“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 warover a rebel prisoner who has requested asylum. Have I missedany 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 Iwould 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 youused 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 Slaytonbeen keeping you busy, Counselor?”
Troi smiled gently. “They haverequired 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 andwithdraw 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 toosmall.”
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 Enterpriseany 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.”