Section 31: Rogue (star trek: the next generation)

by Andy Mangels

  “Other than simple altruism,” Riker said, “the best reason I can think of is because the Romulans seem to be very concerned about whether or not weannex the place.”

  Tabor nodded. “And because First Protector Ruardh’s planetary government has officially invited the Federation in, pending ratification of its decision by a popular vote.”

  “There’s also the matter of the Slaytonto consider,” Batanides said. “The Chiarosan government claims that the Slaytonlaunched a diplomatic shuttle toward the planet shortly before the starship mysteriously disappeared. But the Slayton’s diplomatic team never made it to the Chiarosan capital. We need access to the planet and the surrounding space to mount a proper search for the crew. But if the Romulans force the Federation out of the Geminus Gulf, then we can forget about ever getting at the truth.”

  Or finding Corey,Picard thought. Aloud, he said, “ Admiral, are you saying that you believe the Romulans had something to do with the Slayton’s disappearance?”

  “I can’t prove it,” she said. “But I wouldn’t put it past them.”

  Picard was skeptical. He tried to word his objection as diplomatically as possible. “Admiral, to risk war with the Federation over three sectors of essentially empty space would not appear to make a great deal of sense.”

  “Granted,” Batanides said. “But it’s hard to evaluate the Romulans’ logic when we have so little hard intelligence about their agenda here.”

  Crusher spoke up then, her brow creased in thought. “Putting aside the Romulans for the moment, how difficult can our mission to Chiaros be? The planet’s government was duly elected by the Chiarosan people, wasn’t it?”

  “Of course,” Tabor said, raising an eyebrow. “We would not be considering them for Federation membership were it otherwise.”

  “Exactly,” Crusher said. “So if the duly-constituted Powers That Be on Chiaros IV want us in and the Romulans out, then it seems to me that we’d have to work pretty hard to fail.”

  Tabor smiled his indulgent smile once again. “I’m afraid it isn’t quite as simple as that, Doctor. Despite their proven ability to unite themselves behind a single government, the Chiarosan social order remains a patchwork of clans and families, some of whom harbor ancient rivalries. It is a fragile coalition, and it can be broken by resource disputes . . . or by outside alliances made by Chiarosan clan leaders.

  “A pro-Romulan dissident faction—run by a man named Falhain—has been launching guerrilla attacks on government infrastructure. It is the opinion of Ruardh’s government that the rebels are using Federation weapons seized from the Slaytonto carry out these raids. Needless to say, the citizenry is talking. Whether or not these charges are true, the prospect of Federation weapons getting into rebel hands has made even Ruardh’s supporters question the wisdom of siding with us.”

  “Making the Romulans look more and more like the better alternative,” Picard said grimly, his eyes on the slowly turning holographic globe.

  “And making us responsible for cleaning up the mess our own weapons may have created,” Riker added.

  “Precisely, Commander. Captain, my mission—and therefore yourmission—is to help Ruardh and Falhain put their ancient enmities aside and reach an accord, so that Chiaros IV will at least have a chance of taking its place alongside the other members of the Federation.” With that, he lifted the remote and the holographic image of Chiaros IV winked into oblivion. No one else spoke for several long seconds afterward, as the import of his words sank in.

  Batanides stood, signaling that the briefing had come to a close. “The Enterprisewill arrive at the Chiaros system in approximately twenty-two hours. Captain Picard will assemble a team to accompany Ambassador Tabor to the Chiarosan capital for the initial peace summit between Ruardh and Falhain.”

  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 neveruse 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 seetheir 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 Enterpriseas 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 h
our 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 Enterprisecrewmembers, 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 Enterpriseand 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 keep 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 hasbeen 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.