‘That’s correct.’

The admission echoed through the small, dim office on Markonian Station, quiet as it emanated from the console and yet loud enough to deafen. Captain Styre was not in the habit of being stunned speechless, but now she had to sit at the desk and stare at the holographic projection of the Turei in front of her.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your reports are accurate. We did indeed pass technology on to the Cardassian Union, or mechanisms by which they could recreate the necessary scanning equipment.’

Styre worked her jaw. She was glad Commander Lockhart had returned to the Alpha Quadrant, and not stayed on to monitor the Underspace situation here with the Delta Exploration Initiative. It would not have done for her to be so obviously wrong-footed in front of the analyst. Staying in Admiral Beckett’s favour was a rat-race of a hierarchy where visible weakness was someone else’s weapon.

At last she said, ‘We spoke at length about the Underspace expansion.’

‘We did.’

‘You said you didn’t know why it happened.’

‘That is correct.’

‘Then…’ Styre paused so she didn’t flap. ‘Why?’

‘Starfleet made it abundantly clear you intended to harness the Underspace. Chart it. That, soon, the galaxy would be racing through its tunnels.’ The Turei shook his head. ‘That is a danger we could not tolerate. The Cardassian Union proved that they understood the dangers. That we could come to an accord.’

‘You said none of this to us – shared none of your concerns -’

‘I have done enough business with Starfleet these past years to know better. There is nothing the Alliance could have said that would have stopped you. Not when you smell an opportunity such as this.’

It was true. Styre took another moment to gather herself, knowing she could not defend against such an accusation. But pausing did not bring peace; instead, a fresh anger coiled in her, and she let it solidify and freeze to become a shard of ice. She tilted her jaw up an inch. ‘I don’t think you feared the Underspace’s dangers. I think you feared losing control of it.’

‘We –’

‘For decades, centuries, you have enjoyed uncontested mastery of the network. But its expansion made it part of the fabric of the whole galaxy. Owned by none. Commanded by none. And that would have reduced you to a useless rabble of refugees with no prestige. No cards to play on the international diplomatic stage.’

A pause. Then, ‘Perhaps so. But save your righteous anger, Captain. After all, you still need us. You still need the Delta Quadrant tunnels.’

‘Those remain intact?’ Styre bit her lip to not lash out. He was right about that, too.

‘Only the recent expansions – or the apertures to them – have fallen. Everything is as it once was. Which means that you may either rant and rave and yet do nothing… or bid farewell to seriously exploring more of the Delta Quadrant than these few sectors.’

Styre’s jaw was tight. ‘This isn’t my decision. I will be making my reports and recommendations to my superiors.’

‘Of course. In good time, at least. I know you have a while to think about it, Captain. After all…’ The Turei’s nightmarish features split into what she knew was an apeing of a mammalian smile in either diplomacy or mockery. ‘Now you must enjoy your wait for the Barzan wormhole to reopen.’

Admiral Beckett was in such a bad mood he didn’t think twice about clapping Captain Hargreaves solidly on the shoulder when he set foot on the bridge of the Caliburn. ‘Kehinde, it’s good to see you and your ship in one piece.’

Hargreaves had clearly been through enough that he didn’t think twice about such an open display of affection. The two men had known each other for years. Beckett was not in the habit of expressing anything so close to an actual kinship with a subordinate, but the notion that he might have lost one of his best captains had stung in a way he wasn’t used to.

‘More or less,’ said Hargreaves through gritted teeth, then ushered Beckett to the central dais. Through the viewscreen, the deep space of the Thalos Sector loomed, black and foreboding and, above all, empty. The Underspace aperture that had first captured the Caliburn, banishing her to the far side of the galaxy, was gone.

‘You made it back before everything went to hell and you got stranded in the armpit of the Beta Quadrant. I’ll take that,’ Beckett said. He nodded at the viewscreen. ‘This was one of the last showing any activity.’

‘And about an hour ago, that activity ceased,’ sighed Hargreaves. ‘We stood here and watched as the aperture flickered, faded, and then… closed. There’s some subspace compression, but that’s apparently easing out by the moment.’

‘Starfleet Science thinks that in as soon as a month, it’ll be like this never happened.’ Beckett blew out his cheeks. ‘All of that. Gone in the blink of an eye.’

Hargreaves ground his teeth together. ‘I can’t believe the Cardassians did this.’

‘I can. Underspace would have turned the status quo upside-down. Borders would change, some would collapse. We’re strong enough to weather the opportunities. You ever met a Cardassian who liked change?’

‘I understand the why,’ said Hargreaves carefully. ‘But it’s audacious as hell.’

‘That is the President’s opinion. And thus the opinion of our embassy to Cardassia Prime. We’ve been making it clear, in no uncertain terms, how much we object to Cardassia taking unilateral action like this.’

‘What’d they say?’

Beckett grimaced, pulling out a PADD. ‘After our very long and carefully-worded statement criticising the Union, Chairman Rekal released a one-word statement. It reads: “The Federation does not have the right to determine the fate of the whole galaxy.”’

Hargreaves’s nostrils flared. ‘Do they?’

‘The message speaks for itself.’ Beckett’s eyes locked on the black emptiness of space where the aperture had once squatted, danger and temptation all in one roiling knot. ‘After all. They just did.’