recommendations, Admiral," added Winters. "I mean no disrespect personally, but I have to object in the strongest terms--"

"I know," said Kat gently. "I'd do the same, in your shoes."

In a low voice -- though she doubted much escaped Sarek's acute Vulcan hearing -- he said, "This is the worst possible path you can take."

"I know," said Kat. "I'm gonna need you to stick by me, okay? I'll need someone I can trust to keep me out of my own head."

"Anything you need."

"Thank you." In her normal tone, she added, "Would you give us the room, Doctor?"

And, at least in that, he obeyed.

She returned her attention to Ambassador Sarek, saying, "I'm sorry I can't receive you in a more appropriate setting."

"In this instance, expediency is the most logical course. And I've seen a great deal of Starfleet's medical facilities in the last month." He sat down, gathering his robes neatly around him. "It hasn't escaped my attention that you're in this situation because you walked into a trap set for me."

"But not blindly. Tell me what's happened to Discovery."

He withdrew a PADD from his robes, one of the elegant little Vulcan models, and handed it to her.

"These are the final comm records from Discovery," he said. "You will see that, a day after the destruction of the Klingon sarcophagus ship, just as you went into surgery, Admiral Terral ordered Discovery to return to Starbase Forty-Six. Captain Lorca agreed, and promised to transmit the cloaking frequency algorithm on a secure channel as soon as it had been modified for general use."

"And that was the last we heard?"

"Indeed."

Kat scrolled through the long-range sensor data from the Pahvan system.

"The place is crawling with Klingon ships," she said. "Discovery might have been destroyed."

"Unlikely. Starfleet could detect none of the radiation signatures or subspace distortions that would indicate the destruction of a Federation ship. I examined the raw data myself, and agree."

Kat wasn't going to argue with the man who had been Vulcan's top astrophysicist before he turned to diplomacy.

"Admiral Terral is searching for signs of Discovery between Pahvo and Starbase Forty-Six," Sarek said. "But the spore drive--"

"You shouldn't know about that," said Kat sharply.

Sarek raised his eyebrow.

"Nor should I be aware that Discovery is missing. Or that you, Admiral, have been lobbying to have Captain Lorca relieved of duty since your rescue. Nevertheless."

And how did he know that?

"Are you acquainted with Councillor Lorca?" she asked.

"We've collaborated in the past. She suggested your insight into the captain might assist us in predicting his actions."

"Francesca said that?" She looked again at the transcript of Gabriel's last conversation with Terral and said, "You think he tried to use the spore drive to jump to Starbase Forty-Six. And something went wrong."

Or, worse, that Discovery tried to jump to … anywhere. Where are you running to, Gabriel? she wondered.

And, What are you running from?

But she already knew part of the answer. Me.

She scrolled back to the beginning of the transcript, where Terral informed Gabriel that she would make a full recovery. Give her my best, he answered, as if, fourteen hours earlier he hadn't been frantically promising her … something.

"I just have a few things to take care of. I need to make it right. Then I'll come back."

"He planned this," she said, almost to herself.

"Admiral?"

She put the PADD down.

"Ambassador," she said, "are you able to get me access to Captain Lorca's personal logs and private files?"

"Possibly. Although without a warrant, some laws might have to be … stretched. Do you need anything else?"

"A starship," said Kat. "But I can get that myself."

*

"With all due respect, Admiral Cornwell," said Noor, "but are you out of your mind?"

"Dr Winters doesn't think so," Kat told her.

"Oh, well then." Noor threw her PADD on the desk and turned to the biobed screen. "In case you've forgotten, you were in surgery a week ago. Twice. You are barely into physical therapy."

"I know."

"What does Ander say about this?"

"I didn't exactly give him a choice."

He had presented her with an exercise regime and strict instructions not to deviate from it without medical approval.

Noor huffed. "And what," she said, "do you think will happen if something goes wrong?"

Pain. Failure. Kat swallowed her first response and said, "The Enterprise has some of the best medical facilities in the fleet. And Phil Boyce is up to any challenge."

"That can be cured by a martini, certainly." Noor sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No," said Kat. "I'm not doing this lightly, Noor."

"I'll send my notes on to Dr Boyce. Along with a list of possible problems, and my recommendations." She held up her hand in warning. "And don't let him give you gin. Or any other alcohol."

"Are you kidding? I haven't been able to look at gin since--"

"That mixer he hosted when we were in second year," Noor finished. "Sometimes I think I'm still hungover. But I'm probably just getting old."

"Aren't we all?" Kat gave Noor a smile. "I'll be careful. I promise."

"And now you're reassuring me." Noor shook her head. "Don't die. I still want to get a paper out of you."

Sarah didn't actually ask if she was out of her mind, but the question was there, unspoken in the line between her eyes.

"I don't understand what's happening," she said. "You're suddenly back on duty, and I'm--" she held out a PADD. "This morning, I got an invitation to apply for a transfer to the Enterprise. I was going to talk about it with you, but this came in an hour ago."

Transfer papers, finalised and signed.

"What's happening?" Sarah demanded.

"For what it's worth," said Kat, "if Chris had asked, I'd have told him to withdraw the invitation to transfer. But the Enterprise is shorthanded, and Lieutenant Spock thinks you're the logical choice to fill in as science officer when he's in command."

Sarah looked surprised and a little pleased, but she said, "Don't distract me with flattery, Mom. What's so important that they're hauling you out of hospital already?"

"Sarah…" Kat wanted to take her hands, but it didn't feel right when they were both in uniform. "Discovery is missing."

"Klingons?"

"Starfleet has ships investigating that possibility. I've been asked to consider … alternatives."

It was a mealy mouthed euphemism, and she regretted it as soon as it left her mouth. Sarah's worry was turning to anger.

"They think he's a traitor?" she demanded. "And they think you -- not even I -- I'm so angry, but I know he's loyal--"

"Sarah," said Kat. "Sarah. Sarah. I'm sorry, it was a poor choice of words."

"Then what do they think he's done?"

She could have said, Nothing. A long stream of questionable choices that all worked out. Just a few fatalities.

Or, He sleeps with a phaser and tried to choke me.

Or, He left me a prisoner, and it was the right thing to do, but I know he'd have broken the rules for me if I hadn't seen him so clearly.

Or, He kissed me when I was paralysed and afraid and had ordered him not to touch me.

It felt so petty. Something she'd be angry about on someone else's behalf, but brush off personally. Yet she'd be drifting off to sleep, only to snap awake, imagining Gabriel's hand on her cheek, his mouth against hers.

If she had him charged for it, would that be justice, or revenge? And how could she begin to tell Sarah?

"Mom," said Sarah. "Please."

"He's been making bad choices since he lost the Buran," she said at last.

She was saved from having to say more by the arrival of a cadet from the Enterprise, letting her know that her quarters were ready, an office had been set aside for her use, and Ambassador Sarek said the files she had requested would be available in the next fifteen minutes.

"Report to your station, Sarah," Kat said gently.

She could apologise. But for what?

*

The Enterprise briefing room held Ambassador Sarek; Captain Pike; the Vulcan science officer, Lieutenant Spock; and Kat herself. She was mildly intrigued by the tension between the Vulcans: Spock acknowledged Sarek with an impersonal courtesy, and Sarek looked right through Spock. They might have been strangers.

Not her problem. When the courtesies had been observed, she handed secure PADDS to Chris and Spock and activated the holographic display in the centre of the table.

"I'm formally reading you in on the Crossfield Project," she said. The holographic display showed a rotating Crossfield class starship. "You've probably heard rumours about new technology on the USS Discovery. I've heard it called our secret weapon."

"Is it not?" Chris asked.

Kat said, "The Crossfield Project started out as an attempt to build the most efficient science vessel. Ships in this class can accommodate three hundred separate scientific missions."

Chris whistled. Spock nodded.

"Two vessels were being prepared for launch when the war broke out. The Discovery and Glenn were quickly fitted with an experimental propulsion drive. A pair of scientists, Doctors Straal and Stamets, were conscripted to serve on the Glenn and the Discovery respectively."

"Fascinating," said Spock. Chris looked at him, and he added, "Dr Stamets is one of the Federation's foremost astromycologists."

Chris blinked. "Space … fungus?" he asked.

"Doctors Straal and Stamets hypothesised that near-instantaneous interstellar travel could be enabled using a layer of subspace which contains the fungus Prototaxites stellaviatori."

"Provocative," said Sarek.

"Indeed," said Spock, though he did not look at the ambassador. "I was not aware the concept had advanced beyond the early theoretical stages."

"Conservative estimates put it at least a five years away from practical experiments," said Kat. "But Starfleet Command thought the gamble was worth losing two ships from the front lines. I mean -- we were desperate. And the Glenn was lost with all hands early on -- but Discovery made it work."

"So that's Gabriel's secret," said Chris. "When does the Enterprise get a--" He scrolled through his PADD -- "spore drive?"

"It's going to be difficult to reproduce," said Kat. "The navigation interface requires eugenic manipulation. Lieutenant Stamets literally altered his own DNA, in violation of about twenty regulations and civil laws. And there might be … other problems."

"I got that impression," said Chris.

"Captain Lorca reported problems with the spore drive before he engaged the Klingon ship of the dead at Pahvo. It looked like an excuse to disobey orders and stay in the system -- but then Discovery disappeared altogether. The last data upload from Discovery's systems indicate massive damage to Lieutenant Stamets's brain tissue. Another jump would have been incredibly irresponsible."

"But you think Captain Lorca ordered it?" Chris asked.

Kat looked at her PADD, the list of Gabriel's private files. She opened the dimensional map and flicked it to the central display.

"Captain Lorca has been mapping all of Discovery's jumps," she said. "Note the pockets he's highlighted."

"Intriguing," said Spock, enhancing the display. "These spaces appear to be--"

"Alternate dimensions," Sarek finished.

Chris looked doubtful.

"We're in the middle of a war," he said, "and Gabriel … what? Decided to take off and explore for a few weeks? That doesn't sound like him."

"I don't think it's that simple," said Kat.

Every twelve hours, if a starship was within range, its data core was backed up to the network of remote servers scattered throughout Federation space. Everything, from personal logs to the deepest layer of sensor metadata, was copied and stored, unless specifically sequestered or otherwise locked.

Gabriel hadn't bothered to lock any of his personal files. It was either an oversight on his part -- she'd have called it uncharacteristic, but she barely knew anymore what that meant where he was concerned -- or arrogance.

Or maybe he had faith that Starfleet's remote servers were the most secure in the known galaxy. Under normal circumstances, nothing less than probable cause and a warrant would permit access to an officer's files.

Kat had suspicion verging on paranoia, and an ambassador with diplomatic immunity. Almost as good.

Gabriel's personal logs were unrevealing. He found his crew frustrating, save for Ellen Landry, who was an old friend and longtime comrade. He was intrigued by Michael Burnham, and later by Ash Tyler. "They're survivors," he said. "The type of soldiers the Federation needs in this war -- and Starfleet would rather let them rot in jail. Or spend years in therapy."

Of his family, he said little. "Caroline thinks something's wrong. I said, yeah, we're at war, we definitely went wrong somewhere. She wants to wrap me up in cotton wool. She wasn't this protective when I was an actual kid."

And: "Tried to send a message to Sarah for her birthday. Kept thinking of Margot. She would have made a great security chief, if…"

He barely mentioned Kat at all until the night she visited Discovery: "Kat thinks I've lost it. I tried … it's hard. It's been hard, and I screwed up. I'm getting closer with every jump, but it's not as if I can put the war on pause to -- Kat's taking Sarek's place at the peace talks. Just need to hang on a bit longer."

A day later: "Kat's been captured. Admiral Terral has ordered us not to launch a rescue attempt. Another person to mourn when this is over. Terral asked if I wanted to inform Sarah, but … what would I say?"

She had skipped ahead to the day he destroyed the Ship of the Dead. Gabriel was fulsome in his praise for his crew, especially Burnham, Tyler and Stamets.

"And this means we can take a moment. Let the fleet pick up the slack, Kat would say. She … I promised I'd make it right. And I will, but she looked -- at least she's alive. That's one thing I haven't taken from Sarah."

The logs had dominated Kat's mind since she read them an hour earlier, not just for what Gabriel said, but the omissions. The things he couldn't put into words, and the gap between the final entry before the Buran's destruction and his first as captain of the Discovery.

It was his other files which gave her a sense of what he was doing.

"A month into the war," she said, "The USS Buran was lost with all hands but one."

"Gabriel," said Chris.

Sarek tilted his head. "I understood that Starfleet had a tradition of -- what is the human phrase? 'The captain goes down with their ship'?"

"It was a difficult situation."

Kat pulled up a holographic model of the Buran in its final hours. The last data transfer had taken place just ninety-six minutes before the ship was destroyed; between that, long-range sensor readings, and the data they could salvage from the EV suit, Starfleet had a clear picture of what happened that day. Or what seemed to happen.

"The Buran was in the Zeitz Cluster, near the Klingon border."

"Tricky bit of space," said Chris.

"The region is full of subspace anomalies and dark matter artifacts," Spock explained to Sarek. "But it also contains asteroids and nebulae rich with minerals and gases the Klingons use in their weapons."

"Starfleet Command sent the Buran to lay mines," said Kat. "It was an extremely risky mission, and not just because of the Klingons. With all the subspace disturbances in the region, the mines couldn't just be beamed into place. They had to be set out manually."

She shifted the view, showing the Buran concealed against an asteroid, and, far away, nothing more than a speck until she zoomed in, a human in a longhaul EV suit.

"In forty hours, they had set two-thirds of the mines. Captain Lorca was mining the asteroid belt when the Buran was ambushed."

He had started back to the ship as soon as the two Klingon Birds-of-Prey dropped out of warp, but it was a journey of over an hour at maximum thrust. The Buran was quickly overwhelmed, its hull breached and shields knocked offline. Then the boarding parties began to land.

"Captain Lorca used his remote access to arm the self-destruct sequence. His first officer completed the authorisation. And, for good measure, Gabriel detonated the subspace mines."

Even the holographic explosion was bright enough that she had to close her eyes. The Zeitz Cluster became a tangle of debris, the drifting EV suit just another piece of trash amidst the chaos.

"He was lucky to survive," said Chris.

If you can call it that.

Kat said, "I think -- and this is barely more than a guess, but I've known Gabriel for most of my life, and I'm familiar with his recent state of mind -- I think he might believe the Buran was thrown into a parallel dimension."

"That would appear consistent with his work." Spock called up the map, along with Gabriel's annotations. "The spore drive raises intriguing possibilities."

"But it's ridiculous," said Chris. "The Buran was destroyed. He was there."

"In my experience," said Sarek, "the human response to grief is rarely logical."

Grief, guilt, trauma.

"To be completely honest," said Kat, "I don't care about his motivations right now. I just want him found before he loses another ship and another crew."

Sarek nodded slowly.

"We will arrive at the Zeitz Cluster in twelve hours," said Spock. "I shall examine Captain Lorca's files and attempt to develop a means of predicting and tracking spore jumps."

"Good," said Kat. "Dismissed."

Sarek lingered after Chris and Spock had left.

"Admiral," he said, "you should know--"

"That Lieutenant Spock is your son? That your human foster daughter is on Discovery? Don't worry, Ambassador, I can be discreet."

"Thank you," he said. "My son and I have a … complicated relationship."

Kat decided not to touch that. Instead, she said, "While we're talking about families, you might be aware that my daughter is temporarily assigned to the Enterprise. You may not know that Gabriel Lorca is her father."

"I did not."

"So, you see," she managed a smile, "we're both emotionally compromised."

Sarek's nostrils flared, but he nodded, conceding the point, and allowed her to leave ahead of him.

*

"Slept with Landry. Again."

Gabriel's personal logs were difficult to listen to. Kat spent every minute wanting to go back to the transcripts, but forced herself to keep going. The jump maps and spore drive data were best left to Spock. She was left with his other material. Logs, a handful of letters he sent his mothers in lieu of face to face contact. Drafts of letters to Sarah, never more than a few words.

"Ellen thinks I have all the answers. Some of them, anyway. She was at the Battle of the Binaries."

Kat considered the background noises, the clink of a glass on his table, the coo of an animal.

"I think she's as fucked up as me, in her own way. 'S good. Safe. She doesn't push."

"Interesting phrasing," said Dr Winters. Kat hadn't even heard him come in. "What does he say about his orders to get to Corvan II? 'Cornwell's pushing again'?"

"Different context," said Kat.

"Did you know Commander Landry?"

"Slightly. She served on the Buran for a couple of years. She was a good officer." Kat sipped remembered her tea and sipped it. Lukewarm. "She shouldn't have died like that."

"Do you blame Captain Lorca for her death?"

"I think there were a lot of factors. But yeah. He was her commanding officer. He had responsibility for her wellbeing."

"How do you feel?" Winters asked, sitting down.

"I have a headache, my left adductor magnus is weirdly warm, and we're a couple of hours away from one of the most dangerous bits of space in the quadrant. Oh, and best case scenario, I relieve my oldest friend, my daughter's father, of command. In front of her." She finished her tea. "What do I say to him?"

Winters said nothing.

"I keep asking myself, am I doing this for the good of the fleet? Or personal revenge?"

"I'd be concerned if that wasn't on your mind." Dr Winters leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. "What does personal revenge look like here?"

"I don't know."

He said nothing.

Kat sighed.

"I want him to feel as powerless and humiliated as I have," she said. "I want him to wake up not knowing where he is or who he can trust. I want him to be completely isolated, cut off from his friends and family and left to fend for himself."

"Mm."

"I want--" Her breath caught in her throat, and she put her hand over her mouth. "Oh. Shit."

Winters raised his eyebrows.

"That's where he is now," Kat whispered. "It's not revenge, it's just the next step in the fucking cycle."

"Then what you need to ask yourself," said Dr Winters, "is what you can to to step outside the pattern."

*

Forty-five minutes out from the Zeitz Cluster, Kat received word that Lieutenant Spock's spore drive tracker was ready for testing. She joined him and Chris in the laboratory. Sarek was conspicuous by his absence.

She didn't pretend to understand the science behind the tracker, except in general terms, but Lieutenant Spock seemed moderately confident in his algorithm, even if Chris was dismayed by his estimated probability of success.

"Only seventy-two percent?" Chris asked.

"Seventy-two point oh-eight-three, Captain."

"Is that the best we can do?"

"Under the current circumstances, yes. Given more time, access to mycological samples and Dr Stamets's research, I'm sure I could refine the process considerably."

"You've done excellent work, Lieutenant," said Kat. "Let's hope the Klingons don't have anyone equally capable on their side."

Vulcans did not preen. But Spock straightened imperceptibly.

"That seems unlikely," he said.

Chris was opening his mouth, but before he could speak, the Enterprise dropped out of warp with a heavy shudder. He grabbed the intercom.

"Bridge, report."

"The subspace distortions around the Cluster are interfering with our warp engines, Captain. Impulse engines are online."

"I'm on my way."

"What's our new ETA?" Kat asked Spock as they made their way to the bridge.

"Four hours, eighteen minutes, Admiral."

"Can we get warp engines back online?"

"That may be inadvisable, Captain."

As the turbolift doors opened, Spock called, "Admiral on the bridge," and Kat watched as officers jumped to attention, rotating stations with an admirable seamlessness: the chief of operations relinquished the captain's chair; Sarah vacated the science station for Spock and moved to the secondary console.

Kat joined Chris in the centre of the bridge. Just a few weeks ago she would have rejected the idea of leading a mission like this from a hoverchair. But here she was, on the bridge of a starship, and what she felt was --

-- anxiety, and a tingling in her right calf. But beneath that was pleasure, at being back on duty, actually doing something instead of lying passively in a biobed, fearing the worst.

"Mr Spock," said Chris, "aren't we a bit far out from the Zeitz Cluster to get this sort of interference?"

"Indeed," said the lieutenant. He was examining his sensor readings with interest. "It appears the impact of the Buran's destruction was wider than Starfleet anticipated."

"Wide enough to scare the Klingons away?"

"Doubtful, Captain. The Klingon Empire's limited natural resources are nearly depleted. Desperation is a powerful motivator."

"Ahead full impulse," Chris ordered. "Shields and sensors at maximum. Keep the phaser banks primed."

"Mr Spock," said Kat, "time to try out your tracker."

If the subspace distortions had spread this far, she reasoned, maybe Discovery would be affected, too.

If this was indeed Gabriel's goal. She was risking nearly two hundred lives on a hunch.

But Spock obeyed without question, putting the results on a larger display so she could see them without hovering behind his station. Without access to the mycelial network itself, Spock's tracker recorded minute shifts in subspace and used the cumulative data to extrapolate events within the mycelial subspace layer. The math and physics were well beyond Kat's understanding.

From the secondary science station, Sarah was also studying the readout, frowning slightly. Kat wondered how much sense she could make of the raw data. Probably more than Kat herself -- Starfleet science officers had to be generalists, just as Kat had had more training and experience in trauma medicine than a civilian psychiatrist would have received.

Concentrate, she told herself, and focused her attention on the computer's summary of results. There were disturbances in the mycelial network, but with only the most rudimentary of baselines, it was impossible to say whether or not they were normal.

Spock said, "Lieutenant Cornwell, are you able to refine the algorithm to detect pseudoectomycorrhiza?"

"I think so," said Sarah. "But it would be easier if I understood exactly what we were scanning for."

"Discovery," Kat said. Sarah shot her a curious look, but said nothing more.

Twenty minutes passed. Kat knew that each new piece of data improved the algorithm's accuracy, but it was unbearably frustrating to limp along at impulse power, still on the outskirts of the Zeitz Cluster, waiting for meaningful results. Unable to pace, she settled for tapping her fingertips on the sides of her chair. Then she stopped, realising that Spock, at least, could hear her fidgeting.

Sarek entered the bridge after forty minutes. He lingered behind Spock for a moment, watching the lieutenant examine the algorithm, and nodded in something like approval. Then he swept away to have a quiet conversation with Chris.

If it was her daughter on Discovery, Kat thought, she'd be tearing the universe apart to get her home. The thought made her sick to her stomach, and grateful for Sarah's refusal to even consider serving beneath either of her parents.

Bad enough we've lost Margot.

And how did Sarah feel, entering the sector where her partner had been killed? All of her attention was on her console, and her face was unreadable. When this was over, Kat decided, she would raise the possibility of extended leave again.

"You okay?" Chris asked softly.

"I'm fine," said Kat. "Just tired."

"We could be here a while. You should take a break. Get something to eat."

"Maybe later."

The pattern of tracker results, which had been consistent since it went online, shifted. Just for a moment, but it was something.

"Curious," Spock said. "Captain, sensors detect--"

He was interrupted by alarms ringing out across the bridge, and the officer at tactical crying, "Captain, a Klingon ship is decloaking--"

"Red alert," Chris said. "Fire phasers at the engines and arm photon--"

The Enterprise rocked as it was struck.

"A second Bird-of-Prey has decloaked and fired," said the tactical officer. "Minor damage to the secondary hull."

"Ensign Colt, evasive maneuvers."

"Evasive maneuvers, aye."

Sarah had pulled the main science displays from Spock's console to hers.

"Captain," she said, "there's a Mutara class nebula two million kilometres from our present location. Klingon sensors won't be able to penetrate the ionised gases and static discharge."

"Downside being, neither will ours, plus our shields won't work," said the tactical officer.

"It'll buy us some time," said Chris, "Ensign Colt, lay in a course. Maximum impulse." To Kat he added, "Let's just hope the Klingons haven't been laying their own mines."

"They're blocking our escape," warned tactical.

"Lock photon torpedos on the lead ship and fire at will, Lieutenant Iwasaki."

"Aye, Captain."

On the viewscreen, the Klingon cruiser rocked under their fire, but the other was coming about to block their escape.

Beyond them, something flickered, and the Enterprise shuddered.

"What the hell was that?" Chris demanded.

"Fascinating," said Sarek.

The Klingons, too, seemed to have been affected.

"Mr Spock?" Kat asked.

"You might describe it as a rip in the barrier between normal space and subspace," said Spock. As if it was nothing more than a curious observation, he added, "I am detecting activity in the mycelial layer."

"The Klingons are recovering," warned Iwasaki. "Firing phasers."

"Colt--"

"We're one-point-eight million kilometres from the nebula, Captain," said the Ensign, her fair cheeks flushed with anxiety. "The -- rip threw us off course."

"Steady, Ensign."

"What caused the rip?" Sarah was asking Spock. "Was it Discovery?"

"Without more data, I cannot speculate."

"Assume that it was," said Kat. "Can we pull the ship through to normal space?"

"By what mechanism, Admiral?"

She conceded the point.

"Torpedos incoming," warned Iwasaki.

Chris stabbed at the control panel on his chair. "All hands, brace for impact."

The Enterprise bucked, and the bridge went black for a moment.

When the viewscreen came back online, Discovery was clearly visible, outlined against the vivid purple of the nearby nebula. Then it was gone.

"Mr Spock--" Kat started.

"I believe," he said, scrolling through his readings, "that they are attempting to jump back into normal space." He paused. "Brace yourselves. They are trying again."

Discovery flicked into existence, came about and fired three photon torpedos at the lead Bird-of-Prey.

"Hail them," Chris ordered, but Discovery was already gone again.

"They're improving," said Colt. "We barely felt it this time."

"Lieutenant Spock," said Chris, "can we punch a hole through to the mycelial network?"

"Brute force is inadvisable, Captain. Even if we had the necessary tools, the damage to this region makes it impossible to predict the outcome. We could destroy ourselves and everything in our vicinity."

Just ask Gabriel, Kat thought, and then she had the answer.

"Subspace mines," she said. "Mr Spock, could we control the detonation of a subspace mine? Use it as a beacon, not a weapon?"

"An intriguing possibility, Admiral," Spock said. "But we have no subspace mines on board."

"Perhaps," said Sarek, almost diffidently, "a photon torpedo could be recalibrated to act as a substitute."

"Yes." Spock was on his feet. "Captain--"

"Go," said Chris. "We'll take care of the Klingons."

The Klingon ships had gone chasing after Discovery, but the second ship was turning back to the Enterprise.

"Mr Iwasaki--"

"Firing, Captain."

The shot knocked out the Klingon vessel's port nacelle.

"Their shields are offline," said the operations officer. "They're helpless."

"Let's finish the job," said Chris. "Lock phasers on their warp core and fire."

The Klingon ship went up in a fireball. Kat looked away.

"We're four minutes from the nebula, Captain," said Colt.

"Change course. I don't want to lose sensors if Discovery turns up again. Take us into that asteroid field. Let the Klingons chase us."

"Captain," said Sarah, "some of these asteroids contain uridium. It's highly unstable."

"Uridium, eh?" Chris leaned back, smiling. "Explodes when it comes into contact with electricity, right?"

"It can," said Sarah. "If we reverse the polarity of the tractor beam, we could push--"

This time, Kat saw the sensor readings spike before Discovery appeared. It was badly damaged, she realised for the first time, its hull scorched and uneven. But intact.

"Open hailing frequencies," she said, at the same time as Chris ordered the operations officer to flip the tractor beam.

"Yes, Admiral," said the communications officer, as Discovery swung about and fired at the Klingon ship. It was a direct hit, but not enough to disable it. "Hailing freq--"

Discovery vanished.

"Fire at will," Chris ordered Iwasaki.

The Klingon ship buckled, but managed to fire two photon torpedos. Colt's hands danced over her console, and the first explosion, when it came, was weak and distant.

The second torpedo hit an asteroid, which went up in a much larger explosion than its size would have suggested.

"Uridium," said Sarah, sounding cheerful.

"Are Discovery's maneuvers strategic," Sarek asked, "or opportunistic?"

"Hard to say," Chris said. "But I know one thing -- the Klingons are about to go after the easier target, and that's us. Tractor beam ready?"

"Ready, sir."

"Pick an asteroid, Lieutenant Cornwell."

Using the main viewer, Sarah narrowed the focus to one moderately sized asteroid, roughly halfway between the Enterprise and the Klingon ship.

"It's not the biggest," she said, "but it has the densest uridium deposits."

"Helm, ops -- engage."

Ensign Colt piloted them towards the asteroid, passing just within range of the tractor beam. As neatly as if they had rehearsed it, the operations officer gave it a nudge, pushing it towards the Klingons.

"Bring us about, Ensign," said Chris.

"Bringing us about, aye."

Sarah said, "In range of the Klingon ship in five -- four -- three--"

The Klingons fired at the same moment the Enterprise did. Their phasers struck the lower saucer section.

The Enterprise phasers hit the asteroid, which exploded into white fire.

"Direct hit," Iwasaki reported.

"We have hull breaches on decks ten and eleven," added ops. "Two fatalities. Sickbay is taking casualties."

"Captain," said Iwasaki, "look at the Klingon ship!"

The asteroid's explosion had taken out the Bird-of-Prey's neck, which held the bridge, and the starboard nacelle, but now, as if in slow motion, the fire was spreading throughout the vessel, taking it apart piece by piece.

This time, Kat forced herself to watch the ship die. She took no joy in it, she realised, but she was satisfied. Several hundred strangers were dead, and that meant she got to live.

"Captain," Sarah snapped, "Discovery."

Chris opened an internal channel. "Mr Spock," he said, "how's that photon torpedo coming?"

"Ready to launch, Captain."

"Iwasaki?"

"Firing, Captain."

The torpedo flew for several hundred kilometres, then stretched and winked out of normal space.

Silently, Kat began to count.

One. Two. Three.

"How long should we wait?" Lieutenant Iwasaki asked.

"Long as it takes, Lieutenant," said Chris.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

Lieutenant Spock returned to the bridge. Sarah stepped back from the science console with a respectful nod.

Thirteen. Fourteen.

Kat thought, Two Starfleet officers are dead, more are injured, and countless Klingon lives have been snuffed out, because you brought us here on a guess. How are you any different from Gabriel?

Eighteen. Nineteen.

A console beeped.

"Captain Pike!" cried Sarah.

"I see it, Lieutenant Cornwell."

This time, Discovery's materialisation was slow. It appeared in normal space a piece at a time, inner saucer followed by nacelles followed by outer saucer and secondary hull.

And it wasn't alone. Scarred from battle, half its hull ripped open, tethered to Discovery by tractor beam, was the USS Buran.

Kat's mouth was dry.

"Open a channel," she said.

"Channel open," said the communications officer. "Audio only."

Her knuckles were white, but her voice was hard and steady as she said, "This is Admiral Cornwell. I am hereby relieving Captain Lorca of command pursuant to Starfleet Order 104, Section A, Paragraph 1. Discovery is ordered to stand down all weapons systems, lower shields and permit boarding by Enterprise personnel."

Silence fell. The bridge was still.

The communications officer said, "I have visual now."

"On screen," Chris said.

The image was distorted by static, stuttering in and out, but Discovery's comms officer was good at his job, and it stabilised after a couple of seconds. It wasn't perfect, but it was clear enough. The bridge had taken damage; she could see scorch marks on the walls, and at least one console had blown out. Various bridge officers were sporting cuts and burns, and the operations officer was cradling her left arm. Ash Tyler was bleeding from a forehead wound, but looked otherwise intact, physically.

And it was Commander Saru in the captain's chair. Michael Burnham stood by his right shoulder, looking for all the world like an exemplary first officer. The Enterprise crew were too well-disciplined to say anything, but Kat could feel the wave of hostility as they recognised her.

She snuck a glance at Sarek, but if he felt relief at his foster daughter's survival, it wasn't visible on his face. Burnham looked right past him, her own expression neutral, but she made eye contact with Spock and quirked one eyebrow. He mirrored the gesture, and though he was barely more expressive than his father, Kat had the impression she was seeing the Vulcan equivalent of siblings sharing an awkward yet affectionate hug.

"Admiral," Saru was saying "Captain Lorca was relieved of command and confined to quarters twenty-four hours ago."

"I look forward to seeing your logs, Commander," said Kat.

"It's been an interesting journey."

Burnham stepped forward. "Admiral," she said, "Captain, we're taking on the Buran survivors, but our sickbay is stretched. Any help the Enterprise can offer--"

"Done," said Chris. "Permission to send board, Commander?"

"Permission granted, Captain," said Saru.

The channel was cut, and Chris got to his feet.

"Mr Spock," he said, "have Dr Boyce meet us in transporter room 2. Admiral?" He hesitated, then added, "Lieutenant Cornwell."

Sarah had no place in this away party, but she didn't argue. Her lips were pinched and although her posture seemed alert but relaxed, Kat could see that her hands, clasped behind her back, were tight, fingers interlaced, thumbnails worrying at each other.

Sarek had even less place than Sarah in the party, but he accompanied them regardless, head held high, eyes calm.

Phil Boyce was waiting when they reached the transporter room. He was a lean little man, still more blond than grey, though he was a few years older than Kat. At medical school he had been mostly renowned for his parties, and for the way he could turn up for an exam with a hangover and just a couple of hours' sleep, and walk away with the highest mark. He greeted her with something vaguely like a salute, grunting, "Admiral."

"Doctor."

At least he didn't offer to assist her onto the transporter platform.

Saru, Burnham and Tyler met them in Discovery's transporter room.

"Ambassador Sarek," said Saru, "Admiral Cornwell. Captain Pike. Welcome to Discovery. We wouldn't be here if not for your assistance."

"I think that goes both ways, Commander," said Chris. "May I introduce my science officer and acting-XO, Lieutenant Spock, and Dr Boyce, my chief medical officer."

"Doctor," said Burnham, stepping forward. "Our sickbay's at capacity, and the Buran survivors include some serious injuries--"

"Point the way," said Phil. "I can set up triage in your shuttlebay if I have to."

"Lieutenant Stamets is in an induced coma," Burnham added. "We don't have the facilities to perform the level of neurosurgery he needs."

"Lieutenant Tyler, please escort Dr Bryce to sickbay," said Saru.

Chris said, "As soon as things are stable here, we'll set course for Starbase Eighty-Eight. We can call for an emergency medical transport if we have to."

"We'll have to," said Burnham.

Kat was looking around, at the damaged bulkheads and exposed panels throughout the corridors. A ceiling had partially collapsed at one intersection. This ship was brand new. It looks like a wreck.

"What the hell have you been up to in the last week?" she asked.

"Week?" Saru and Burnham exchanged glances.

"Admiral," said Saru with a nervous click, "it's been four months since you were rescued from the Ship of the Dead. Hasn't it?"

"It's been eight days, Commander," said Chris.

"Is time dilation a side effect of the spore drive?" Spock asked Burnham.

"No," she said, "but the Buran survivors haven't experienced the passage of time at all."

"Curious. Perhaps the movement between dimensions--"

"Commander Saru," said Kat, "I cannot wait to hear your full report on this."

Saru clicked. "And you may have it whenever you wish, Admiral. But in the meantime--"

"We need to get clear of the Zeitz Cluster," Chris finished. "Will you escort us to the bridge, Commander?"

Saru led the way, followed by Chris and Sarek, then Kat and Sarah. Burnham and Spock lingered behind, and Kat heard Burnham say, "What's Sarek doing here? There's no logical reason for his presence."

"I believe," said Spock, "he was motivated by concern for your wellbeing."

Burnham was silent, and Kat would have given a great deal to see the look on her face as she processed that suggestion.

Then she said, "So you and he--"

"Have not spoken."

"Of course not."

One of the forward laboratories had been converted into a first aid station, and the corridor outside it was crowded with officers.

Kat heard Margot before she saw her.

"--Steve, Shallen, Erinna, those are barely flesh wounds, you can either wait quietly for a dermal regenerator, or you can get an adhesive bandage and go. If you're lucky, maybe you'll end up with a scar."

"Margot," Sarah whispered, turning. "Margot!"

"Sarah!"

Margot pushed her first aid kit into her colleague's hands and raced down the corridor as fast as the crowd would permit. Sarah met her halfway, jumping into her arms and burying her face in Margot's neck.

"I missed you, I missed you, I missed you," she was saying.

"They said it's been six months," Margot said. "It feels like a couple of hours since we were ambushed -- don't cry, hey, don't cry." Margot put her down, but they remained nose to nose. "I'm here," she said. "I'm not going anywhere, Sarah, I promise."

"I'm sorry." Sarah stepped back, wiping her eyes. "It's been hard."

"I know." Margot took Sarah's hand. "I don't know what I'd do if I thought I'd lost you."

Kat cleared her throat. Margot and Sarah looked around, apparently surprised to find they were still surrounded by people. Margot's smile widened when she saw Kat.

"Admiral!" she said. "I didn't realise -- did you authorise the rescue? Where's Captain Lorca, anyway? I know Commander Lanesh wanted a word, and we all want to thank him--"

"Margot," said Kat, "you should get back to your duties."

"I--" She straightened. "Yes, Admiral."

Sarah watched her walk away.

"You might as well assist them, Lieutenant," Kat told her.

"Yes, Admiral," said Sarah, already following Margot.

"Kids, eh?" said Chris as they entered the turbolift for the bridge.

Kat said nothing; she was thinking about Gabriel, and Sarah and Margot, and the fractured pieces of her family.

Then they reached the bridge, and she put all those thoughts aside to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Discovery had warp drive, but impulse engines were offline and the spore drive was completely out of commission. The Buran had neither, but Spock and Burnham were united in their insistence that the ship be preserved.

"It's been exposed to an area of subspace we can't even begin to understand," said Burnham.

"We may not get an opportunity to examine the effects of an interdimensional bubble on a starship again," added Spock.

"You must be very proud," Kat murmured to Sarek as they continued to argue the benefits of bringing the shell of the Buran back to Federation space for study.

"Must I?" Sarek asked, but he was regarding his children with something almost like pleasure.

"I agree that the Buran has immeasurable scientific value," said Saru, "but we cannot tow it all the way into Federation space."

"Agreed," said Chris. "Commander, how long until Discovery's impulse engines are back online?"

"Approximately four hours, Captain."

"Then you two," he pointed at Spock and Burnham, "will transport key components of the Buran, along with any personal effects you can salvage, to the Enterprise and Discovery. Anything we can't take with us, we scuttle."

"Yes, Captain," said Saru.

"And don't say I never give you anything," he added to Spock.

"Such a remark would never cross my mind, Captain Pike."

"I don't want to interfere with the salvage operation," said Kat, "but I'd like Commander Saru and Specialist Burnham to brief me on everything that's happened on Discovery. Now." To Chris, she said, "Captain, I'm sorry to leave the clean-up in your hands--"

"Not at all."

"Ambassador?" Kat indicated Gabriel's ready room. She was pretty sure that Sarek was planning to insinuate himself into the briefing regardless of whether or not he was wanted -- so she claimed the upper hand and invited him.

As he preceded her into the ready room, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael Burnham smile.

*

Much later, when Burnham and Saru had left, Kat rested her elbows on her eyes and rubbed her eyes.

"What would you do in this situation?" she asked Sarek. "If the commander of a Vulcan Expeditionary Group ship did this?"

"The situation would not arise," said Sarek primly.

"That's unhelpful, Ambassador."

"It's a very … human situation."

Kat gave a joyless little huff.

"Your daughter acquitted herself well," she said.

"Michael is not my child."

"Mmmm. Nevertheless."

"Her mother will be pleased," said Sarek, as if he wasn't contradicting himself. He paused to examine the bowl of fortune cookies on Gabriel's desk, and said "I wonder if Captain Lorca had her record in mind when he selected her for this mission."

"You mean, if he wanted someone who'd stop him?"

"Commander Saru seems a capable officer," said Sarek. "But one reluctant to question authority."

"Yeah."

Kat took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to release some of her tension. It only partially worked, but there was no putting it off any longer.

She said, "It's time to speak to Captain Lorca."

*

She considered, then rejected, confronting Gabriel in his quarters. Their professional boundaries were already shaky enough; and in any case, she didn't want to enter his personal territory.

Nor did she want him near the bridge, so that was the ready room ruled out.

Instead, she gave orders that he be escorted to his personal laboratory, and passed the time examining his collection of … curiosities. Weapons, mainly, variously legal; all quite lethal. And, she was disturbed to see, kept in working order, all of them.

Who are you? How long have you been a stranger? He had always been an avid student of military history and combat, but this … the blades were one thing. The katanas looked like antiques, and the Klingon weapons were beautiful, even if they sent chills down her spine. But the dark matter spheres, the plasma disruptors…

He's surrounding himself with weapons because that's how he feels safe.

Trite. But probable.

The dissected animals, though grotesque, were less horrifying. To Kat, anyway; she could see how other people might be put off. Gabriel had studied xenobiology as his compulsory science minor, and he'd been good enough that she heard grumbles from some of her professors at med school about his refusal to go any further than undergraduate study.

The door slid open, and she turned to watch him enter. She had already turned the lights down to thirty percent, and she could see him relax as he left the bright corridor behind.

"Thank you," she said to the security officer. "That will be all."

"Admiral."

And they were alone.

Gabriel looked exhausted. He was clean shaven, his hair neat, uniform impeccable, but there were shadows under his eyes and the lines around his thin lips were deeper than she remembered.

"Katrina," he said.

"Admiral," she snapped.

He nodded imperceptibly, and she could see him assessing the situation. Assessing her. Looking for leverage.

"Admiral, then."

"The Buran is about to be destroyed," she said. "Do you want to…" She waved at the window. The remnants of the ship drifted outside, a few hundred kilometres away; beyond them was the Enterprise.

"I've seen it already," he said, but he joined her by the window, ocular injector in hand.

It only took two photon torpedos. The explosion flared and died in moments, and then the Buran was gone.

Gabriel reached out, his fingers brushing the window.

"My crew?" he asked.

"Thirty-two didn't make it. I'll have a casualty list made available to you."

"Thank you."

"Margot?"

"She's fine. She's onboard. Sarah, too."

He turned sharply. "You brought Sarah into this?"

Kat was about to say, There were reasons, before she realised she didn't owe him an explanation. And that was -- shocking. Freeing.

It felt like the end of something.

She straightened and said, "Starfleet has a lot of concerns about how you've been conducting yourself."

"Starfleet? Or you?"

She continued as if he hadn't interrupted.

"As the ranking officer on the scene, my report will carry a lot of weight. So," she felt her lips stretch, less of a smile than a baring of teeth, "you saved your old crew, but at the cost of seventeen lives. Maybe eighteen, depending how extensive the damage to Lieutenant Stamets is."

"The Vulcans would say the needs of the many--"

"Starfleet will say you had a duty to the officers who served under you," said Kat. "You lied to them. Endangered them. Sent them hopping from universe to universe on little more than a guess--"

"I--"

"Do not interrupt when I am speaking, Captain."

He actually flinched.

"You disobeyed orders. Repeatedly. You lied on your psych evaluations. You falsified your scan results."

A muscle in his cheek twitched.

"You sent a deeply traumatised officer on a mission you had to know was dangerous to his mental health. Hell, you put him on active duty, when he should have been getting the help he needed. You were similarly negligent in your duty towards Ellen Landry." Kat's throat was tight. She was having trouble speaking. "I wish I could see some mitigating circumstance here. Anything. But it's just decision upon decision -- compounded."

She stopped, too angry and too close to tears to say more.

"It was easier in the beginning," said Gabriel softly.

She had so many questions. She seized one at random. "How did you fake the scan results?"

"There's a technician. At Starbase Eighty-Eight. He looked at my scans, said I was too valuable to the war effort to lose to therapy and medical leave." He gave her a crooked smile. "I didn't get his name."

"And you didn't report him for sabotage?"

"All I wanted was another ship. Staying in one place was killing me. I needed to keep moving."

"Did you ask your mother to pull strings to get you Discovery?"

He shot her a cold, angry look.

"I've never asked Francesca for a favour in my life," he said. "You, of all people, should know that."

"I know you'd only have to hint, and Francesca would give you anything."

His lips pursed.

"I talked to her," he said. "I expressed my frustration. I didn't drop fucking hints, Katrina."

"You will address me--"

"Admiral."

"Why didn't you come to Starfleet with your plan to save the Buran?"

"In the middle of a war? I couldn't do that. It was my responsibility. I had to make things right." He started to pace. "I had to win the war -- at least get us the upper hand. Once that was done, I could take the time--"

"To lie to your crew and launch an unsanctioned mission that got seventeen people killed."

"I know. I failed them."

"You did," said Kat.

"What happens next?"

"That's a difficult question," she said. "Because there's also the matter of the sexual assault."

He looked blank. "The what?"

"In your sickbay," she said, "I was paralysed and lightly sedated, conscious but unable to move. I told you to stop touching me. You kissed me instead."

She was impressed at how calm her voice was.

"I didn't--" He was genuinely puzzled. "I thought you -- we--" He pulled a stool from beneath the workbench and sat down. "Kat, I'm sorry. I misunderstood the situation."

She raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not physically."

"I scared you?"

"Yeah."

"God. Kat. I'm sorry."

"You said that." She was getting tired of having to look up at him. "You were panicking. Same as when you pulled a phaser on me."

"I--" His hand was on his mouth, his gaze distant. In a tone of mild amazement, he said, "I've really fucked up, haven't I?"

"Badly."

"Do you want to bring charges?"

"Not particularly," Kat admitted. "What would it do, but humiliate both of us? And Sarah."

"And Sarah." His voice was hollow. "She doesn't--"

"She doesn't need to know."

"Good."

"What I want," said Kat, "is to put it behind me. That kiss. You. Our relationship. I'll make my recommendations to Starfleet Command, and after that, we're done. We have a daughter, and that's all. If she wants to see us together, we'll be civil. Beyond that, you leave me alone."

"If that's what you want." Gabriel looked like he was in shock. "What will you recommend to Starfleet Command?"

I don't want to ruin your career, she had told him just over a month ago. It felt like a million years. You did that all by yourself, she thought now.

She said, "You saved the crew of the Buran. It's an extraordinary accomplishment. And you penetrated the Klingon cloaks. Destroyed the Ship of the Dead. You've saved countless lives. You deserve a medal. And a quick, quiet medical retirement."

He swallowed. "And if I don't go along with that?"

"We could start with a court martial. Questions might be asked about Francesca's influence. Maybe a nice political nepotism scandal. I'll probably lose my career, too -- your mom's already made threats in that direction, and God knows I've violated all the rules about fraternisation. Your crew might be tainted by association. Sarah, too."

She wanted to reach out to him. Habit, she told herself. She was still adapting to this new reality where she was not Gabriel Lorca's friend.

"I'm going to recommend medical retirement in the strongest possible terms," she said. "Please. Take it." It's the last thing I can do for you.

He nodded slowly.

"And get your eyes fixed," she added.

"What will you do?" he asked.

We're not friends, I don't owe you an answer.

But she said, "Go back to Starbase Eighty-Eight. Continue with rehab. They'll probably put me on medical leave again, but … I can live with that."

"War's winding down. They can spare you."

"Gabriel," she said, "it was never about sparing an individual officer. We're all interchangeable."

One woman alone didn't start the war. One man couldn't end it.

And Starfleet would have deduced sooner or later what Gabriel was trying to do. She just got there first. Maybe saved some lives, at the cost of two dead on the Enterprise. If she counted this a success regardless, was she as bad as Gabriel?

Focus.

Gabriel was watching her, wariness mixed with concern. Don't look at me like that, she wanted to say, we're not friends, we're not friends, we're not--

She turned, instead, and went towards the door, but paused before she hit the button to open it.

"Take care, Gabriel," she said, and left before he could answer.

She ordered the waiting security officer to escort him back to his quarters, and made her way through Discovery's damaged corridors. The next months would be busy, she realised. The ship needed a refit; a decision had to be made about the future of the Crossfield Project and the spore drive. Noor Madani would have something to say about the state of Paul Stamets's white matter, she was sure. The administration on Starbase Eighty-Eight would need to find the technician who had falsified Gabriel's results, and audit everything else that man had touched.

And someone would have to decide what to do with Michael Burnham, who deserved more than a life in prison. Kat owed her. A lot.

Break the problems down. Is there anything that only you can do?

She was best suited to advocate for Burnham, she decided. Everything else could be delegated. And even that wasn't her problem.

Then there was Sarah, who needed to know about the end of her parents' friendship. It wasn't the end of the world; relationships finished all the time.

And maybe, Kat thought, one day she and Gabriel would be able to coexist. They could never go back to the way things were, but with time, and healing--

Let it go. Let him go, she told herself.

And, He's not your problem.

Okay. Okay. She could do this. Talk to Sarah. Talk to Burnham.

Talk to Dr Winters, at length, and maybe have a quiet cry when it was over.

Recover.



end