Hawk nodded, his jaw still shaking. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly.
“I imagine it will go something like this,” Picard said, his tone soothing. “A special commendation will be placed in your file, noting your meritorious actions during the Chiarosan crisis. And you’ll fulfill your duties on the bridge at your next work shift, and the one after that.”
Hawk relaxed visibly, but Picard wasn’t finished. “At some point, you’ll likely have to testify about Zweller’s actions before a Starfleet Command tribunal. But I don’t expect this to affect your career negatively in any way.”
He held his hand out toward the young man. “You’ve exhibited honesty and bravery throughout this mission, Sean. You made the right choices. All of them. Continue to make them.”
Relief showed on Hawk’s face. “Thank you, Captain.” They shook hands firmly, then disengaged.
On the table, Picard’s combadge chirped, and Data’s voice filtered out of it. The captain was relieved that his android friend had recovered so completely from the aftereffects of the raid on the subspace singularity, and whatever injuries the Romulan security AI had inflicted upon him.
“Captain,” Data said, “there is a Priority One message for you from Starfleet Command.”
“I’ll take it here, Mr. Data.” He turned to Hawk with a slight smile. “We’ll talk more about this later.”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, then strode swiftly to the door.
Picard had donned his jacket before sitting behind his desk. He touched a small contact and its small screen lit up. On it was Admiral Connaught Rossa, whom he hadn’t heard from in years.
“Admiral Rossa. It’s good to see you, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Rossa clearly wasn’t in the mood for the usual pleasantries. “It’s my understanding that you have detained a Commander Cortin Zweller for various actions concerning this sordid liaison between the Chiarosan rebels and the Romulans.”
“Yes, sir. We are transporting him to Starbase 424, where he will be bound over for trial.”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain. Instead, you will rendezvous in four days with the U.S.S. Tian An Men, just as soon as the Enterprise is clear of Geminus Gulf space. The exact coordinates for this meeting will be transmitted to you shortly. You will transport Commander Zweller and all his personal effects—including computer files—to the Tian An Men at that point.”
Picard was jarred. After an almost imperceptible pause, he said, “May I assume that Vice-Admiral Batanides from Starfleet Intelligence will accompany the commander?”
“No. But after the rendezvous, you may continue on your heading for Starbase 424. Admiral Batanides and the remaining Slayton survivors will be ferried from there to their next destinations.”
“Admiral, I must tell you that there are some very . . . unusual aspects to the charges against Commander Zweller.” Picard shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“As I said, Captain, you will transfer all files about this to the Tian An Men. This includes all log material. The matter will be classified until such time as we contact you again.”
“I will gladly make myself and my officers available to testify at the court-martial proceedings and—”
Rossa seemed annoyed. “Captain, perhaps I’m not making myself clear enough. We will contact you when we wish to hear from you. It is doubtful that charges will be brought against the commander—”
This time it was Picard’s turn to interrupt her. “What? He allied himself with anti-Federation forces, aided in the abduction and incarceration of fellow Starfleet officers, and conspired with the Romulans! And I’m certain that’s only the tip of the iceberg!”
The admiral’s voice was sharp. “I’m sure we’ll be able to decide for ourselves the truth about Commander Zweller’s actions. Certainly, he was instrumental in revealing the atrocious war crimes being committed by a potential ally to the Federation, the Chiarosan government.”
“Admiral, there’s a great deal more going on here than you think.”
“Captain, I’ll allow for some small amount of insubordination from you, given the lateness of the hour. But I trust I needn’t remind you of Starfleet’s chain of command.” She straightened in her chair, extending one hand toward the panel on the desk in front of her. “You have your orders. They are not open to discussion.”
The image of Rossa vanished, replaced by the seal of the Federation. Picard gritted his teeth, fuming.
He slammed his hand down onto the comm panel. “Picard to Batanides.”
“Go ahead.”
“Marta . . . We need to talk.”
* * *
Standing beside Picard in the passageway outside the brig, Batanides could scarcely believe what she was hearing. But the way things had gone on this mission, nothing was a complete surprise to her anymore.
“I’ve got a bit more pull with the brass hats than most starship captains do, Johnny,” she said, her voice lowered. “Rossa might outrank me, but I promise you—I won’t let this rest.”
“I didn’t expect that you would, Marta. But at the moment, my hands are officially tied.”
“I wouldn’t have expected this of Rossa. She’s been in Starfleet a long time.” Batanides had worked under the admiral on several earlier occasions.
Picard exhaled, shrugging slightly. “Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. We don’t know if she’s a part of this organization, or one of the people who help hide its existence. Or if she’s only following orders she’s been given by others.”
“No, we don’t know,” Batanides conceded grumpily. She gestured to the door of the brig. “Shall we get this over with then?”
They entered the brig, and Picard told the guard to wait outside, just beyond the outer door, to give them some privacy. The captain accessed the controls from the guard’s console, bringing the security forcefield down. He and Batanides then stepped to the entrance of Zweller’s cell, staying just outside it.
Their old friend looked up, a half-smile on his face. “Johnny. Marta. Have you finally come to your senses and decided to let me out of here?”
Batanides glared at him, but it was Picard who spoke. “Why the skulduggery, Corey? And why don’t the rules apply to you and your unit?”
“Oh, please, Johnny, let’s not get into more endless debates about following the rules. I’m not that much different from the two of you when it comes to defending the Federation. These philosophical arguments about who’s right or wrong are getting old. You have your methods, and they generally work. But when they don’t . . .” Zweller spread his hands in the air, as if allowing sand to slip between his fingers.
Batanides spoke up, her shoulders straightening. “Commander Zweller, you appear to have friends in high places. Captain Picard has been ordered to release you to another ship’s custody four days from now, no questions asked. And Starfleet Command isn’t exactly champing at the bit to haul you before a court-martial.”
“Well, that’s certainly good news, Marta,” Zweller said, brightening further. He stood. “Being punished simply for doing the right thing wouldn’t be quite fair, now would it?” He turned toward Picard. “So, am I free to go to my quarters?”
Picard gave Zweller a soulful look, then turned on his heel. “I think given the circumstances . . . I’d feel much safer if you stayed here until your transfer to the Tian An Men.”
The captain withdrew to the security console, leaving Batanides alone with Zweller. They stood staring at each other. Batanides looked into the eyes of her friend, but couldn’t find the man he used to be anywhere in them. All she saw was darkness.
He moved his hand as if to touch her on the shoulder. The forcefield crackled into place—she wondered if Jean-Luc had chosen that precise moment for effect—and Zweller withdrew before he could touch it. “Marta, I’m sorry that—”
“You may be free to go in a few days, Corey,” she said, interrupting, “but God help you if our paths ever cross again after th
at. Not even Section 31 is invulnerable.”
She turned and walked away. Corey’s organization had taken her fiancÈ from her, and then one of her oldest friends.
It had much to answer for.
Chapter Nineteen
Jean-Luc Picard was not one who brooded often—if he did, he wouldn’t admit it to others—but today, his mood was as black as obsidian. After Hawk’s confessional visit, Admiral Rossa’s orders, and his brief confrontation with Zweller, sleep had been coming only fitfully. The stress and fatigue of the last several days—to say nothing of his brush with death on the subspace singularity mission—had taken their toll.
He had spent the morning organizing the files to be sent over to the Tian An Men along with Zweller, and classifying all the other relevant documents stored within the Enterprise’s computer banks. Although he could have assigned the task to Data and gotten it done more efficiently, he preferred to do it himself, though every deletion, transfer, or security classification chipped away at whatever good humor remained within him.
If only there had been some way to read the encrypted information on that Romulan data chip, Picard thought bitterly. At least then, Marta and I would have been able to warn some of Section 31’s next targets. Perhaps even set some traps.
Riker had contacted him a short while ago, telling him that the Tian An Men was approaching. The time of the scheduled rendezvous was almost upon them.
Just minutes from now, Corey Zweller will be free. He cursed under his breath.
The ready-room door chimed quietly, then slid open. Vice-Admiral Batanides hesitated for a moment before stepping in. “Good morning, Jean-Luc,” she said, moving over toward the replicator.
“Either you have some news of which I’m not yet aware, or you mean that rhetorically,” he said, forcing a smile.
She ordered almond amaretto coffee with cream, and then turned toward him as a cup sparkled into existence in the replicator. “No. No good news. And the Tian An Men is almost within transporter range.”
Picard regarded her for a moment, his hand to his chin. “Marta, I need to speak with you off the record. Truly off the record.”
“Sure, Johnny,” she said. She took a seat before the desk, her coffee cup in hand.
He sighed heavily. “I’ve been running this week’s events over and over in my mind. I’ve been reading and rereading the logs. And I’m still tremendously uncomfortable with Admiral Rossa’s orders.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “There are a lot of unpleasant consequences associated with this mission that I can accept. I can accept that a sovereign people have elected to reject Federation membership. I can accept that the Romulans have gained three sectors of relatively worthless territory at our expense. I can even accept the fact that we never learned whether Falhain’s assassination was the work of Section 31, the Romulans, Ruardh, or even Grelun himself.
“But I cannot accept the prospect of Corey Zweller leaving this ship a free man after what he’s done.”
She looked supremely concerned. “What are you telling me, Johnny?”
“I have no intention of simply turning Zweller over to the Tian An Men. It’s clear that Section 31 has contrived a way to sweep his misdeeds under the rug, as well as any proof of the bureau’s existence that we might furnish.”
Batanides sipped her coffee, but said nothing, nor gave any hint of her feelings. Picard continued. “I’m planning on proceeding to Earth with Zweller aboard, where I will appeal directly to the Federation Council. Something must be done about Section 31.”
She appeared to mull his words over for a moment, then set her cup down on Picard’s desk. “That would be a huge mistake, Johnny. We’re not talking about taking on a trio of drunken Nausicaans here, after all.”
And we know how well that little confrontation went, Picard thought. Perhaps that was part of her point.
She resumed: “The stakes are too high, and I won’t have you jeopardizing your career. Heaven knows how many officers have had their lives ruined by this agency—and how many more might be, given this supposed ‘Romulan spy list’—but I won’t allow you to be among them.”
“Marta, this travesty cannot go unchallenged.”
“And it won’t. I warned Zweller last night that Section 31 isn’t invulnerable.” She recovered her cup, took a drink, then continued. “Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea for me to warn him, but I think it’s safe to assume that he was already expecting one of us to go after him anyway.”
Setting her cup down, she reached forward and put her hand atop Picard’s, on his desk. “I’m the one who should go after him, Johnny. I’ll use whatever resources are available to me through my rank and position in Starfleet Intelligence. Resources that not even the captain of Starfleet’s flagship has. And if it’s within my power, Commander Roget and his crew—and everyone who died aboard the Slayton—will see Corey and his superiors brought to justice.”
She paused for a moment, giving his hand a slight squeeze. “Believe me, we both want the same thing, but you’re too high-profile. And if you go off half-cocked, you might throw away any chance we have of ever stopping Section 31. You could drive them even further underground.”
Now it was her turn to look him squarely in the eyes, her gaze studying him. “You have to do what you’ve never been inclined to do: nothing. And, you’re going have to trust me to handle things . . . quietly.”
Picard looked down at her hand atop his, feeling their warmth. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said quietly.
“What more could they do to me, Johnny?” She gave him a sad smile. “All I’ve got left to lose is my friendship with you. So I ask you: Please just walk away from this. Leave it to me.”
Though Picard’s emotions roiled like Chiaros IV’s stormy atmosphere, he could not refute her logic. There simply weren’t any good alternatives to her plan. “All right, Marta. I’ll keep my mouth shut. And I’ll stay out of your way while you gather enough evidence to expose the bureau.”
Batanides grinned warmly. “I hope you won’t stay too far out of my way, Johnny. I’d hate it if it took another life-and-death crisis to bring us back together.”
The door chimed again. Batanides quickly removed her hand from Picard’s, and sat back in her chair. “Come,” Picard said, and Commander Riker stepped into the room a moment later.
“Captain, the Tian An Men is standing by. They’re requesting that we beam Zweller over immediately, along with all information pertaining to our Geminus Gulf mission.”
Picard looked up at Riker wearily, and handed him a padd. “Number One, I’d like you to go to the brig and supervise the commander’s release. I . . . It’s probably best that I don’t see him again for a good long while.”
“I understand, sir.”
Looking into his trusted first officer’s eyes, Picard knew that he did understand.
Sean Hawk and Ranul Keru rounded a corner in the corridor, and came face-to-face with a security contingent led by Commander Riker. Two burly security officers accompanied him, flanking Cortin Zweller, who was dressed in a fresh Starfleet uniform.
“Hello, sir,” Hawk said to Riker, nervous.
“Lieutenant,” Riker said. “Congratulations again on your derring-do in the Geminus Gulf. I’m sure Ranul is at least as happy as we are that you’re back among us.”
Keru grinned. “It wouldn’t be much of an anniversary celebration without him.”
Hawk smiled as well. To Riker, he said, “Thank you, sir.”
“See you on the bridge, Lieutenant,” Riker said, leading his party on in the direction of the transporter room.
As Zweller moved past Hawk, he stopped and grabbed the young man’s arm lightly. Riker and the security officers stopped as well. “It looks as though you’ve made your choice,” Zweller said, his voice low.
“It was the only choice I could make,” Hawk replied, looking Zweller defiantly in the eyes.
Without another word, Zweller turned and followed Riker.
Hawk watched him go, without a trace of regret.
Hawk looked over at Ranul, who smiled and playfully ruffled his hair as they continued down the corridor toward holodeck three. Swashbuckling combat against Bluebeard and his pirates—which he and Keru had postponed for several days now—awaited them. It would be a tame diversion compared to the events of the past week. They might even get to enjoy some time together on a sandy beach after defeating the enemy’s galleon full of brigands.
We have all the time in the world together now, Hawk thought as the holodeck door beckoned.
Chapter Twenty
Romulus, Stardate 50454.1
Senator Pardek looked out from the cliffside veranda, his dark, deep-set eyes surveying the sun-dappled surface of the Apnex Sea, which lapped gently at the jagged rocks far, far below. A small flock of mogai wheeled lazily overhead in a muted gray sky. Beneath them, blood-green waters stretched placidly to the horizon, and lapped at a shoreline teeming with multicolored succulents. Pardek thought, as he often did when he came here, that this must surely be the most beautiful vista on all of Romulus, the jewel in the Romulan Star Empire’s crown.
It was also possibly the safest place he could be. There were no air- or watercraft anywhere to be seen, thanks to the warning messages broadcast by his automated security system. But Pardek also counted on the protection of his own flesh-and-blood security staff, an experienced cadre of loyal Romulan soldiers who were as accomplished in the art of repulsing unwanted visitors as they were at keeping out of sight when not needed. The villa was the one place to which he could retreat from the often vexing intrigues of the Senate and the incessant infighting of the Continuing Committee. Here, he could almost convince himself that the vast length and breadth of the Empire contained nothing that might serve to trouble him, from his principal home in the Krocton Segment to the most remote Neutral Zone outpost; that young upstarts in the Senate weren’t constantly gunning for his position; that the Vulcan radical Spock wasn’t still at large somewhere in the Empire, spreading the subversive doctrine of Romulan–Vulcan unification to ever-increasing numbers of willfully gullible souls.
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