Suddenly, Zweller noticed Counselor Troi’s appraising stare. Hurriedly, he reinforced his mental shields. Had he allowed his regrets to compromise him?
Troi spoke briefly—too softly for Zweller to overhear—to both Picard and Batanides. A moment later, the captain approached Zweller, regarding him with a taut expression.
“Please wait for us in the aft observation lounge, Commander. I think there’s still some unfinished business left over from our previous conversation.”
Zweller’s pulse thundered in his ears as he left the chamber, alone. He knew he had to be the principal topic of whatever conversation was now occurring in the room behind him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and the flames of the singularity blazed behind his eyelids. What a waste, he thought, to banish such a useful thing forever into subspace. There has to be a better alternative.
He decided to speak to Lieutenant Hawk about that at the earliest opportunity.
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you sure of this, Counselor?” Picard asked, his voice booming across the nearly empty Stellar Cartography room.
“Not entirely, sir,” Troi admitted. “The feelings I got during the meeting were so fleeting that I only have vague impressions.” She hated sounding so equivocal, but she knew that evaluating the emotions of others was far from an exact science.
“Just because you sensed feelings of betrayal coming from Commander Zweller doesn’t necessarily mean he’s working with the enemy, Counselor,” said Batanides, her expression showing slight annoyance.
“All the same, Marta, we both know that Corey’s story hasn’t been adding up.” Picard splayed his fingers on the dais railing and stared down at them. “Was he working with Falhain’s rebels or was he just playing along to find a way to free his fellow officers? Did he provide them with weapons? How much does he know about the Romulans’ involvement in this sector? What isn’t he telling us?”
“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help, Captain,” Troi said. “According to his records, Commander Zweller is a nontelepathic human, but he apparently knows how to erect mental shields.”
“Maybe some people just don’t like to have their minds probed without permission,” Batanides said testily, crossing her arms. “In Starfleet Intelligence circles, it’s not uncommon to protect oneself against Betazoids, Ullians, Vulcans, or other telepaths.”
Troi knew that the admiral had been uncomfortable around her ever since her return; she assumed it was most likely because of what Batanides had learned about her lover and his possible provocative actions at the peace conference. The counselor momentarily considered confronting the senior officer with this observation, but decided against it. Best to let the matter drop.
“Sir, I still have more work to do helping the Slayton survivors. Is there anything else I can help with?”
Picard nodded to her, his eyes darting momentarily to Batanides. “No. Thank you, Deanna. I’ll . . . we’ll take your concerns under advisement.”
With a curt nod, Troi backed away and stepped through the door and into the corridor. She scarcely needed her Betazoid abilities to interpret the admiral’s hostile parting glare.
The doors to the aft observation lounge parted with a faint pneumatic hiss, and Picard strode in, the admiral at his side. Picard found Cortin Zweller standing in the dimly lit chamber, staring idly at the sparse starfield that lay beyond the Enterprise’s stern. Zweller turned desultorily toward him, and the captain stared at his friend for a moment, searching his eyes, looking for some sign that things were not as confused as he feared. But all he saw was a carefully blank countenance, a Vulcan-like mask that concealed all emotion.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Picard sighed heavily. “We need to talk, Corey. Just you and me and Marta.”
“Again? What about, exactly?”
“I think you know,” said Picard. He sat behind the long, low table, and gestured for Zweller to take a seat across the table from him. Batanides sat beside Picard, her hands steepled under her chin as she studied each of her old friends in turn.
“There are still some troubling . . . inconsistencies in your accounts of your time on Chiaros IV,” Picard said.
“Such as? Have you gotten new information from Grelun? Or has my esteemed colleague Dr. Gomp renewed his campaign of character assassination?”
Batanides spoke up then. “Grelun’s not talking much. And none of your ‘esteemed colleagues’ seem to have a very high opinion of you right now.”
Zweller snorted, but the admiral pressed on. “ Everyone seems convinced that you worked closely with Falhain and Grelun both, aiding the Army of Light rebels in their fight against Ruardh.”
“I’ve said as much. I freely admit that I helped them somewhat,” Zweller said, leaning back in his chair. “The only way I was going to get my fellow crewmembers off that planet was to pretend to work with them until such time as I could seize an opening and escape.”
“What lengths were you willing to go to before your attempted escape, Corey?” Batanides asked. “Did you provide them with the weaponry that they used in the attacks on the peace conference? Or the other attacks on Ruardh’s forces? And why did you aid them in kidnapping the Enterprise officers?”
“Whoa, slow down, Marta. One question at a time. They already had some weapons when I was captured—when we were captured. I assume they may have gotten them from the Romulans. It didn’t seem particularly important where they got them at the time, just that they had them. And I did not participate directly in the melee at the peace conference—”
Picard was incredulous, and interrupted his friend. “Then how did you remove Riker’s and Troi’s combadges?”
Zweller’s jaw clenched, almost imperceptibly, and he spoke again, his voice as carefully modulated as before. “I said that I did not participate directly in the melee. I was with Grelun’s troops in an antechamber, trying to keep them calm while their leaders negotiated. I hoped that all of us from the Slayton would be released if the talks went well. When the fighting began—which, I might add, was not precipitated by any of Falhain’s men—I bullied aside two of my guards to rescue Riker and Troi before they could be killed. I still don’t know who started the attack, Jean-Luc. But I was trying to save your officers’ lives!”
Batanides’s voice was stony. “Why did you remove their combadges? You allowed them to be taken prisoner.”
“It all happened very fast. I grabbed the combadges because I thought Ruardh’s people were behind the attack. I already told you: They could have used the combadges as automatic target locks and killed Riker and Troi. You have to admit that the creation of Federation martyrs would have given Chiaros IV’s pro-Federation faction a real boost.”
Picard wasn’t entirely convinced by the argument. But Zweller’s easy facility for providing plausible-sounding answers impressed him. The captain leaned forward and pitched his voice low. “Corey, did you come to believe in Falhain’s cause?”
“Do you mean did I think that Ruardh’s regime was an oppressive, murderous, genocidal government that the Federation shouldn’t ally itself with?” His eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Picard sat back in surprise as Zweller stood and began pacing. “I saw what they did to the Chiarosan villagers,” the commander said. “So did Riker and Troi; they witnessed what was left of one settlement. They told you about it. There are only so many charred bodies of men, women, and children you can see—slaughtered for no reasons other than resource-greed and politics—before you begin to know that something is fundamentally wrong.”
Zweller turned to look at Picard. “The Federation wasn’t thorough in their investigation of this world before they began the process of acceptance, Johnny. They were more concerned with beating the Romulans to the punch. But they chose the wrong side this time. And not everyone at Starfleet disagrees with me.”
He paused for a moment, and looked Batanides squarely in the eyes. “Not even everyone in Starfleet Intelligence.”
/> “What?” The admiral stood, an expression of amazement on her face.
Zweller appeared unfazed. “You haven’t asked me about the Romulans yet. Did I know that they were working with Falhain?”
Picard’s mind raced as he tried to formulate a line of questioning for this new revelation. He went with the most obvious choice first: “Did you know about them?”
“Of course I did. Certain echelons of Starfleet knew about them. You’d have to be dense not to at least suspect it.”
“There’s a fine line between suspecting and knowing,” Picard said harshly.
“You keep bringing Starfleet into it as if that justifies your actions,” said Batanides. “I hate to be so blunt, Corey, but you’re only a science officer. I think that Johnny, as a starship captain, or myself, as a vice-admiral in Intelligence, might have some better firsthand knowledge of Starfleet’s intentions.”
Zweller took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then opened them and spoke in a quick, precise cadence. “I was billeted to the Slayton to help facilitate my other assignment. My real assignment. That mission was to find out what was really happening on Chiaros IV, by any means necessary—including infiltrating the rebel factions—and to let the Federation know exactly who they were getting into bed with.”
Batanides’s eyes widened. “Your mission for whom? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss my orders, or exactly to whom I’m reporting,” Zweller said coolly. “Let’s just say that I’ve been working on behalf of an unspecified branch of Starfleet Intelligence, and leave it at that.”
“So you’ve lied to us again,” Picard added, feeling pained and more than a little angry. “Everything you’ve told us thus far is just another string of—”
Zweller interrupted. “I’ve told you what you needed to know, Jean-Luc. In fact, I’ve probably told you too much.”
“Too much?” Picard said, his ire threatening to boil over. “Your ship was destroyed. Your people were taken captive, as were some of mine. I’ve narrowly escaped death twice, and Marta’s fiancÈ was not so fortunate. The Chiarosans are voting right now to reject Federation membership, which will leave this entire sector at the mercy of the Romulans, who have just found a way to use this system to make their fleets unstoppable!” Picard paused, letting the enormity of his accusation sink in. Glaring, he continued. “I think you haven’t told us nearly enough, Commander.”
Zweller turned his back to his friends, and walked over to the viewing window, staring out at the sparse sea of stars floating in the blackness. Finally, he spoke. “None of this was supposed to happen. Certainly not the Slayton’s destruction or the ambassador’s death. And nobody knew about the subspace singularity.”
He paused and put one hand to the back of his neck, before speaking again. “As for the fate of Chiaros IV, I don’t believe that its destiny has ever lain with the Federation. Ruardh’s brutality would have been a black eye on the UFP’s peaceful, smiling face. The planet was a write-off before you ever got here.”
Batanides’s tone was wrathful. “Are you saying that Aubin died for nothing?”
“No. I’m saying that a deal had already been brokered to hand Chiaros IV over to the Romulans. At the time, my superiors believed that the only result of Romulan annexation would be the loss of an expanse of space that perfectly defines the term ‘void.’ As I said, no one knew about the singularity.”
Picard became aware that his mouth was hanging open in surprise. He shut it with an audible snap, then spoke again. “You said that these supposed higher-ups in Starfleet had made a deal. What were we allegedly getting in exchange for handing this system over to the Romulans?”
“The Romulan Tal Shiar was going to furnish a list of all Romulan intelligence operatives working inside the Federation. Prior to the discovery of the subspace singularity, it had looked like a pretty good deal.” Zweller picked at a loose thread on his tunic, a mannerism so casual that the revelations he was sharing might have been something as innocuous as soufflÈ recipes. Picard wasn’t sure what angered him the most, the secrets, the lies, or Zweller’s cavalier attitude.
“I’m to meet with Tal Shiar Chairman Koval at a remote location in the Chiarosan asteroid belt immediately after the Romulans win the referendum,” Zweller said. “There, he’ll give me a data chip containing the list.”
“In other words, you’re betraying the Federation to the Romulans for a chip?” Batanides said, her voice taut.
Zweller’s face and voice betrayed only a flicker of emotion as he leaned forward, hands on the table. “No, Marta. I’m acting on behalf of an agency whose highest priority is the Federation’s security. As far as my superiors knew, my mission would have cost us little and benefited us greatly.”
“You know as well as I do that those Romulan agents are probably set to be purged anyhow,” she replied. “And that there are probably innocents on that list who will be removed from their posts or charged with conspiracy so that the Romulans can replace them with their own people.”
“I don’t think that any Starfleet Intelligence operatives will be charging forward blindly to arrest and prosecute everyone on the list without first—”
“Enough!” Picard slammed both hands down on the table, scowling at his two oldest friends. He had a hard time swallowing everything Zweller had just told him; on the other hand, he certainly couldn’t dismiss out of hand the commander’s charges against Ruardh’s government. Riker and Troi had corroborated that part of Zweller’s story, after all.
The captain turned toward the admiral and spoke, his tone measured. “We must salvage as much of this situation as possible. I think it’s clear now that Ruardh and her government have been concealing their ethnic cleansing pogroms from us all along. And now that the rebel headquarters have been destroyed—regardless of who is responsible—the people seem certain to reject Federation membership, and perhaps even Ruardh’s continued rule. I’m afraid I must agree that the loss of Chiaros IV seems a foregone conclusion at this point.”
He switched his gaze from Batanides to Zweller, and continued. “You’ve obfuscated the truth so much, Corey, that I almost don’t know what to believe anymore. Except for this: Your exchange with the Romulans must go ahead as planned.”
“What? Why?” Batanides appeared dumbfounded. Zweller looked surprised as well.
“Marta, if the Romulans are playing straight with Corey,” Picard said, “then we’ll at least get that list of spies. Corey’s extralegal skulduggery and the loss of the Slayton won’t have been entirely in vain.” Picard observed Corey wince almost imperceptibly at the mention of his destroyed starship; he didn’t need Troi’s talents to notice Zweller’s obvious burden of self-recrimination, deserved or not.
Picard looked at Batanides, who seemed to be weighing his words carefully. After a moment, she nodded and said, “I think you and I are finally on the same page, Johnny, though I have to confess to some surprise to hear you sanctioning a covert operation.”
Picard’s memory conjured images of his capture on the planet Celtris III four years ago, during a secret mission to find a Cardassian metagenic weapon; he fleetingly recalled the horrendous torments, both physical and psychological, he had endured at the hands of his inquisitor, Gul Madred.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Picard said, his throat suddenly dry.
Batanides shrugged. “Be that as it may, you left out an important detail.”
“What’s that?” Picard said, his brow wrinkling.
“I’m going with him,” she replied.
Now it was Picard’s turn to be surprised. “Actually, I was thinking that I should be the one to go, Marta.”
“You’re not an intelligence officer, Johnny,” she said, a sly smile crinkling the corners of her mouth. “I am. And I outrank you, so please don’t bother arguing.”
“I suppose you are the best choice to . . . render aid to Mr. Zweller should he need it,” Picard said, admitting defeat
. And to keep an eye on him in case he has any other tricks up his sleeve. Picard knew that he didn’t need to say that out loud; he assumed that both Batanides and Zweller were already thinking it as their reflections regarded each other appraisingly across the polished tabletop.
Breaking the silence, Picard said, “Still, I have to point out that there’s some real danger here.” Batanides flashed him a no kidding? look of mock surprise; he ignored it and continued. “While we’re trying to neutralize the singularity, we’ll stand a greater chance of success if we can divert the Romulans’ attention elsewhere.”
“Onto the two of us,” Batanides said.
“In other words,” Zweller said acerbically, “we’re going to serve as a distraction.”
Picard ignored the comment. “You’ll be issued a shuttle so you can make your rendezvous at the appointed time.”
The captain’s combadge suddenly chirped, and Will Riker’s voice issued from it. “Captain, I think we’ve finally got some good news. Geordi has worked out the details of his plan for dealing with the singularity.”
And not a moment too soon, Picard thought. “Splendid, Number One. I’ll join you on the bridge in a moment.”
Rising from his chair, Picard took a last look at his two friends and fleetingly saw them as they had once been—rousingly ebullient and slightly rebellious cadets.
How time and politics change us all.
“It is vitally important that you keep the Romulans occupied,” he said, straightening his tunic as he prepared to exit the observation lounge. “And personally, for me . . . it’s equally as important that both of you return from your appointment alive. We’ll deal with these other matters . . . later.”
If there is a ‘later’ for the three of us, Picard thought as he strode down the corridor.
The silence in the room was palpable after Picard departed. Batanides’s thoughts were awhirl as she tried to make sense of the revelations to which she had just been made privy. She looked over at Zweller, who was now slumped in his chair, refusing to meet her gaze.
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