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

by Andy Mangels

  Zweller pointed at Troi. “Why don’t you get the answer from your Betazoid? You obviously don’t have any faith that I’m going to tell you the truth, or else you wouldn’t have sicced a telepath on me.”

  “I’m only half-Betazoid, Mr. Zweller,” Troi said calmly. “I can only pick up emotions, not specific thoughts.”

  “And what is it you’re ‘picking up’ from me?”

  “I sense mainly that you are a master of evasion. As well as a skilled manipulator of people. And of the truth.”

  “Come now, Counselor,” Zweller said, his lips turning upward in an asymmetrical half-smile. “In my experience, that description could fit just about any front-line Starfleet officer who’s managed to stay alive as long as I have. Present company excepted, of course.”

  Picard bridled at Zweller’s verbal jab, but said nothing. There was no point in allowing his old friend to provoke him into losing control of the conversation. Batanides also allowed the comment to pass unanswered.

  “Commander,” Troi said, unflappably patient, “I’ve known ever since we were confined together that you’ve been concealing something significant. All I’ve ever sensed from you is a superficial emotional veneer, almost as though you were able to consciously block my empathic abilities.”

  Zweller adopted a sincere expression that belied his words. “Now that wouldbe a remarkable talent. On the other hand, I may just be an extremely shallow person. Maybe there’s nothing underneath that ‘emotional veneer,’ as you call it.”

  Or perhaps it conceals hidden compartments,Picard thought. Like a smuggler’s cargo hold.

  Turning toward Picard, Troi said, “I don’t think I’m going to be of any help to you here, Captain. Perhaps it would be better if I started interviewing the other Slaytonsurvivors instead.”

  “Very well,” Picard said. “Make it so.”

  As Troi got up to leave the ready room, Zweller spoke to her back. “Good idea, Counselor. I knew you’d get around to helping those traumatized people eventually.”

  Troi paused in the open doorway for a moment as though contemplating a rejoinder. Then, apparently realizing the futility of the gesture, she departed.

  Picard was alone with his two oldest friends for the first time in more than four decades. It struck him then just how profoundly time could change a man. Yes, this Corey Zweller was still a hothead, as he had been at Starfleet Academy; but the loyal, to-Hell-and-back Cortin Zweller, the comrade-at-arms who had fought the Nausicaans at Bonestell so long ago, thatCortin Zweller had never made such blatant stabs at a colleague’s emotional buttons.

  “Corey . . . did you give the rebels weapons?” Batanides said, beginning to lose her patience.

  Zweller answered with exasperating serenity. “Don’t you think Grelun would have shown me a little more gratitude if I had?”

  “Not if he thought you were selling him out to Ruardh,” Picard said.

  Zweller sat down in one of the seats between the sofa and Picard’s desk. Focusing his gaze on the viewport, he said, “Grelun suffers from a freedom fighter’s paranoia. When he caught me hacking into the rebel base’s command systems, he naturally assumed the worst.”

  “And why were you doing that?” Batanides said.

  “I was a prisoner, just like my crewmates. And a prisoner’s first duty is to escape.”

  Batanides studied him with obvious skepticism. “Some of your crewmates don’t seem to believe that, Corey. Dr. Gomp told me that you’d received special treatment from your jailers all along.”

  “Must have been that vaunted ‘mastery of manipulation’ the counselor says I excel in,” Zweller said dismissively. Turning toward Picard, he said, “C’mon, Johnny, don’t tell me you’ve never charmed your way into an adversary’s good graces before turning the tables on him.”

  Picard felt his own fund of patience beginning to run out. “Not by violating my oath as a Starfleet officer.”

  “If I didbend a regulation or two,” Zweller said, “then you can rest assured that I did it in the service of a greater good.”

  “You mean the Army of Light’s struggle against Ruardh’s government,” Batanides said.

  “If you like,” replied Zweller quietly, nodding slightly.

  Batanides scowled. “I thought you said Grelun was an adversary.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly what that means, isn’t it?” Zweller said tartly. “You won’t find any angels on Chiaros IV, Marta. Everyone’shands get bloody in a civil war.”

  How ironic,Picard thought, that Chiarosan blood is gray.

  He decided to try a placating tone. “Corey, please. You have to admit that you aren’t being very forthcoming. You still haven’t answered our primary question. For the sake of the friendship the three of us shared, I would have hoped that you’d—”

  Zweller interrupted gently. “That’s exactlywhy I can’t tell you anything more, Johnny. If you keep probing into whatever I might or might not have done down there, you’re only going to put yourselves in harm’s way. Frankly, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that.”

  “Corey, that almost sounds like a threat,” Picard said, taken aback.

  Zweller shook his head, then paused to gather his thoughts. “Could I speak absolutely candidly to both of you for a moment?” he said finally.

  “That would be a nice change,” Batanides said. She was not smiling.

  “All you have is the hearsay of two of your officers and the word of an obstreperous Tellarite doctor against mine. You’ve got no proof of anything—even with an empathin the room! So if you’re not prepared to arrest me and convene a general hearing, I respectfully suggest that you both let this matter lie.”

  Picard watched as Batanides silently fumed. He realized that Zweller had outmaneuvered them. For now.

  “All right, Corey,” Picard said at length. “I willput this matter aside. But only until Grelun or some of your colleagues from the Slaytoncan shed some more light onto it.”

  “Thank you,” Zweller said, his emotions inaccessible.

  “You are dismissed, Commander,” Batanides said icily.

  Pained that his old friend would not reach out to him, Picard watched in silence as Zweller exited the ready room.

  Feeling weary, Zweller entered the quarters Riker had issued him. Picard’s first officer had strongly suggested that he remain there pending the resolution of the political business on Chiaros IV. Noting that he didn’t actually seem to be under arrest, Zweller decided he was too tired to argue the point tonight. He’d take the matter up directly with Johnny in the morning.

  Ensconced in his quarters, Zweller contacted La Forge to request information about the huge volume of space the Romulans were apparently concealing. Though the engineer had seemed a bit overworked and harried, he had promptly uploaded the relevant observational data into Zweller’s computer terminal. Though there was no conclusive information about what the Romulans were doing behind the vast invisibility screen they had constructed out in the Chiaros system’s far reaches, they were clearly using it to hide an artificial construct of some sort.

  Zweller waded through the data late into the ship’s night, a worm of apprehension turning deep in his gut as he read. The Slayton’s crew had not detected the cloaking field before Zweller and his crewmates had taken the shuttlecraft Archimedesdown to Chiaros IV.

  If they had, Zweller thought as sleep finally began to take him, then Section 31 might never have struck its deal with Koval.

  Picard was not surprised in the least to learn that Romulan Ambassador T’Alik wished to meet with him. What didsurprise him was that the ambassador had waited an entire day to respond to his acquisition of the officially nonexistent Romulan scoutship.

  It was shortly after 0800 when Batanides and Troi entered the ready room, where Picard was already seated behind his desk, sipping a cup of Earl Grey. Lieutenant Daniels signaled from the bridge that the Romulan delegation had been beamed aboard and was on its way.

  Picard
smiled over his teacup at the two women, who seated themselves on the ready-room couch.

  “This should be good,” Picard said, smiling mischievously for a moment before restoring the impassive demeanor of interstellar diplomacy. Troi and Batanides did likewise.

  Moments later, a pair of security guards escorted T’Alik and her assistant, V’Riln, into Picard’s ready room. Picard noted that V’Riln was the very same Romulan whose life he had saved during the armed contretemps in HagratÈ. V’Riln nodded curtly to him, but there was no hint of gratitude in his eyes. You’re quite welcome,the captain thought wryly.

  Picard did not rise from his chair, nor did he offer T’Alik or V’Riln a place to sit. He knew there was nothing to be gained by making them unnecessarily comfortable.

  “Madame Ambassador,” Picard said simply.

  “Captain,” the Romulan responded, unsmiling.

  “Allow me to introduce Vice-Admiral Batanides of Starfleet Intelligence. And you have already met my ship’s counselor, Commander Troi.”

  T’Alik bowed her head in courtly fashion. “Admiral. Counselor.”

  V’Riln cast a sour glance at Troi. “I wish we had been advised of your intention to bring a Betazoid to this meeting, Captain. Perhaps we would have furnished a telepath of our own.”

  “Surely that would be unnecessary, Mr. V’Riln,” Picard said, deliberately adopting the smile of a magnanimous host. “After all, what do either of us have to hide from each other?”

  Troi’s expression told Picard that she could probably spend several hours answering that single question. Batanides, for her part, seemed content to let Picard do all the talking. She sat in silence, watching the Romulans closely.

  “Please allow me to come to the heart of the reason for this visit,” T’Alik said.

  “I would appreciate that, Ambassador,” Picard said. “We only have one day left before the planetary referendum, so time is fleeting. And I suppose you’ve read the polls.”

  T’Alik almost smiled at that. “We are well-aware of the referendum’s likely outcome. And frankly, I have come to ask you to concede those results sooner rather than later. After all, no purpose can be served by waiting until the bitter end.”

  “The writing, as you humans say, is on the wall,” V’Riln said.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Picard said, smiling. He hoped to throw them off-balance. “It might do my crew some good to leave this dreary region a day or so early.”

  “That would be a great relief, Captain,” Troi said, falling in step.

  Picard smiled at the counselor, well aware that the relief Troi had just registered was not her own; T’Alik was evidently both surprised and pleased to hear that the Enterprisemight be leaving early.

  Perhaps she sees that as a sign that we won’t embarrass her in front of the Chiarosans by unveiling the unauthorized ship we captured.

  That was the moment when V’Riln floored him.

  “The Tal Shiar has informed us that you still have the scoutship you used to escape from the Army of Light’s Nightside compound,” the Romulan assistant said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Picard did his best to hide his surprise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  T’Alik did not appear fazed in the least by her assistant’s revelation. Picard supposed that their presentation had been well-rehearsed for maximum emotional impact.

  “No, Captain,” the ambassador said with a faint smile. “I don’t suppose that you do. But I must tell you that I am delighted to hear you say it.”

  “I’m sure if we wereto discover any unauthorized Romulan vessels on Chiaros IV,” Picard deadpanned, “it would greatly complicate your mission here.”

  “Indeed it would,” T’Alik said.

  Picard put on his most solicitous expression. “And it would probably place you, personally, in an extremely awkward position.”

  “It would force the ambassador to protest the actions of her own government, Captain,” V’Riln said haughtily.

  T’Alik began to look ever-so-slightly uncomfortable. “In the event of any such discovery, Captain, I would likely have no choice other than to resign my post. As a fellow diplomat, I’m sure you can understand that I cannot be a party to a treaty violation, either official or otherwise.”

  Picard smiled broadly. “Madame Ambassador, as a fellow diplomat, I wouldn’t dream of placing you in that position.”

  “I’m delighted that we understand each other so well, Captain,” T’Alik said, bowing her head fractionally.

  And with that, the Romulan diplomats said their short but polite farewells, then allowed the security officers to escort them out of the ready room.

  “Well,” Troi said. “Now we know that theyknow we have the scoutship.”

  “Data was right,” Batanides said. “Whatever we decide to do with that ship, I suppose we can forget about having the element of surprise.”

  “I’d already accepted that as a given,” Picard said, frowning. “But if there’s a way around that problem, Geordi and Data will find it.”

  “For some reason, our continued presence is making the Romulans very nervous,” Troi ventured.

  Batanides nodded. “It can only have to do with whatever the Romulans are hiding behind their cloaking field.”

  Picard rose from behind his desk and walked over to the viewport. The darkness outside was punctuated by thousands of distant pinpoints of light.

  For a long moment, he silently contemplated the loss of three wide, nominally empty sectors of space to the Romulans. He found the notion unacceptable. He suddenly couldn’t stomach the thought of losing anythingto such Machiavellian schemers.

  “I quite agree,” Picard said with determination. “This has all gone on long enough. One way or another, we’re going to find out what’s behind that cloak.”

  Chapter Twelve

  His eyes closed tightly, Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge sagged heavily against the side of the turbolift. “Bridge,” he heard Data say.

  Geordi opened his eyes as the car began moving. The android was staring at him, concern evident in his golden eyes. Eyes as artificial as mine,La Forge thought. It struck him as ironic that he could observe his friend’s efforts to become human only by means of a synthetic sensory apparatus. At first glance, the engineer’s ocular implants appeared to be perfectly ordinary, natural human eyes—until a close inspection revealed the intricate filigree of hair-thin circuit-patterns etched into their metallic-blue irises.

  “Are you all right, Geordi?”

  La Forge smiled weakly. “Never better, Data.”

  “I have noticed that, among humans, even the closest of friends will, on occasion, deliberately prevaricate to one another,” Data said evenly. “I believe that your response constitutes what Commander Riker would almost certainly describe as a ‘whopper.’ ”

  La Forge nodded, sighed wearily, and massaged his temples. His head felt as though it were being squeezed in a colossal vise. According to Dr. Crusher, his headaches would cease once his nervous system had had a little more time to adjust to its new sensory inputs.

  “Guilty, as charged, Data,” La Forge said.

  For most of the past two days, he and Data had worked alongside engineers Kehvan and Waltere Zydhek—the hulking brothers from Balduk—poring over the countless gigaquads of data contained in the captured Romulan scoutship’s computer core, seeking two critical command pathways. The first was the electronic portal into whatever Romulan security systems might lay behind the cloaking field; the second was the precise cloaking-harmonic frequency needed to get a ship insidethat field undetected.

  He noticed that Data was still staring at him. “Did Dr. Crusher not caution you that sleep-deprivation might aggravate the temporary neurological discomfort your new sensory inputs are causing?”

  Geordi nodded. “She did, Data. And if she asks me about it, I’ll promise to sleep for an entire month. Afterwe finish our job here.”

  As the turbolift sped forward and upwar
d toward the bridge, Geordi considered the ramifications of the problems he and Data had just spent nearly thirty-six continuous hours trying to solve. Tracking down the correct lines of Romulan code among the quadrillions of irrelevant commands had been no simple undertaking, Data’s prodigious computational power notwithstanding. The solution had remained stubbornly elusive for the first day, despite the endless specialized recursive “search” programs he and Data had devised for the purpose.

  Geordi’s first hurdle had been overcoming his astonishment over the tremendous storage capacity of the Romulan scoutship’s computer core, and the extraordinarily complex information that filled it to overflowing. Such inelegant, convoluted programming techniques made no sense from an engineering perspective, and he had said as much to Cortin Zweller during the commander’s brief visit to the shuttlebay.

  Maybe you should stop thinking like an engineer,Zweller had said, chuckling as though La Forge’s comment had been unbelievably naive. Instead, why not try looking at it from the perspective of a Romulan Tal Shiar operative?

  The very mention of the Tal Shiar made Geordi’s skin crawl. He remembered only too vividly how Romulan agents had manipulated him six years before, nearly turning him into an assassin.

  But Zweller’s remark had also given Geordi renewed hope that somewhere in the Romulan vessel’s electronic labyrinth lay a definitive—if subtly hidden—solution to his problem. And sure enough, a few hours after he had put aside his engineer’s tendency to seek out the shortest, simplest solutions, the relevant pieces of code had revealed themselves.

  Geordi didn’t notice that the turbolift had halted until its doors opened, interrupting his reverie. He and Data strode out onto the bridge, where the members of alphawatch were at their customary places. Commander Zweller and Admiral Batanides stood in the center of the bridge, their eyes upon the forward viewscreen, which displayed a featureless region of space.

  Their attentiveness told La Forge that there must be a great deal more on the screen than met the eye. “What exactly are we looking at?” he asked aloud.