“The Romulan scoutship, Mr. Data, a good pilot, and a couple of hours of preparation time. That singularity ought to be back where it came from permanently by the time we get booted out of here.”
“Hold it,” Batanides said sharply. “You can’t be planning to fly that scoutship into the lion’s den, Mr. La Forge. The lion already has a pretty good idea that we’re coming.”
“Fortunately,” Data said, “the element of surprise will be entirely irrelevant to our plan. We will need only to stay within the cloaking field long enough to establish a link between the Romulan security network and my own neural nets.”
“With a little luck, the scoutship will be halfway back to the Enterprisebefore the Romulans even know what hit them,” La Forge said.
Zweller was wearing a sour expression. “So that’syour solution? Destroythe most potent source of power ever discovered?”
“I’m not thrilled about it, Commander,” said the engineer. “But it seems like a better idea than giving the Romulans a chance to use it against us.”
“Why are you so sure your plan is going to work, Commander La Forge?” Batanides said, sounding skeptical.
The engineer placed an arm about Data’s shoulders, momentarily surprising him. “Because, Admiral, even the smartest Romulan can’t think nearly as fast as the Enterprise’s second officer.”
Data looked embarrassed. “Why . . . thank you, Geordi.”
Picard smiled. “Then make it so, Mr. La Forge, Mr. Data. Mr. Hawk, I’d like to have you aboard that scoutship as well.”
La Forge noticed a slight scowl forming on Keru’s face, though the stellar cartographer said nothing. Hawk beamed, apparently not noticing Keru’s reaction. “ Captain, I’d be happy to volunteer. I’m looking forward to having a go at that scoutship’s cockpit.”
Picard dismissed his officers, and La Forge and Data were the first to leave the room, nearly at a run. With yet another inscrutable riddle before him, the engineer felt fairly abuzz with excitement. Sleep is overrated anyway,he thought, his agile mind already setting up several new equations as he entered the turbolift alongside his android friend.
The knowledge that the Romulans were now poised to take over–or perhaps even annihilate–the universe settled uneasily in Cortin Zweller’s gut. Compared to the singularity, Koval’s list of Romulan spies now seemed impossibly trivial.
Zweller now had to accept the bitter truth that he– and Section 31–had been duped. Taken in by a master deceiver, to be sure. But fooled nonetheless.
He mulled these self‑recriminations over as he watched Lieutenant Hawk and most of the other officers file out of Stellar Cartography. He wondered if Hawk had said anything to Picard or Batanides about their conversation on the scoutship–and which way Hawk’s loyalties would ultimately lead him.
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 Slaytonsurvivors. 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’lltake 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.”