Rogue

by Michael A. Martin

  And to make certain that everyone gets out of the proceedings alive, Picard thought.

  Picard lingered in the observation lounge after his officers had left. Besides himself, only Batanides and Tabor remained.

  Tabor took one of Batanides’s hands between his own. “I’ll be in our quarters, my dear. I have a great deal of reading and preparation to do before tomorrow.” He turned toward Picard. “Captain, I understand that you and Marta are old friends. Friendship is something we Ullians value very highly. Why don’t the two of you take advantage of my preoccupation and spend some time catching up on—how do you humans say it—‘old times’?”

  Batanides tilted her head to the side as though weighing her options. Then she favored Picard with a slightly mischievous smile.

  Picard felt awkward in the extreme. “Marta, I completely understand if you’re too busy—”

  Tabor interrupted him. “Please, Captain. I insist.” Then he walked to the door and was gone. Picard and Batanides stood alone together, looking out onto a stunning vista of stars.

  “I think I can spare a few hours of my time,” she said brightly. “Let’s see if you still know how to show a girl a good time, Johnny. How about a holographic jaunt to the Bonestell Recreation Facility and a few quick games of dom-jot before dinner?”

  He smiled sheepishly, then said, “All right. But let’s ask the maÓtre d’ to hold the Nausicaans this time, shall we?”

  She grinned and took his arm.

  Whatever am I going to tell Beverly tomorrow morning at breakfast? he thought, as they exited the lounge together.

  Chapter Three

  Aubin Tabor stepped into the quarters to which he and Marta had been assigned. As the door hissed closed behind him, he spoke into the air. “Computer. Dim lights. Blue illumination.”

  As the computer adjusted the room’s lights, Tabor moved to a sleek case lying on a side table. Opening it, he removed a small sculpture, a representation of two entwined water nymphs, sea foam gathered at their ankles. The nymphs were facing away from each other, though their arms were interlinked behind them; each a part of the other, but watching vigilantly to either side. He had bought it for Marta on a trip to Crete a few years ago, when they were still newly discovering each other. So many secrets were shared in those early days, so much revealed. Marta had recently broken up from another relationship, and her mind was guarded. Aubin had promised her from the start that he would not use his telepathic powers on her—that he would never use them on her—and it had helped to forge the bond that had grown between them since then.

  Still, each of them hid secrets from the other. All couples do. Tabor knew that. When he wanted to, he could see their secrets. It had aided him as a diplomat, and elsewhere. Marta kept secrets from him that usually had to do with cases being investigated by Starfleet Intelligence, but he also knew about her occasional indulgences with Andeluvian chocolate, and of her secret love for a distractingly loud form of 22nd-century Earth music known as “splitter.” Aptly named.

  And he knew that Marta still harbored feelings for Jean-Luc Picard, the captain of this starship. She hadn’t spoken of him more than twice in the time she had been Tabor’s lover, but he knew—long before she had told him—that she had intentionally chosen the Enterprise as the ship to transport them to Chiaros IV. He didn’t begrudge her these feelings. In fact, they made his tasks easier. So much to prepare.

  He pulled the communicator from his sleeve pocket, pressing his thumb into a recess on its underside. It began to vibrate, almost imperceptibly. He wedged it in between the backs of the two nymphs that made up the statue. It clicked into place smoothly, and the sculpture emitted three short light-bursts. Those flashes signified that the circuitry that had been specially built into the communicator and the sculpture—neither of which could work without the other—was active now. Tabor’s quarters were now completely shielded from all sensor scans and computer surveillance. No matter what he did within these rooms, no one would be able to track him.

  The shield was most useful whenever he had to access protected Starfleet records. It was one of the many devices that made Aubin Tabor’s covert work with Section 31 easier.

  Half an hour later, Tabor had narrowed his choices down to three potentials. Their personnel dossiers were all open on a computer screen in front of him. He punched a few more codes into a padd, accessing data files that Starfleet security only used in the most extreme of circumstances. He was an invisible entity in the database, his codes wrapping and doubling back on themselves, disguising his movements from any of the seventy-three concurrently running automatic programs that sought out potential intruders.

  He brought up the complete dossiers on the trio of Enterprise crewmembers, his eyes scanning over the files quickly. He processed the information almost as quickly as the files scrolled upward. Here were the details on every movement of the three crewmembers since they had entered Starfleet Academy; their grades and performance scores, teachers they had favored, or who had favored them, links to any personal logs that had been kept on Academy computers, travel itineraries for every trip they had ever taken. Here too were the complete records of their actions post-graduation, through whatever ships they had been assigned to prior to the Enterprise. Any mention of them in crew logs was flagged, and all duty and personal logs were catalogued. If he wanted to, Tabor could even find out what the crewmembers in question had eaten each day from the replicator, how often they used the sonic showers, and the intimate details of their personal holodeck programs.

  Tabor had noted that some of his human counterparts in Section 31 were less than enthusiastic about poking into their subjects’ histories in such depth, especially if those subjects were Starfleet personnel. Invasive, they generally called it. But it was one of the reasons that Tabor made a good recruiter; as a Ullian, he was used to sifting through the clutter within people’s minds—memories of which they were not even consciously aware. He was not “invasive”; he was merely utilizing the abilities he had been born with. Because of their reticence, few human operatives could do what he did. One man, Luther Sloan, was among the handful of human Section 31 agents whose scruples were, like his, completely subjugated to his duties.

  Tabor’s superiors had recently made the decision to recruit a new operative aboard the Enterprise. Given the crew’s illustrious history, and Captain Picard’s penchant for becoming involved in politically sensitive interstellar issues, having an operative here was an obvious choice. And while Section 31 could easily have transferred an officer onto the ship—they did that all the time, most recently on the Slayton—it seemed like a better idea to recruit from the existing crew. Trust was already established.

  One of Tabor’s three choices was Lieutenant j.g. Kehvan Zydhek, a Balduk who worked in engineering, alongside his brother, Waltere. The Zydheks had entered Starfleet Academy upon completing their training as warriors on their homeworld. They were brilliant technicians, whose work on ships’ systems kept them close to Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge. The fact that they knew the Enterprise and its computers so intimately made them good prospects as agents, but Tabor felt that Kehvan held the stronger potential for Section 31 work because of disciplinary incidents in his past. Still, the odds of one brother not telling his sibling about his covert affiliations were slim; in cases of close familial contact, Tabor had learned to err on the side of caution.

  Another choice was Jyme Soule, one of the barbers. A jocular older Bajoran, Jyme was well-liked by the command crew of the Enterprise—as was his colleague, the Bolian Mr. Mot. Jyme’s in-shop patter with the officers and crew while cutting or styling their hair meant that he knew a lot about what was going on aboard the ship. And his loose schedule—as well as his civilian status on the ship—would allow him to accomplish many types of covert missions more easily than could a crewmember who was constrained by Starfleet regulations and protocols. However, that same civilian status would mean that Jyme would require a great deal of training to k
eep abreast of Starfleet operations, which was a negative toward choosing him, as was the fact that he would not have clearance to access all areas of the ship.

  Which left Tabor with his final choice, Lieutenant Sean Liam Hawk. The officer’s records showed exemplary service in Starfleet, with a quick rise in rank following his first assignment, to the U.S.S. Yorktown. He was particularly adept at the conn, with reflexes faster than most of his fellow officers. He was athletic, personable, and well-liked by his superiors. Tabor noted twenty-three separate commendations in the files, and seventy-nine other instances in which the Yorktown’s Andorian Captain Kentrav, or the Enterprise’s Picard, had favorably mentioned him in their reports.

  Searching the files, Tabor probed further into Hawk’s past. He was born on Mars, the third son of Rhyst and Camille Hawk. Rhyst was a horticulturist whose work on the hydroponic gardens on Mars had gained him considerable renown in his field, while Camille was a popular novelist who specialized in period adventure stories set in Earth’s 17th and 18th centuries. Sean’s eldest brother, Darey, was the primary mining supervisor on Janus VI, while middle brother Jason was an archaeologist who had gone on a few digs in the Gamma Quadrant.

  Sean had entered Starfleet Academy as soon as he was old enough, noting his desires to “explore space” on his application. He had performed extraordinarily well in his classes, leading experts to theorize that he possessed an eidetic memory. Tabor would have to test that theory when he met with the young man. A few simple mind probes should suffice. If he did indeed possess an eidetic memory, it would heighten his value to Section 31 immensely.

  Tabor noted that Hawk was in a relationship with another male Starfleet officer, and that it was only his second major relationship. The first, with a classmate at the Academy, had broken up after a year; the man had later been killed in a battle against the Cardassians. His current partner was an unjoined Trill, who apparently had no desire to become joined with a symbiont. According to holodeck logs, Hawk and his partner spent much of their time in adventure scenarios, no doubt inspired by Hawk’s mother’s writings. A quick check of content showed, among other settings, seafaring pirate scenarios and programs set during the 19th-century’s war between the North and South of Earth’s United States.

  Times and settings filled with moral ambiguities.

  He’s the one.

  Tabor meditated for a moment, storing as much of the information in his own prodigious memory as possible, before backing out of the hidden files. His computer screen flared for an instant as it disconnected, the recursive Section 31 algorithms covering his exit, and then he was done.

  Tabor stood and cleared his throat softly. He extracted his communicator from its resting place in the statue, repinning it to his lapel. He spoke then, his voice cutting the silence. “Computer, please locate Lieutenant Sean Hawk.”

  “Lieutenant Hawk is in the Botanical Arboretum.”

  * * *

  As Tabor had surmised, Hawk was in the section of the arboretum that housed a dazzling array of Martian flora; Sean’s father had bred most of the variations seen here. Tabor circled the area, to make sure that there were no other crew members nearby, and he took the precaution of setting up a personal perimeter device in his chronometer; should another person get within seven meters of them—even someone telepathically shielded—he would be alerted. He was pleased to note that Hawk was sitting near a small waterfall, where the sound of the water would muffle their conversation.

  Hawk turned smoothly as Tabor approached him. He seemed to regard Tabor for an instant, as if ready to spring to his feet if he were a ranking officer. In a blink, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he offered a smile.

  “Ambassador Tabor. May I be of some assistance?”

  “Perhaps. May I sit?”

  “Certainly.” Hawk grinned, gesturing toward a stone set near the one on which he sat. The waterfall raised a fine mist in the air, while large purplish fronds from one of the trees provided shade from the hydroponic lamps set high above.

  “It’s a beautiful setting here. These are all Martian plants, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hawk said. He paused, then added, “My father bred several of these plants.”

  “Ah, yes. The famed Rhyst Hawk.” Tabor watched Hawk closely, gauging the slight look of surprise in his eyes. “I know of him. I was involved for a few years with a botanist from Telfas Prime. She used to go on and on about her love of your father’s work. That would make you the son of Camille Hawk as well then? I’ve read some of her books. Quite . . . vivacious.”

  “Yes, sir. Dad says she’s to blame for my yen for adventure.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to call me ‘sir,’ ” Tabor said, holding up his hand as if to push the honorific aside. “I’m Aubin. And if it’s all right, I’ll call you Sean.”

  Hawk grinned. Tabor pushed slightly into his mind, seeing that he was unused to the informality, especially from someone older and more traveled. Tabor didn’t give him time to ponder his friendliness, but pressed on. “So, is that ‘yen for adventure’ why you joined Starfleet?”

  “I guess so, yes. When you’ve grown up reading about warriors and spies and pirates, I guess a typical job behind a desk seems . . . I don’t know, boring. I had to escape the Martian suburbs somehow, and Starfleet seemed like a good way out. And it has been interesting. I’ve met scores of people from different civilizations and cultures. There are so many things out there beyond what we know about back home.” Tabor raised his eyebrow slightly, as if shocked, and Hawk looked sheepish for a moment. “Oh, I hope I didn’t offend you. I don’t mean to imply that being an ambassador would be—”

  “It’s quite all right, young man. But I guarantee you that for every day I’ve spent behind a desk or in chambers somewhere mediating a treaty, I’ve also had more than my share of . . . adventures. Not all missions of peace end with olive branches, as your own captain can probably tell you. These upcoming talks on Chiaros IV could be quite difficult.”

  “What do you mean?” Hawk asked. Tabor knew that he hadn’t been told much about the mission.

  “Chiaros is beset by two factions fighting against each other in a civil war. One of the groups is led by the elected First Protector, but the opposing group feels that her rule is corrupt. Each side is claiming atrocities have been committed against them, and neither seems willing to stand down. They are a warrior race, and reportedly as tough and unyielding as Klingons. How true are either of their grievances? Which side, if any, is in the right? I don’t yet know.

  “That’s part of the reason I became a diplomat,” Tabor said with a friendly grin. “Learning about cultures such as the Chiarosans’ fascinates me, but in practicing diplomacy, I have to see those cultures from many different sides. I must foresee all the ways in which any one act can be interpreted, positively or negatively. I have yet to find a situation in which everything is black-and-white and crystal clear. Life is all about color, about variations, not about absolutes.”

  Tabor could read Hawk’s mind, hearing his own words as they were processed through his memory. It created an odd echo effect. He’s right, Tabor heard Hawk think, just before the young man said out loud, “I’m learning that. Watching Captain Picard and Commander Riker on the bridge has been an invaluable education for me.”

  Although Tabor had initially planned to cite a few of Picard’s and Riker’s more unorthodox decisions—to demonstrate that even high-ranking officers don’t always follow approved procedures—he could see in Hawk’s mind that the young man idolized his superiors. The ambassador altered his strategy slightly, saving those examples for later. “They certainly are among the best, even if Starfleet doesn’t always recognize it. But we both know that Starfleet makes mistakes every now and then, don’t we?” He paused for a moment, his telepathic power spearing into Hawk’s memories, seeing exactly which memories this evoked. Grasping them, he spoke again. “After all, look at all the mistakes that have been made in strategizing the battles
in the demilitarized zone between Federation and Cardassian space. A lot of good men and women have died there. Good Starfleet officers. And good ex -Starfleet officers as well.”

  Hawk looked away for a moment, and Tabor could feel him remembering his loss at hearing the news that his first lover—and several Academy classmates—had been killed in a battle against the Cardassians. He finally turned back toward Tabor. “Yes. I’ve lost several friends . . . out there.”

  “I sympathize. On several occasions, as an ambassador, I’ve even argued to the Federation Council that it has badly mishandled the entire Cardassian Demilitarized Zone–Maquis situation,” said Tabor. “That surprises you, doesn’t it?” He knew that it did. He could feel it in Hawk’s mind. “And I disagree with the Council now, regarding the situation on Chiaros IV.”

  “But you’re going there as a Federation representative.” It was both a statement and a question.

  “Yes, because that is my job. The First Protector has asked for Federation intervention, promising to ally her people with us if we aid in ending the conflict and thereby help keep her in power. The other side has made overtures to the Romulans, and doesn’t want the Federation involved.”

  “The Romulans?” Hawk’s eyes were wide with surprise.

  “That’s one of the reasons why the Enterprise is here,” Tabor said, lowering his voice. He knew that in doing so, he was making Hawk feel as though he were being entrusted with privileged information. Which, in a subtly expanding way, he was. “Starfleet’s flagship is a symbol of its military might. The Romulans dare not try anything untoward with Picard around.”

  “So what does that mean for the peace summit?”

  “It means that an already unstable—and morally questionable—situation has become more aggravated, Sean. I argued to my superiors against the alliance with Protector Ruardh’s side, but they didn’t concede my point. The advantages to having Chiaros join the Federation are few, and the ethical implications are shady at best. And there are advantages to letting the Romulans have the Chiaros system, even though doing so would give them control of the entire Geminus Gulf. I can’t tell you what those advantages are, but they would strengthen both the Federation and Starfleet.”