Hawk approached the detention cell and saw Zweller sitting against one wall, his face blank, his eyes closed, and his posture relaxed, as if he were meditating. The forcefield at the front of the cell sparked for a moment, and Hawk stepped through it. The slight crackle behind him meant that the field was back in place.
“Commander?” he asked quietly.
Without opening his eyes, Zweller responded, gesturing beside him on the bench. “Mr. Hawk. Won’t you sit down? The view from here is astonishing.” His lips moved into a slight smile.
Hawk sat. He was edgy enough because of the discussion he sought, and the spartan accommodations made him even more uncomfortable. “I needed to talk with you a bit more before making my decision,” he said, his voice low.
“I trust you’ve already talked to some of my erstwhile shipmates about me,” Zweller said.
Hawk nodded. Unfortunately, those conversations– none of which involved questions about Section 31–had told him little more than he already knew. To hear Roget and Dr. Gomp tell it, Zweller was clearly a traitor who ought to be clapped into irons and sent straight off to the Federation Penal Settlement in New Zealand. Other former Slaytonofficers, like Kurlan and Tuohy, tended toward maverick stances in their professions, and thus seemed more willing to give Zweller the benefit of the doubt.
Hawk knew that only Zweller could tell him what he really needed to know. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Why did you . . . how . . .”
“How did I come to be involved with this group?” Zweller opened his eyes and stared calmly at Hawk. His gaze seemed almost fatherly, but Hawk didn’t sense much warmth behind it. “It’s a personal story which I do not care to share in detail. Suffice it to say that I was a part of a mission in which I was forced to question a decision made by my friend and commander. We had received two distress calls–from a Starfleet vessel and an alien craft–with only the time to answer one. If we aided the Starfleet ship, we would save the lives of less than a dozen fellow officers. If we aided the alien ship, we would not only save hundreds of lives, but we would also keep a set of experimental weapons from falling into the clutches of the Breen.
“The decision my commander was compelled to make–because of Starfleet rules and regulations– meant that we were to save the other Starfleet vessel,” Zweller continued. “I disagreed. In the process of disabling some of the warp systems to force us to the aid of the aliens, I was caught by a senior engineer. Luckily, the woman who caught me was there to perform the same bit of ‘mutiny’ that I was engaged in. And she was the person who recruited me for the bureau.”
“Did you succeed?”
Zweller nodded. “Oh, yes. The sentients survived because of our actions, and the weapons were kept from the Breen. And the Starfleet officers on the other vessel managed to escape before their ship was destroyed. No lives were lost. To date, there have been no negative repercussions from our operation.”
At least none that you’re aware of,Hawk thought. Or seem to give a damn about.
Hawk considered Zweller’s story for another moment, his mind awhirl with unasked questions. “Don’t you think that your actions in this bureau are a form of anarchy? You decide which Starfleet regulations you’ll follow, and which ones you won’t. What makes you any more legitimate than, say . . . the Maquis?”
Zweller allowed himself another small smile. “Many of the Maquis weren’t even born when I became an agent. But when I was a whole lot younger, I asked myself similar questions. About law and virtue. I concluded that they aren’t always the same thing. Earth’s history is replete with secret government organizations, and there have always been anarchists who fear those organizations. Both essentially want what’s best for themselves and their families–a lawful, orderly society, in which everyone can reach his potential, free of tyranny and oppression.
“But it’s their methods that differ,” Zweller continued. “In a democratic coalition–which is, after all, what the Federation is–the people elect representatives, who then decide on rules to govern the populace. That’s a difficult enough task for humans to achieve on their own, Mr. Hawk, much less humans and Vulcans and Andorians and all the other species that coexist in the UFP. What’s good for one world might not be good for another.
“Which is one of the justifications for the Prime Directive. At its base, our noninterference credo should conceivably allow every civilization to control its own destiny. But do we really follow that? Ever?”
Hawk looked at him, his eyebrows scrunched together quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Every time one of our away teams beams down to the surface of a planet, we are interacting with the people there. We are changing their destiny. We are breaking the Prime Directive simply by being among them.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” said Hawk.
“You asked me if we represented anarchy, and in one way, I would have to say, ‘Yes.’ Our very presence in other cultures introduces unpredictable elements that would not normally be there. But once we have made that intrusion, we have an obligation to be the best visitors we can be. Sometimes, that means that we mustinterfere, for the greater good. And here’s the paradox: Those same Starfleet rules that allow us to interject ourselves into alien cultures also forbid us from deliberately helping or hurting them. They keep us from fixing mistakes that can boomerang on us later.”
Hawk looked down at his hands, which were clasped in his lap. Zweller made sense, more so than he had during their earlier too‑brief exchanges. He was more persuasive than even Tabor had been.
“You asked what made us different from the Maquis,” said Zweller. “If you’re speaking of pure idealism, there isn’t much that’s different. The passion and the drive for freedom are the same. And sometimes in the particulars of technique, we don’t differ that greatly either. Sometimes, you do what you have to do, even if it gets ugly.
“But the major difference between them and us is that Section 31 exists withinStarfleet. It knows the rules and follows them whenever possible, and when circumstances compel us to break those rules, we do it with the greater good of the entire Federation in mind.”
“So you wouldn’t fight for the same aims as the Maquis?” Hawk asked. “The Federation citizens that the Federation–Cardassian Treaty uprooted were no less important after the treaty than before.”
“Those people choseto stay behind, knowing the likely consequences,” said Zweller.
Hawk tried not to flinch, but he did nevertheless. Zweller saw it, and put his hand on Hawk’s shoulder as he spoke again, more soothingly this time. “I’m not saying that those citizens deserved to be brutalized by the Cardassians. But the Maquis represent an instability in the power struggle, a violent and confrontational wild card. Instead of fighting head‑on, and losing lives needlessly, Section 31 has worked to undermine Cardassia’s hold on the disputed worlds from withinthe Cardassian government. You’d be amazed how much change you can effect simply by replacing a few strategically important guls and legates.”
“You and Tabor were working to undermine the referendum so that the Chiarosans would vote against Federation membership on Chiaros IV. And ever since the escape on the scoutship, you’ve avoided telling me the truth as to why.”
Zweller sighed. “It was concluded privately by many Starfleet higher‑ups that Chiaros IV wasn’t valuable enough–or politically stable enough–to fight over. Especially not when you consider what the Romulans offered us in exchange for our withdrawal from the system.”
“Which was?”
“Extremely important information. Data about most of the Romulan spies working within the Federation and Starfleet.”
Hawk was suddenly extremely uncomfortable with what he was hearing. “You came here to trade an entire star system–and its people–for some ephemeral information? You lost a ship, risked all of our lives–”