He spoke first. “I’m sorry, Marta. It wasn’t my intention to have this all go south. I’d do anything to bring the crew of the Slayton back, and Aubin was—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was firm and unyielding. “Don’t you dare bring Aubin into your—” And then it hit her. Troi’s premonition of danger at the peace conference, when she had pushed Picard to safety. The emotionamplifying chip and its contents, as described by the android. Some of the things Aubin had said and done on this mission. Before now, none of them had connected. Now, though she didn’t want to think it, the words came into her head in a flood. Aubin was Cory’s partner in sabotaging the Chiarosan peace talks.
Steeling her nerves, she began moving around the conference table toward Zweller. “He was working with you, wasn’t he?” she asked.
Zweller looked up at her, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. She was glad to see that for once in the last hour, she had been the one to surprise him. She continued: “He was part of your group. He didn’t come here to promote peace, he came here to help end Ruardh’s regime and lose the Geminus Gulf to the Romulans.”
“He was doing what was best for the Federation, Marta. He was following his orders.”
She began to turn, then brought her left hand up in a clenched fist. Her blow connected to Zweller’s jaw with a crack, and he went cartwheeling backward, out of his chair.
Sprawling, the commander rubbed his jaw. “Ow,” he said simply.
“Get up too soon and I’ll knock you right back on your ass, Corey.” Batanides massaged her fist a bit, and looked down at her friend. “How should I react? First I find out that one of my oldest friends has betrayed his ideals and is collaborating with the Romulans. And now I find out that the man I loved—who was slaughtered in the midst of a peace initiative—is just as much a traitor to everything I believe in!”
“I’m not a traitor, Marta,” he said emphatically, holding his hands up, palms outward, as if to ward off any further blows. “And neither was Aubin. We were following orders from Starfleet, orders that worked to the benefit of the Federation.”
“Oh, yes, I can see the big benefit. A starship and her crew destroyed. Countless Chiarosans dead. A famed ambassador murdered. The fleet’s flagship about to be booted out of the system, unless, of course, we go to war over a rebel prisoner who has requested asylum. Have I missed any of your benefits?
“And who exactly was it who cut your cloak-anddagger orders, Corey? I’m a flag officer in Starfleet Intelligence! Don’t you think I would know about any clandestine deals with the Romulans?”
“You know as well as I do that there are branches of Starfleet that are more . . . covert than Intelligence.”
Batanides seemed unconvinced. “Shadowy government bureaus may be all the rage for your buddies, the Romulans, or some of the other warlike cultures, but they haven’t existed on Earth since the twenty-first century.”
Zweller sighed, then stood, keeping a discreet distance from the admiral’s striking range. “What do you want to hear, Marta? That you’re right? That those in power have never seen a need to secretly bend the rules that they uphold in public? That even Starfleet Intelligence has never stepped over the line to protect the Federation from its enemies? What is it you want to hear?”
Squaring her shoulders, Batanides looked her compatriot in the eyes. She had to say the words out loud, though she feared even thinking them. For years she had heard the rumors of a shadowy group of operatives; now, she might have been in bed with them, literally and figuratively.
“Tell me there is no Section 31. Tell me that you’re a rogue agent. Tell me that Aubin was an ambassador who was just trying to settle a civil war on behalf of the Federation’s diplomatic corps.”
In Zweller’s eyes, Batanides saw sorrow, and perhaps a bit of pity. She knew then that her friend still loved her, and that his loyalties were conflicted.
But she also saw the cold, brutal truth: Section 31 was real, and Aubin Tabor had done its bidding.
He turned away from her, hands clasped behind his back, and stared out at the stars.
Batanides massaged her bruised hand, trying to calm herself, breathing as regularly as she could. A smoldering rage was building inside her. But what could she do about it?
Batanides turned her back on Zweller and started to go. Then she stopped at the door, and spoke to him once more over her shoulder. “I’m going to bring Section 31 down, Corey. For my memory of what Aubin was . . . and for the man you used to be.
“And you have to decide whether or not you’re going to stop me.”
Chapter Fourteen
For a few moments after he returned to the bridge, Picard stood quietly beside one of the aft consoles as he surveyed his crew in action. Various officers were busily manning stations, scarcely pausing to note his presence. Riker sat confidently in the center seat as if he was born to it. Picard smiled to himself, taking quiet reassurance from the seamless performance of his crew. It was preferable by far to shouts of “Captain on the bridge!”
“Report, Number One,” Picard said as he approached Riker.
“Geordi and Data are nearly finished loading their attack plan into the Romulan ship’s computer core,” Riker said as he rose from the chair. “And Lieutenant Hawk is getting her ready for launch.”
Picard nodded. “Good. How soon can we get the mission under way?”
“No more than another thirty minutes. Maybe sooner.”
Picard suddenly noticed how drawn and exhausted Troi looked. Who counsels the counselor? he thought.
“Have the survivors from the Slayton been keeping you busy, Counselor?”
Troi smiled gently. “They have required a lot of attention, Captain. But that’s to be expected, considering the ordeal they’ve suffered. Apart from their suspicions about Commander Zweller, their morale is actually quite good. I’m really much more concerned about our other guest.”
Picard understood immediately. “Grelun. Dr. Crusher tells me he’s already made a complete recovery. Has he been causing any problems?”
“Not at all,” Troi said, sounding surprised.
Riker grinned wryly. “I suppose it’s a lot easier to be polite when no one’s shooting at you.”
“I’m certain it’s only a temporary cease-fire, Will,” Troi said. “First Protector Ruardh isn’t about to simply leave him in our custody, political asylum or no. And she’d probably go apoplectic if she saw the VIP stateroom we issued him.”
Riker shrugged. “Big people need big quarters.”
“Do you think Ruardh would actually be foolish enough to attack the Enterprise?” Picard asked Troi.
“She’s certainly angry enough, Captain. But I don’t think she’ll do anything overt until after the results of the referendum are officially announced.”
“Grand,” Picard said, shaking his head. Still, his determination to safeguard Grelun from his would-be executioners had not wavered. “So we have to neutralize the singularity and withdraw to a safe position, all within a couple of hundred minutes.”
“At which time the Romulans will be within their rights to use force to get us out of the Geminus Gulf,” Riker said.
Picard heard a pair of doors swish open behind him. He turned and saw Admiral Batanides enter, to be followed moments later by Zweller. Picard had to fight back his surprise at the sight of the bruise on the commander’s jawline. He and Batanides both wore somber expressions; Zweller looked for all the world like a cadet who had just been put on report for brawling.
Picard turned back toward Riker. “You have the conn, Number One. I’ll be commanding the singularity mission myself.”
Riker frowned. Picard didn’t need Troi to read his first officer’s intentions.
“No arguments this time, Will. Mr. Data and Mr. Hawk will be with me. This operation can be executed best by a small crew, and it’s far too important for me to delegate.”
“With all due respect,” Riker said, “a crew of two seems a bit too small.�
��
Suddenly, the ship lurched hard to starboard, forcing everyone to grab at chairs, railings, and consoles to avoid being flung violently about the bridge. An alarm klaxon shrilled as Zweller toppled hard against a console and Batanides fell onto her knees. The vibrations forced Troi out of her chair, unceremoniously depositing her onto her backside. Riker stumbled, then clutched at a console and struggled back to his feet.
Picard stood beside the command chair, grabbing its arms to steady himself. He experienced a fleeting instant of vertigo. Shaking his head to clear it, he wondered if Ruardh had chosen this moment to launch a surprise attack.
Then, almost as quickly as they had come, the vibrations ceased. A quick glance around the bridge revealed that no one was seriously hurt.
“Number One, what just happened to us?”
Holding tightly to his console, Riker said, “It was another subspace distortion-wave, Captain. Quite a bit stronger than the previous ones.”
“What the hell are the Romulans up to?” Picard said, not expecting an answer. “Yellow alert. Status report, Lieutenant Daniels.”
Staring at his readouts on the upper bridge, Daniels spoke breathlessly. “I’m getting reports of minor hullbreaches on decks eleven and twelve, Captain.Forcefields are up and damage-control crews are responding. It could have been a lot worse.”
“What about the Chiarosans?” Picard said. “Can you tell if the planet was affected?”
“Apparently not, sir,” Daniels said. “I’m monitoring their orbital communications tether now. It seems to be working, and I’m not picking up any emergency message traffic. The atmosphere and the planet’s Nightside must have taken the brunt of the shock.”
“I recommend we don’t take the Enterprise any closer to the singularity than it already is,” Riker said. “We can’t predict when these subspace slippages will occur, and a ship this large is a sitting duck for spatial disruptions this intense.”
“Won’t our shields protect us?” Troi said.
Riker shook his head. “Subspace distortions alter the shape of space itself. The Enterprise occupies a pretty fair amount of that space. And she can’t take this sort of punishment the way the planet can.”
Batanides strode toward the turbolift, where Zweller awaited her with a sullen expression. She paused in the open doorway and turned to face the bridge. To Picard, she said, “Commander Zweller I and will be in the shuttlebay.”
Picard nodded to her. “Everything is ready for you,” Picard said simply, then watched as his two oldest friends entered the turbolift, headed to their rendezvous with Chairman Koval. Just before the doors hissed shut, Picard saw the thunderheads looming behind Batanides’s gaze.
He was supremely thankful that he was not Cortin Zweller.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of Data and La Forge, the Romulan scoutship was ready for launch ten minutes ahead of schedule. The bridge crew had detected three more strong subspace distortion wave-fronts that followed no perceptible pattern. The Romulans were clearly stepping up their efforts. It could be that they were closer to harnessing the subspace singularity’s colossal power than anyone had suspected.
But they might also be losing control of it, Picard thought. No wonder they wanted us to clear out of here yesterday.
The shuttlecraft Herschel, carrying Zweller and Batanides, had already departed when Picard entered the shuttlebay. Now that the damage had already been done to Federation–Chiarosan relations, Picard could only hope that his old comrades-at-arms could extract some useful information from the Romulans. And that they would survive the attempt.
Aboard the Romulan ship, Picard found Data seated directly behind the cockpit, where he had become part of an arcane and faintly disturbing tableau. The back of the android’s head, including much of his hair, lay discarded on a nearby seat. The gleaming cortenide and duranium of his skull lay exposed, baring the busy polychromatic flashings of the positronic matrix that comprised his sentience. A flat, paper-thin cable ran from near the top of his head to an information access port in one of the bulkheads.
Picard realized he was staring when Data smiled up at him. “Please forgive my appearance, Captain. This direct interface will allow me to access the array’s security grid a great deal faster than I could by entering commands through the consoles.”
Picard had rarely seen Data in such a state of partial disassembly. The sight was a stark reminder of the huge gulf that still separated his inorganic friend from the humanity to which he aspired. Organic beings, Picard reflected, tended to take their basic bodily integrity as a fait accompli.
“Carry on, Mr. Data,” Picard said as he made his way forward into the cockpit, where he took one of the two narrow seats. Lieutenant Hawk sat in the other, and was running a series of preflight checks.
During the flight from the rebel base, Picard had become quite familiar with the scoutship’s many systems and instruments, despite the alien appearance of the icons in the cockpit’s graphical interface. Still, he was glad to have Hawk at his side on this mission; the lieutenant was not only a fine pilot, but also an exceedingly quick study. Picard was well aware that Hawk had been watching the cockpit controls attentively during much of the voyage from Grelun’s compound to the Enterprise.
Assuming that we get out of the current circumstances alive, Picard thought, I expect you to go quite far, Mr. Hawk.
“Captain, could I ask you a question?” Hawk said, setting his activities aside for a moment.
Picard could see that something was bothering the younger man. “Certainly, Lieutenant. What’s on your mind?”
“Assuming we succeed . . . what are the chances of anyone ever locating this subspace singularity again?”
“Commander La Forge is of the opinion that it won’t be detectable again for centuries. If ever.”
“I . . .” Hawk hesitated, then seemed to find the courage to go on. “Commander Zweller spoke with me shortly after the mission briefing.”
Picard thought he knew where this was heading. “And he believes that we may be overreacting to the threat posed by the singularity.”
“I think he may have a valid point,” Hawk said. “May I speak freely, sir?”
“Of course.”
“We’re about to destroy this thing, for all intents and purposes. Doesn’t that fly in the face of our overall mission of exploration? It might even be questionable under interstellar law.”
“With the fate of the universe at stake, Lieutenant, I’d gladly face the consequences of my decision in a court of law,” Picard said. A moment later, he added, “I take it Commander Zweller brought these matters to your attention as well.”
“Yes, sir. He did.”
“And are you strongly in agreement with him?”
Hawk looked uncomfortable. “I just thought . . . I think that the question needed to be raised. Once we do this, there’s no turning back.”
“You’re right. There is no turning back.” Picard sighed and looked through the scoutship’s forward viewports through steepled fingers. “Lieutenant, I’m not insensitive to your concerns. I’ve wrestled with the same issues myself. This mission goes against all of my instincts as an explorer. If I thought there were any safe way to preserve this phenomenon for scientific study, I would. But I can’t. The risk is simply too great.”
“Still,” Hawk said glumly. “If we could find some way to save this thing, and harness its power for some peaceful purpose . . .” He trailed off into silence.
“Lieutenant, are you acquainted with the writings of Lord Acton?”
“ ‘Power tends to corrupt,’ ” Hawk quoted, nodding. “‘And absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ ” A smile slowly fanned across the younger man’s lips.
“Strange,” Picard said. “That old caveat always struck me as more chilling than humorous.”
Hawk looked mildly embarrassed, and his smile abruptly vanished. “That isn’t it, sir. It’s just that . . .” he trailed off again.
Picard frown
ed. “Yes?”
“It’s just that Commander Zweller told me that you’d probably quote Lord Acton to me if I spoke to you about this.”
Picard’s combadge overrode his tart response before he could deliver it. “Crusher to Captain Picard.”
“Go ahead, Doctor.”
“I just heard that you’re planning to fly the mission yourself,” the doctor said, her tone slightly chiding. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to enter the cloaking field. We don’t know what effect it will have on your artificial heart.”
“Doctor, what does the cloaking field have to do with my heart?”
“Cloaking devices tend to give off tetryon particles,” Crusher said. “And that energy field is made up of literally thousands of cloaking devices.”
“Then why wasn’t I harmed by the tetryon emissions that led us to this scoutship?”
“The tetryon counts inside the cloaking field could be much higher,” she countered. “You could be flying into a veritable soup of tetryons.”
The only thing Picard disliked more than medical conversations like this one was having them in front of other members of his crew. “Damn it, Beverly, I’m not an invalid.”
“Captain, do I have to remind you what happened at the Lenarian conference?” Crusher said, beginning to sound impatient.
He remembered all too well; the Lenarians had shut his heart down with a compressed tetryon beam. That incident had nearly cost him his life. But Picard knew that the stray tetryon output from any number of cloaking devices was a far cry from a weapon of that sort.
“Doctor, if you believe that I’m endangering my life unnecessarily, then I suggest you relieve me of duty.”
“I wish I could. No one really knows for certain what the conditions will be like inside the cloaking field. But you need to know the risks.”
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